Firestorm

by Iris Johansen

  But it wasn't imagination. He was out there. He'd done that horrible thing and was still free to destroy more lives. Her fault. Her fault.

  Forget him. She had to live her own life. She couldn't keep punishing herself. She was no martyr. Her mother wouldn't have wanted her to blame herself. She lifted her glass and took a swallow of milk.

  The gazebo gleamed white in the moonlight. She'd have to give it another coat of paint tomorrow, but it looked pretty good right now. Laura had done a good job on the—

  “Is there room on that step for me?”

  She went rigid, her gaze flying to the man standing a few yards away.

  Brad Silver. Anger flared through her. “No, there's no room. Not on this step. Not in my life.” Her grip tightened on the glass of milk. “And what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? This is private property.”

  “You woke me up.” He sat down on the step beside her. “Entirely your fault. If you weren't so messed up, I'd have a much easier time of it.”

  “What do you mean, I woke you up?”

  “How often do you have dreams like that? I don't remember more than one or two in the last six months.”

  “Why should you—” She drew a deep breath. “What are you, and what have you been doing to me for the last six months?”

  “I haven't been doing anything but monitoring. I had to become familiar with you once I decided that you'd be the best choice. Travis told me that you were the one in the beginning, but I like to make my own choices.”

  “Monitoring?” She moistened her lips. “You've been prying in my mind. You're one of Michael's freak friends, aren't you?”

  He made a face. “I think he probably told you that I wasn't exactly normal when you called him. What did he say?”

  “Controller. He called you a controller.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “You were controlling my thoughts when Charlie was dying. How did you do it?”

  “Experience. I wasn't sure that I could shut down your connection and replace it with a false image. You're very strong.”

  “But you did it, damn you.”

  “Because you couldn't do it yourself. If you'd let Travis train you, it might not have been necessary for you to huddle in that closet like an animal in pain.”

  “I don't want to hear this.”

  She started to get up, but he reached out and jerked her back down. “I don't care if you want to hear it. I've been cooling my heels patiently in the background waiting for you to recover from all this trauma over your friend's death. Now I'm going to have my say and you'll listen.”

  “The hell I will.” She glared at him. “Keep your hands off me.”

  “I will. I've no desire to touch you.” He glared back at her. “But you will listen or I'll wake your brother and discuss both your nightmares and how I know about them. I don't think you want him to worry about having a nutcase for a sister.”

  “You bastard.”

  “Actually, I am. But that doesn't alter anything. It should only convince you that I'll do what I say.”

  He meant it. She glanced away from him. “Talk.”

  “I want you to do a job for me.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She said through her teeth, “Because you're a freak and you want to make me one too. I don't want anything to do with you. I told Michael Travis that five years ago.”

  “I don't have to make you a freak. You're already one. When you came out of that coma, you brought something back with you. You know it but you don't want to deal with it.”

  “I did deal with it,” she said fiercely. “I use it. That doesn't mean I have to join a bunch of weirdos like you and Travis. I want to live a normal life.”

  “Too bad. You joined a fairly exclusive club when you came back from that coma. Your talent is damn rare, and I need it.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Travis let you off the hook. He could have pressed the gratitude button after he told you how to finesse your way out of the sanitarium, but he didn't do it. He let you go your own way. Did he ever try to recruit you?”

  “Recruit?”

  “Wrong word? What did he say to you?”

  “He said that I wasn't a freak, that the visions were telepathic, and that I had to learn to live with them as best I could. He said that I wasn't alone and that there were others who had demonstrated psychic abilities after they'd woken from comas when they were children. He and his wife were trying to search out and find and help them.”

  “Because both Michael and Melissa went through it themselves.”

  She nodded. “That's what he told me. He said if I'd come to their place in Virginia, they'd help me control it.” Her lips tightened. “I didn't need help. All I needed to know was that I wasn't crazy. I can handle the rest. I've built a good life for myself.”

  “Even though you're crippled.”

  “You're crazy. I'm not crippled.”

  “You quit being a firefighter because you were afraid. Fear's a great crippler.”

  “I'm not afraid.”

  “Not of the fires. You're afraid to go through the hell you did when Smitty Jones died in that fire two years ago.”

  “Smitty?”

  “You went through school with him and you were both stationed at Firehouse Number Ten. You were very close. Lovers?”

  Her lips twisted. “Don't you know?”

  “I didn't intrude. I have to have some ethics.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I skimmed deep enough to know it was a relationship that tore you apart when he died. Were you joined with him like you were with Charlie?”

  She didn't answer.

  “I think you were. But you must have managed to pull away before he died. You were lucky. Without control, he'd probably have taken you with him if you hadn't managed to break free.”

  “I would have died?” she whispered.

  “I think you knew. That was why you instinctively broke free.”

  She looked away from him. “Maybe.”

  “But you didn't want to go through that again, so you transferred. You thought if you weren't near the fire that you'd be okay.” He shook his head. “But it doesn't work that way, Kerry. Not if you have an emotional connection.”

  “I had to try,” she said unevenly. “Smitty was my friend, my best friend. I think in time we might have been even closer. But we didn't have that time. He died, and I couldn't bear to feel that same . . .”

  “It's hell.” His voice harshened. “Do you think you're unique? Do you think none of us has had your special experience? It goes with the territory.”

  “Well, it's not my territory. I don't want anything to do with it.” Her glance shifted back to him. “Or you. Michael told me there were all kinds of talents on both a major and a minor scale, but I never thought there would be anyone like you. You're an abomination.”

  “That's not an uncommon response. It's sometimes bearable to have someone peek into your thought processes but not to change them.” He shrugged. “I've learned to live with it. You'll find this particular abomination can be very useful to you.”

  “I don't want to use you. I want you to go away.”

  “But you haven't let me tell you what I could do for you.”

  “Nothing. There's nothing I'd ever want you to do for me.”

  “On the contrary. I can give you what you've wanted all your life.” He paused. “He does have a face, you know. And somewhere deep in your mind you know what he looks like. You just haven't been able to fight through the horror of that night to bring the memory to the forefront.”

  “And you're supposed to be able to do that for me?” She shook her head. “After I woke from that coma, the police tried everything including hypnosis to help me remember. It was just gone. The concussion and coma erased it.”

  “But not permanently. It's just hidden. I can help you bring it out in the open. It won't be easy, but I can do it.”

  “I don't
believe you. If I could have remembered, I would have done it already. Do you think I don't want to see that bastard punished? He killed my mother. He left her in that burning house to die.” Her voice was shaking. “They told me later that there were only her bones left to bury when they finally were able to put out the fire.”

  “You don't want to find him enough to bring back the memory.”

  “Bullshit.” She stood up. “I don't believe you can help me, and even if you could, I wouldn't risk dealing with you.”

  “Because you're afraid I'd mess with your mind. I promise not to do that. I usually don't barge in without permission.”

  “Like you did in the closet?”

  “That was necessary. I didn't want you to have a breakdown before I could put my proposition in front of you.”

  She stared at him in amazement. So cool, so hard. “That would have been inconvenient for you.”

  “Yes.” One corner of his lips lifted in a sardonic smile. “I couldn't afford the time to find another talent like you. Sorry if you're disappointed in my lack of the milk of human kindness. I have to move too hard and fast to try to finesse you. And I'd judge you're too honest and straightforward to appreciate a snow job.”

  “I'm straightforward enough to turn you down and tell you to get out of my life.”

  “Aren't you even curious what I want from you?”

  “No.” It was a lie. She was curious. How could she not be?

  “I want you to find a monster. A monster who makes the man who killed your mother look angelic in comparison.”

  “Who?”

  He shook his head. “I have to have a commitment. I promised Travis I wouldn't give away the show unless I was sure you'd keep it confidential. Some people would tell you it's your patriotic duty. I don't give a damn about patriotic duty.” His expression was flint hard. “I just want you to find him.”

  “And I don't like having my duty defined by you, the government, or anyone else.” She opened the screen door. “So you've put your proposition to me and I've refused. Now go away.”

  He shook his head. “This was just the opening foray. I knew you wouldn't cave right away. I'll have to keep after you until you agree.”

  “If I see you anywhere near here, I'll call the police.”

  He got to his feet. “Then you won't see me. But I'll be here. Think about it. The son of a bitch who killed your mother is still making you a prisoner. Don't you want to be free? Don't you want to see him burning in hell?”

  “I'm not even giving that question the courtesy of an answer.”

  “Then let me light the match to send him there.” His soft voice was coaxing and his expression lit with intensity. “Believe me. I can do it.”

  She almost did believe him in that moment. Every muscle in his body seemed electrified by purpose. My God, she had recognized his strength of will in their last meeting, but now she realized she had barely skimmed the surface.

  All the more reason to avoid any contact with him. Even when he wasn't using that talent she found so repulsive, he was far too persuasive. Yet he didn't try to hide either the ruthlessness or blunt self-interest that seemed integral to his character. He was a stranger who wanted a service from her, and she couldn't trust him or believe him. “You can't help me. Good-bye, Mr. Silver.”

  He smiled. “I almost had you there for a minute, didn't I?”

  “No way.”

  He nodded. “Yes. You were edging close. You want what I can give you, but you're afraid. That's understandable. But it's not been a bad night's work for me. It's a relief to know I may not have to get radical.”

  She stiffened. “Radical?”

  “Never mind. Have a good night, Kerry.” He glanced at the gazebo. “You did a good job of painting that gazebo. But it needs another coat.”

  “I know that. Tomorrow.”

  “But you won't be too tired tomorrow. You'll sleep well.” His gaze never left the gazebo. “I know you're worried the nightmares will come back, but it's not going to happen.”

  “What?”

  He looked back at her. “A little gift for you. A down payment for future services.” He started across the lawn toward the gate. “And a demonstration of how useful I can be.”

  “What the hell? I don't want any gifts. I want you to stay out of—”

  He was gone.

  And good riddance, Kerry thought, as she entered the house and locked the kitchen door. She was shivering, she realized. He had disturbed her almost as much as the first time they had met with his talk of the monster he wanted her to find.

  She had enough demons of her own. She didn't need to search out any for him. His so-called gifts were definitely suspect. Particularly if he could twist her perception of reality as he'd done before. It still seemed almost impossible that such a talent existed. It frightened her. She wanted to hide her head beneath a blanket as she'd done as a child. The sensible adult alternative was to avoid Silver like the plague, and she had been right not to have been swayed by him.

  You're worried the nightmares will come back, but it's not going to happen.

  And that frightened her too. Not only that he'd known about the nightmares, but that he said he could prevent them. She felt . . . tampered with.

  But it wouldn't happen. He was probably using positive reinforcement on the chance that maybe he'd strike it lucky. But the nightmares always came, and they were so strong she couldn't believe that anything would stop them.

  He's still making you a prisoner.

  Forget Silver. Go to bed and lie there fighting sleep. Because, in spite of what he said, she knew the nightmares would come.

  Smoke.

  Hurting her lungs.

  If she opened her eyes, she knew that she'd see the flames.

  Silver had lied. Why was she feeling this terrible disappointment? It only proved her will was strong enough to resist whatever suggestion he'd tried to implant.

  Crackle of flames.

  Soon her mother would come in the door and wake her.

  Heat.

  Mama!

  Her eyes flew open.

  Flames eating the curtains of the guest room like a hungry gargoyle.

  Guest room?

  Jason's guest room. No dream.

  Fire!

  The next instant she was out of bed and running for the door to the hall.

  Billowing smoke.

  “Jason! Laura! Get out of here.”

  “I'm on my way.” Jason's bedroom door was open and he was half carrying Laura out of the room, wrapped in a blanket. “She's hurt. She tried to put out the fire in the drapes and her nightgown caught—”

  “Downstairs. Get her outside.” Flames were breaking out all over the house. Random. Crazy. No pattern. No connection. The banisters. Then the table in the hall.

  Oh, God, the front door was suddenly an inferno.

  “The kitchen door.” Kerry nudged them toward the back of the house. “Quick.”

  Please, God. Not the kitchen door. Let them be able to get through the back door.

  The kitchen cabinets were ablaze with a fire so hot it was melting the hardware.

  But the kitchen door was still untouched by the flames.

  She threw the lock and opened the door. “Out!”

  She didn't have to tell Jason. He was already down the steps and halfway across the yard. Kerry flew after him. “Put her down. Let me look at her.”

  “She's hurting.” Tears were running down Jason's face. “She was moaning when I was carrying her down the—”

  “But she's alive.” She swallowed as she looked at Laura's arms and shoulders. Christ. “Stay with her. Hold her. I'm going to run next door and call 911.”

  “Hurry. For God's sake, hurry.”

  She darted across the yard toward the gate. Call 911. Get help.

  Pain shot through her temples and she had to clutch the gate to keep from falling.

  Monster. Monster. Smiling.

  He was sitting at the wheel o
f a tan SUV over a block away, staring at the flames destroying the house. He loved looking at the fires. They were the proof of his power. No, it was the deaths that were the proof. The fires were just the weapons.

  But this fire was not a total success. The small dish still needed work. He couldn't control it from this distance and couldn't be sure that Kerry Murphy had been killed. Well, there was one way to be certain.

  He started the SUV and pulled away from the curb. Time to get out of here before the last hurrah. . . .

  He pressed the remote control in his hand.

  Kerry heard a whoosh that was like the sucking sound of a tornado beside her.

  Jason's house was destroyed in the space of seconds.

  4

  Let go of the damn gate.” Silver was prying her clenched hands from the metal. “You have to get out of here. There are sparks flying all over the place.”

  “Laura,” she said numbly. “911.”

  “I've already called them.” He pushed her toward the street. “You go out to the street and guide them while I get Jason and Laura away from these sparks.”

  She shook her head to clear it of the throbbing pain and then started for the street. Laura. She was the only one who was important. They had to save Laura.

  Don't think about the monster.

  Silver came into the hospital waiting room and handed Kerry a cup of coffee. “How is she doing?”

  “She's going to live.” She took a drink of coffee. “But they don't know about the baby. They're trying to save him now.”

  “I'll think good thoughts.” He sat down beside her. “She was almost full term?”

  “Eight months. He has a good chance.” She stared at the clock. “It's been two hours. You'd think they'd—”

  “It's a boy?”

  She nodded. “They were going to name him Pete.” She drew a deep breath. “They are going to name him Pete. I won't be negative. God wouldn't let this happen to Jason and Laura. They want a child so much. They've been trying for the past three years. They were going to adopt if she couldn't conceive, but then the miracle happened. At least it was a miracle to them.” She sipped her coffee. “I won't give up hope.”