Samori sprints forward toward the stairs, never letting go of Bean's hand. The seven flights of stairs would tire out any other kids, but Samori and Bean are different; they are bottom dwellers of Howl. Soon they are outside of the hotel room the mother claims for their family of five.
Samori goes still, and Bean's hand clenches his even harder.
[Breathe Sam, breathe. We don't know anything yet], Bean's voice is firm and full of a flavor of hope beyond her 14-year-old container.
'You're right, but I smell lots of blood.' Samori thinks to Bean. Before she can respond and question how he is able to identify the smell of blood, Samori reaches for the knob and pushes the door open, sprinting to the hotel room's living room.
He stops and turns to Bean. 'Stay here, Be,' he thinks, smiling awkwardly.
Be looks up at Samori with her large sunset-colored eyes. Though her face is expressionless, Samori feels the fear radiating from her mind. He walks forward, knowing Bean will see, smell, hear, taste, and feel everything through her Potential.
The first thing he sees is a droplet of blood in the carpet, and the next is the mess of the room. The couch is ripped, the shitty lamp he loves lies broken on the floor, the brown and pink patterned bed sheet curtains are stained a deep red, and the stolen red carpet seems moved.
Actually, the mess isn't cause for concern — but the splattered blood makes Samori's heart beat harder, each thud like a punch in his chest. He steps steadily into the kitchen, freezing at the image in front of him. He blinks a few times, taking in his surroundings. He feels Bean whimper in his mind, and for a few seconds, time feels like a foreign language, nonsense. The smell of gas pulls him back to reality. Desperately, he searches the room for something to look at other than the scene demanding his attention.
The smell of gasoline leads him to the stove. He lifts his knee to his chest, stepping over the first body to reach the burner, still on, flames blazing. As the fire dims, Bean's whimpers grow a little quieter inside his head. Taking a deep breath, he walks out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. He grabs his and Bean's backpacks, stuffs in a few pieces of clothing and toiletries, then heads toward the entrance as Bean's voice whispers in his head.
[We can't leave them here like this], she says, her voice heavy with dejection.
'I know, Be, I know,' he thinks, trying to hold himself together. 'I'll take care of it.'
Turning from the entrance, Samori slowly returns to the kitchen. He avoids looking at his family's bodies, their eerie positions, and instead goes straight for the burner. He reignites the flame, then grabs a kitchen towel, lays it across the stove, and watches as it catches fire. Turning, he walks back through the living room, grabs Bean's hand, and steadily leads her out the door.
Bean stays silent, and Samori's thoughts begin to boil. The first tear falls as they reach the hotel's first floor. The second falls when they step onto the street. The third falls as the explosion erupts in Room 502 on the seventh floor of Hotel Howl — the shittiest hotel in all the levels of Howl, where his and Bean's adopted family are murdered and then ceremoniously cremated by the survivors of their orphan cohort.
[Sam?] Bean whispers, her voice raspy, as if she has just eaten the driest bowl of grits. Samori shakes his head, needing silence.
[But where are we going?] Bean cries out in his head.
There is no help coming. Inky gray smoke spreads through this level of Howl, while people gather around to watch the fire consume the hotel. Samori keeps walking forward, refusing to dwell on his thoughts, focusing only on each step.
"We're leaving Howl, Bean. We're going to the surface. We're going to see everything Mother talked about. We're going to smell the air. We're going to see animals. We're going to play in water. You're going to have other kids to play with. And I'm going to have cheesecake."
Samori's whispered declaration feels like a scream in Bean's head, filled with raw emotion. Dizzy, she grips his hand tighter.
[No one's ever escaped Howl, Samori. Mother said that.] Her voice carries dark amusement, like she's waiting for the punchline to a bad dad joke.
Samori smiles through the tears streaking his face. 'Well, I guess we're nobody.'