The Last to Follow

The words were quickly swallowed by the smoke.

The stairwell echoed with pounding footsteps and desperate cries for help. People hammered on doors as their voices rose above the chaos in panic.

After the electrical panel on the first floor caught fire, thick black smoke poured up the stairwell floor by floor, making it harder to breathe.

Our apartment was on the sixth floor.

Just after midnight, my little sister, Rachel Smith, suddenly struggled to breathe. Her lips turned blue, and Mom panicked. She scooped Rachel into her arms and rushed out the door. Dad grabbed Mom with one hand and shoved the stairwell door open with the other, hurrying after her.

I pushed myself to my feet and followed. I had always been the one trailing behind.

When I was five, Rachel had a severe asthma attack in the middle of the night. Her lips turned purple, and she could not even cry. Mom carried her downstairs while Dad ran ahead to flag down a cab. I chased after them in my slippers.

The stairwell lights were motion-activated, but I was too light on my feet to trigger them. In the darkness, I missed a step and tumbled down the stairs. My knee slammed against the sharp edge of a concrete step, tearing the skin wide open.

I trembled with pain, but they had already reached the first floor.

I opened my mouth to call for Mom. The moment I did, she spun around below.

She had not turned back to help me. Panic and anger twisted her face.

"Suzanna! Can you stop making trouble at a time like this?" Her voice echoed through the stairwell. Each word struck me like a blow. "Can't you see Rachel can barely breathe? Why can't you hurry up and get down here on your own?"

I crouched on the stairs as blood ran down my knee. My nose stung, and tears threatened to spill.

However, I was afraid to cry.

Dad came back, grabbed my arm, and dragged me downstairs. He did not even notice my injured knee. When we reached the cab, he shoved me into the front passenger seat.

"Sit still. Stop being a problem."

At the hospital, Rachel spent two hours receiving emergency treatment, yet no one asked about my injured knee. Blood trickled down my leg and into my slippers, leaving a trail of small red footprints along the corridor until a cleaning lady mopped them away. Over time, the wound scabbed over and healed, leaving a thin white scar.

However, Mom's words cut far deeper than that scar ever could.

Can you stop making trouble at a time like this?

From that day on, I learned to keep up, watch my step, stay quiet, and never give them a reason to stop.

At the fourth-floor landing, an old metal storage cabinet came crashing down. Our neighbor had been piling things in the stairwell for years, cramming the cabinet with old tools and cardboard boxes. Someone must have knocked it over.

I happened to be standing there when it fell. My left leg was pinned beneath it. The pain was so intense that my face went white, and my mind went completely blank.

I opened my mouth to scream, but there was nothing in my throat except smoke.

Mom had already rounded the third-floor landing with Rachel in her arms. Dad was helping them hurry downstairs.

I closed my mouth.

I knew I could not call out.

Mom was busy, and Rachel was struggling to breathe. When they were busy, I was not supposed to bother them.

When I was three, Mom and Dad were busy running their shop and rarely came home before late at night. One evening during a thunderstorm, I sat alone in the corner of the couch, hugging a pillow and crying for a while.

Eventually, I wiped away my tears, climbed into bed, and fell asleep.

When Mom came home, she stroked my cheek and spoke softly.

"Suzanna, you're such a good girl. You never give me anything to worry about."

It was the gentlest thing she had ever said to me.

From then on, I remembered what being good meant. If I did not cry, I was good. If I stayed quiet, I was not a burden.

When I was six, our family went for a bike ride along the river. Rachel sat in the little child seat on the front of Dad's bike while Mom rode beside them, constantly checking to make sure Rachel was not cold.

I followed behind on my little pink bike.

While going downhill, my handlebars slipped, and I crashed onto the gravel. Blood covered a large patch of my knee.

Mom looked back from farther ahead and shouted, "Suzanna! Why are you falling behind again? Hurry up!"

I bit my lip, got back to my feet, and finished the ride.

That night, the water stung so badly during my shower that my whole body trembled. I stuffed a washcloth into my mouth to keep from making a sound.

The next day, Mom noticed my injury and asked why I had not told her sooner.

I said it did not hurt. She sighed.

"You are just too sensible for your own good."

On my seventh birthday, Mom gave me a pink smartwatch that could make calls, something Rachel did not have. I was overjoyed to finally have something that belonged only to me.

Then one day, I suddenly understood why Rachel did not need a watch.

She was always in Mom's arms or on Dad's back. Someone was always holding her, carrying her, or watching over her wherever she went.

She would never get lost.

Of course she did not need a watch. Watches were for people who might disappear.

When Mom knelt to fasten it around my wrist, she said, "Suzanna, don't call me for no reason when I'm busy. You are a big girl now. Handle the little things yourself first. Only call me if you really can't manage."

I nodded as hard as I could.

...

I lowered my head and looked at my wrist.

The watch was still there. A long crack stretched across the screen, and ash coated the surface. Mom's name sat at the top of my contacts list, glowing in the middle of the display. One tap was all it would take to call her.

My finger hovered over her name.

However, I thought of Rachel struggling to breathe, her lips turning purple. Mom was carrying her while trying to find her medicine and hurry down the stairs at the same time.

If I called, would Mom stop and come back for me? If she did, what would happen to Rachel?

She was only four. She really could die.

I stared at Mom's name for a long time.

Then I turned off the screen.

As the smoke thickened, I pulled my sleeve over my mouth and nose, remembering what we had learned during fire drills at preschool: stay low, cover your mouth, and wait for an adult to help.

With my leg pinned beneath the cabinet, I could not move. I lay crumpled beside it at an awkward angle. The cold floor pressed against my body while the commotion downstairs sent vibrations through the building. I pulled my sleeve tighter over my face and pushed against the floor with my uninjured leg, trying to keep myself upright.

However, my body was growing weaker.

No one came back.

After a while, the pain faded.

All I felt was cold.

It was strange. Everything around me was burning hot, yet I felt as though I were sinking deeper and deeper into the cold.

I buried my face in my sleeve and whispered, "I didn't run off.

"Mommy should save Rachel first.

"I'm waiting."

My lips were still moving, but no sound came out anymore.

The last bit of air slowly slipped from my throat. I did not even have time to figure out whether I had breathed it out or whether the smoke had stolen it from me.

My body no longer felt cold.

I could not feel anything at all.

Then I saw myself.

I stood on the stairwell landing, looking down at another version of me crumpled beside the metal cabinet. My leg was still pinned beneath it. My sleeve covered half my face, and a small strip of pink watchband peeked out from my wrist.

The watch looked tiny, like an old object someone had carelessly dropped in the stairwell.

My chest was no longer rising and falling.

I was not going to get up again.

I reached out and tried to touch myself.

My fingertips passed straight through.

I stood there, stunned, for a long time.

However, strangely, my first feeling was neither fear nor sadness.

It was relief.

A wonderful, weightless relief, as though I had finally set down something I had carried on my back for years.

So this was what it felt like not to have to chase after them anymore.

Still, I wanted to see when Mom and Dad would finally realize that Suzanna had never made it downstairs.