Wildly, she looked around for her mother, recognizing some of the other tenants as well as the apartment manager among those wandering about the scene. It was the latter to whom Tessa made a beeline, figuring that Mr. Sharma would surely have some idea of where Gillian might be. But when she saw the expression on his kindly face as she approached, her heart began to sink with each step she took. She had initially worried that the paramedics on scene would have taken one look at Gillian’s state of mind and immediately had her whisked off to the hospital for a psychological evaluation. But now, from the look on Mr. Sharma’s face, her worry quickly morphed into full blown panic.

The wizened little Indian man placed a comforting hand on Tessa’s shoulder as he shook his head sadly. “Tessa, I am so sorry. Such a terrible, terrible tragedy this all is. It happened so quickly, spread so fast, that it’s a wonder more of the tenants didn’t get hurt.”

Tessa felt tears well in her eyes, and her legs began to tremble as she fought off a rapidly rising sense of panic. “Mr. Sharma, where – where is my mother? Did they take her somewhere? Can someone help me find her?”

Mr. Sharma opened his mouth to speak, then gave a brief shake of his head. “Better that you speak to the policeman over there. He’s been looking for you, and can give you the information you need.” He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “I am so sorry, my dear.”

But as she would have pushed him for more information, he turned to speak to one of the firefighters, leaving Tessa no other recourse but to approach the uniformed police officer that Mr. Sharma had pointed out.

“Ex-excuse me,” she began haltingly as the youngish, dark haired officer glanced up from the clipboard he’d been studying. She was relieved to notice the kind, compassionate expression on his face. “I, um, was told to ask you about my mother. By Mr. Sharma, that is. The apartment manager.”

The policeman nodded. “Right. Would you possibly be Tessa Pedersen? From Apartment 3H?”

“Yes, that’s me. I – I just got home from work, and I’m trying to find my mother. Her name’s Gillian Pedersen. Do you know where she might be?” asked Tessa, not even trying to disguise the panic in her voice.

The young officer hesitated, glancing around the hectic scene uncertainly. “Uh, was there anyone else living in the apartment besides yourself and your mother? Or do you have another family member you can call?”

She shook her head. “No, to both questions. Only the two of us in the apartment, and no other family. We just moved here in the spring.”

The officer, whose name badge proclaimed him to be Brian Alvarez, gave her a look of kindly compassion. “How old are you, Tessa?”

Tessa froze, not at all sure why he would be asking that question, but sensed that the answer she gave him would have a direct impact on what happened next. Without giving it further thought, she blurted out, “Nineteen. I’m nineteen years old. Why?”

Officer Alvarez nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. Tessa offered up a silent thanks that she tended to look a little older than her actual sixteen years, due mostly to her height and curvy figure. She’d also dressed up a bit for work today, having changed from her jeans and T-shirt into a cotton blouse and skirt, and had pulled her hair back into a sleek ponytail. The fact that the spot where they presently stood was unlit also played to her favor, since the police officer wasn’t able to get a clear look at her face.

“I’m afraid I have some rather bad news for you, Tessa,” the officer told her gently. “From what we can determine, the fire started in the apartment right next to yours – in 3G – and it spread very, very quickly to the surrounding units. Your mother – by the time the firefighters could reach her, she’d already been overcome with smoke inhalation. I’m very sorry, but they weren’t able to revive her.”

She stared at him in horrified disbelief, hearing the words he had spoken but not truly comprehending them. “She – she’s dead?” she whispered brokenly. “My mother – died?”

“Yes.” Officer Alvarez nodded sadly. “I am very sorry for your loss, Miss Pedersen. I’ll have you speak further with the firefighters who found her body, but from what I know she would have died quickly, without pain. I realize that’s small consolation at this point, but – well, it’s something at least. Look, are you sure there isn’t anyone I can call for you? If not a family member, a friend, co-worker, someone.”

Crazily, the only name that came immediately to mind was Peter’s, but since she didn’t have his phone number she could only shake her head. “There’s no one, no. We – I haven’t had time to make many friends as yet. It was really just my mom and me and – oh, God! I guess now it’s just me, isn’t it?”

The realization that Gillian was dead – really dead – suddenly hit Tessa with the force of running headfirst into a brick wall. The tears that had slowly been trickling down her cheeks became sobs, and within seconds her entire body was quivering from the force of her weeping.

She was barely aware of Officer Alvarez taking her by the arm and gently guiding her over to some big white van – the one with the Red Cross emblem on the side door. After that, Tessa felt as though she’d been enveloped in a thick, dense haze, her mind and body completely numb, hearing voices as though she were stuck in an underground tunnel. Through her tears, she answered questions that a Red Cross volunteer asked her – did she have any family or friends she could stay with; was there anyone they could call for her; had she been able to grab any items before evacuating the apartment. And each time the answer was no – she had no one and nothing save for the clothes on her back and the things she’d left in her car – her backpack, the clothes she’d worn to school this morning, her gym bag.

While the volunteer made a couple of phone calls, one of the firefighters approached and rather hesitantly filled in the blanks about their futile attempts to save Gillian.

“She was curled up in a ball on the bed when we were finally able to break inside,” the man told Tessa regretfully. “It was almost like she never heard the smoke alarms go off, or even realized the place was on fire. It doesn’t appear that she even tried to get out.”

Tessa nodded sorrowfully. “She – she’s been ill. Not physically. Depression. My – my mother suffered all her life from bipolar disorder. She – she was going through a bad patch these past few months, sleeping a lot. That’s probably why she didn’t – oh, God.”