It began as an ember from the cheerfully crackling fire they'd been sitting around earlier, discussing the month-long math course the boys were doing in the town of Bethany.

Norman and Christian were fast asleep in the Hartford spare room when Mrs. Hartford burst in, clothed in a nightgown with a bathrobe thrown over, and not much else. At any other time the twenty-year-olds would have made a few cracks about this between themselves, but when the lady yelled, "Fire, boys! House is on fire! Get out!" they didn't dwell on the opportunity for too long. Instead they sprang up, pulled on whatever they could find- for they still had a little time- and grabbed their unpacked bags, exiting by the tree outside their window.
"Oh, boys! There you are," Miss Crawford, the Hartfords' neighbor said, rushing up to them. "Oh, my, this is awful, isn't it? Poor Stephanie! I understand she's a distant relative of yours, Norman?"

"Yes, ma'am, my father's cousin," Norman answered distractedly. The front of the house was blazing, and the firetrucks weren't even in hearing distance yet. Bethany had been ravaged by many such incidents, and the authorities were being taxed to their maximum.

Christian looked at the house. By now, they'd come to the front, and were standing under another tree, watching the flames. Suddenly he yelled, "Norman!"

Norman looked up a second later, dizzy from Christian tackling him. They were both in the grass a few feet away, he realized, from where a flaming branch had fallen from the tree they'd been standing under. Christian sat up, letting his friend free. They looked at each other for a second.

Christian's eyes widened, then. "Oh, s***. The ring."

"Chris, no, it's not worth it. You can get Marcia another one. Don't-"

"No, Norm. I won't be able to afford it, and I can't do that to her. I have to." He stood up, brushed himself off, and ran back to the tree outside their bedroom window.

Norman followed him. "Christian! You'll- it's not safe, bro- don't do this!" He caught at his friend's arm. Later, he wondered if he'd pushed his friend over the edge right then. "I'll help you afford it-"

Christian stiffened and jerked away. "I want to give my fiancee a wedding ring that I bought with my own money, Norm. I'll be fine. Let go."

Norman could do nothing but watch as his best friend of fifteen years climbed a tree to his death.

Barely a second after Christian was through the window, an ember from the front flew back and set fire to the tree. Norman stumbled back, tears in his eyes. "CHRISTIAN!"

His friend appeared at the window, a shadow beyond the brilliant orange blaze that had been the tree. Even through the haze, Norman could see Christian's shock and determination as he went back. There was no way he could get out the window now without being burned alive.

Suddenly, Norman heard a huge shout from the front. He raced there and saw where all the folks were pointing- into the flames, just beyond them, where a vague silhouette had shown up. The figure was clearly trying to get out, but there was no way out.

Christian must have made his way through the house to the front, he realized slowly. His mind seemed to have shut down.

Christian seemed to realize he was actually trapped. He lifted his arm and threw something outside- something that glinted. It landed at Norman's feet. Norman picked it up in a daze, and put it in his pocket. It was the ring Christian meant to give Marcia when he proposed to her on his return.

Meant. Not had meant. Because he'd still do it.

As Norman watched, horrorstruck, the figure ran forward into the fire, jumping over flaming furniture and dodging embers. He came... and nothing seemed to harm him. Norman felt a flicker of hope...

...which was quickly extinguished, as the ancient pillar on the porch fell slantways- right onto Christian, who was mid-leap to the grass outside.

He never stirred again.

The crowd gasped. Norman felt as if the world had turned upside down and thrown him into empty space.

                                           *****

Maybe writing it out will help a little... Chris, you b------. You always liked writing. I'll just write you a letter, then.

I'm still staying in Bethany. Got the course to go to, although class feels so... empty without you. I finally know what all the nerds who listen to the teacher the whole time feel like. Maybe my grades will finally go up now... I don't really care. You had the best grades in class, bro, and you probably always will.

I'm staying in a hotel not far away from the course's building. (Of course, my parents can afford it. I wonder why they sent us to stay with Aunt Stephanie in the first place.) Receptionist is such a hottie. If you saw her, you'd just wink, though, and she'd be all over you. That's always the way it's been, though, hasn't it? Up until Marcia, you were such a player, Chris. Girls loved you. I don't wonder the guys didn't, much. The ones who wanted girls anyway, unlike me. You know I'm not much interested in girls or relationships, and you were always cool with it.

Speaking of Marcia, I got in touch with her. I felt like it was my duty. She'd already heard, and she was crying on the phone. It was awkward- you know I'm no good at comforting anyone- but I kind of felt like we shared that, losing you. I gave her the ring at the funeral. More waterworks, but she was touched to the core, bro, and told me she's never loved you more.

Mrs. Carter and your dear little sister, Susie, are wrecked. I saw them at the funeral- they held it right here in Bethany, because it would be difficult for them to have your body transported back home. Indecent of you, really, to go and die like that when you were their chief source of income, as well as their whole lives. I'll help them out all I can, of course, financially and emotionally.

What did you feel like in those last moments, Chris? I like to think you went down hoping, not resigned- because 'hoping' has always been you. I'm the moody, pessimistic one.

Oh, me... I wish I could tell you I'm doing fine, but you probably know that's not true, just by this letter...

Norman laid down his pen, put his head onto his arms and wept- big, heaving sobs that held nothing back.