by Wild, Nikki
But there was that gleam in his eyes again—like the edge of a knife glinting at the edge of the spotlight beating down on me. I’d been thinking about paradoxes back in the hotel room with him, and now I understood that I was his paradox—the girl who meant everything, and yet nothing at all.
Part trophy, part empty vessel. I slumped in the chair. I was going to be sick.
He stood beside me. He was wearing opera gloves. Fuck, Gunner had it right—this guy thought he was the Phantom.
“So I turn’d to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore.”
He touched my hair, peeling it away from my face. I tried to bite him and he jumped. Then he laughed and stepped behind me.
“And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys and desires.”
His thick, musky breath was on my ear. “That’s a poem about death. The death of love. And loss. And, ultimately, disappointment.”
He pushed off the back of my chair and I fell forward, just barely catching myself with my feet. I teetered precariously, my stomach flopping. I was so close to the edge of the stage. If I plummeted off, I’d land right on my face on the exposed concrete below. I’d crack my head open, my brains would fly out, and I’d die. I’d die.
I didn’t want to die.
My stalker jerked me back, tilting me onto the chair’s rear legs so I was staring straight up at him like he was some kind of deranged dentist on Halloween. Goddamn him, I was shaking. I was shaking and scared, and he could see it. I didn’t want him to.
I wanted to be brave. To look as unaffected as he did. But I couldn’t do it. I was too raw. Too human.
Bully for me.
“Do you know why I’m disappointed, Sandra?”
I recoiled. “Sandra? Who the fuck is—”
He drove his knee into my right hand, pinning it to the chair’s frame. Beneath my bloody bandages, my burn sizzled.
“Don’t lie to me. Don’t you fucking do that. Not again. Not anymore.”
I bit my tongue, holding back the tide of bile and fury that wanted to gush out of me all at once. If I was going to live through this, I was going to have to breathe. Maybe even play along. I closed my eyes and inhaled deep through my nose. Breathe. Just breathe.
When I opened my eyes again, I steadied my voice and asked, “Why?”
He let me down onto the stage again. Onto solid ground. Bliss. But then he jerked my head back by my hair and agony ripped through my skull.
“I’m disappointed because the first time I killed you, you didn’t die.”
The first time?
I stared at him, breathless, unable to even blink. My lips were dry and cracking. I could feel that the lower one had split already—probably back in the hotel room when he’d hit me. I pulled the scab apart with my teeth, but didn’t dare say a word.
I wanted to ask. I needed to ask. But more than that, I needed to live. And that meant playing his game.
I just wished I knew what the fuck the rules were.
I tried. “I’m sorry?”
“You should be,” he hissed. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me. The hatred in his eyes. “I spent so much time on you. Making sure...”
He released me, disgusted. I took a moment to compose myself. C’mon, Tanya. Think. How are we gonna get out of this one?
“It’s no coincidence I found you,” he muttered. “Even though I wasn’t looking. Even though I’d practically forgotten you.” I kept quiet, and he continued. “I was looking for her. For Chelsea. Your spawn, and my...”
He looked right into the spotlight. “My sick rose.”
I remembered what he’d said the first time we’d met. How he’d killed his mother. Suffocated her with her own panties, the sick freak. Chelsea—my Chelsea? I knew her mother was dead, but...
Holy shit. This was Chelsea’s brother?!
Looks like I’m not the only one trying to escape the past.
“You ruined everything that night,” he snarled, turning on me once again. “When I saw you up there, reveling in the whore that you are... I didn’t understand. Tell me,” he shrieked, fingers sinking into my throat. “Tell me how you came back, you bitch!”
I struggled to make a sound, even though I knew there was nothing I could say. He was insane. Bona fide crazy. Tears sprang to my eyes. Was this what was in store for me and Gunner? Was this what our kind of dark and twisted love turned into?
My head was starting to throb—no oxygen. I remembered this feeling from when I’d nearly died just a few days before. When that fire had raged through my apartment... When Gunner had waltzed back into my life and saved me like it was nothing. I wanted him to do that now. I wanted him to show up and take me away, breathe life into me all over again...
Please...
“I know how to get rid of you now, mother,” he spat so close to my face. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see him—his mask—his rage. “You’re a myth. A legend. The Lilith of our time. Mother of monsters, demons. This time, I’ll be right here. I won’t leave you. Not until I’m sure you’re dead.”
Just as blackness began to overtake me, he let me go. I wheezed in a breath that hurt worse than him strangling me had. I was choking on my swollen throat. I could barely swallow.
But I could see just fine. See the psycho in front of me as he took something out of his pocket. Smell the sudden stench of phosphorous in the air. A blue flame pricked along his finger. He’d lit a match and now held it in front of his face.
My heart threatened to stop beating. I looked down at the ground—really looked at it for the very first time. It was smeared with something red. Something like what he’d left for me in Gunner’s house.
He was going to blow me to smithereens.
“It’s just like Father always said,” he murmured, staring into my eyes. “Fire fixes everything.”
“Please,” I rasped. “Jesus—fuck—please! You don’t have to...”
He dropped the match. The stage erupted around me. Beside me. Beneath me. A ring of fire leaping higher than I was tall. My own personal hell.
In mere moments, I was consumed.
Chapter 21
Gunner
“This is central dispatch. 10-33 Code 1 in progress, building fire on 32nd and Marathon at the old Washington Theatre—”
“Son of a bitch,” Simon muttered as he pulled the car into reverse, squealing out of the parking space like a bat out of hell. My stomach felt like it was being pushed back into the seat as he put the car in park and burned rubber out into the street.
“He has her, Simon,” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. I could almost picture Connor there, standing over her body—that fucked up mask with its perpetual frown looking down at her while he laughed. “That piece of shit has my sister.”
“Get on the phone and call the cops,” he snapped. “They don’t know that she’s there. They need to know that they’ve got someone inside, otherwise they aren’t going to send anyone in there after her.”
My fingers felt numb as I tried to dial those three simple numbers. I kept seeing Tanya lying dead in the reflection of my screen. Simon hit his brakes hard, sending us into a sharp turn as his back tires skidded over the asphalt.
“We’ll be there in no time so long as I don’t get pulled over.”
I shook my head, putting the phone to my ear as I heard the sound of the 9-1-1 operator’s voice come over the line.
“9-1-1 Emergency, what’s the nature of your call?”
“The fire on 32nd and Marathon,” I blurted out as Simon barreled through a red light, nearly taking out a pick-up truck in the process.
“We already have units dispatched to—”
“No, you don’t understand. Someone is inside of the building. Possibly two.”
“Can I please have your name, sir?” the
woman asked, doing her best to stay on script.
“Gunner Cole. I work for the fire department.”
“We have units on the way to that location, Mr. Cole. You need to stay calm and everything will be just—”
I slammed my thumb into the “end call” button, cutting her off before she could finish telling me my least favorite lie. Everything seemed to blur as I held tight onto the overhead handle in Simons car, gripping it hard as he took us through another one of his G-force inducing turns. I’d be lucky if I ever made it to the fire with the way he drove.
“This is really fucking bad, Simon.”
“Yeah, I was sort of able to figure that out, but we’re almost there.”
“And then what? I’m not exactly geared up to head into a fire.”
“You didn’t fucking hire me as a problem-solver, Gunner. All I can do right now is make sure you get there. Hopefully in time to get your sister out. Alive.”
Simon and I sped past another red light and finally made our way to the intersection at 32nd and Marathon. The fire was not immediately apparent—only the black, acrid smoke billowing out of the many boarded up windows gave any indication to its existence. My heart began to sink as I caught the first glimpses of fiery tongues flitting in and out of one of the lower windows like a perverse lizard. As we put the car into park we finally heard the police scanner crackle to life again.
“Be advised, we have reports of a civilian inside the building. All units proceed with caution.”
The sirens were deafening, like banshee screams coming from all directions as fire engines barreled down the roads, full compliments of firefighters riding along. As the trucks came screeching to a halt along the road, blocking off both ends of the intersection I noticed that my own company had come in response to the fire.
“Gunner!” someone called over the keening cry of the sirens. I turned my head to find the Captain hustling over. “The hell’re you doing here? You’re not—”
“I’m here to help,” I said. “Get me some gear and I’m ready to go.”
“What the hell do you think this is, son? We’re in an emergency and I’m already a man down. Stoggins is missing.”
Stoggins is missing? My mind whirled. I had only hoped that the lazy son-of-a-bitch had just forgotten to go check on her, something I was going to chew him out for the next time I’d see him—but if both Tanya and Stoggins were missing, then something bad had definitely happened.
“I’m your best guy, Captain. I can help. I know you keep a spare set of gear on the truck, just let me at it and I’m good to go.”
“Dammit, Gunner. Fine. But I don’t want you playing hero in there, this is fucking serious.”
I gave him a grim smile. “I won’t let you down, boss.”
I couldn’t tell the Captain that my sister was in there, otherwise he’d never have let me go in—I’d have been labeled “emotionally compromised.” But sitting on the side lines was not something I was willing to put up with today.
I geared myself up faster than I’d ever done in my life. The gear on the truck was a little tight on me, but more than sufficient to still be able to move around without too much trouble. The weight of the gear felt good, like an old friend to comfort me when I needed it most. I felt like I was ready for anything.
“All right!” I heard the Captain’s loud, booming voice rising over the din. “We’ve got a reported civilian trapped inside. I want four of you inside searching while the rest of you focus on containment. No fucking hero bullshit.”
I knew that last comment was directed at me, and part of me was almost sorry that I’d have to completely disobey the order—but that was only a small part. This was so much more than my usual stunts, the usual macho big damn hero crap I loved so much, this time it meant something more than just a stroke to my ego—my little sister was one there—no, the woman I loved was in there. I wasn’t about to let her down, even if it meant my own life.
I made damn sure that I was on the team that breached the theatre’s boarded up door. Connor must have managed to find himself a less conspicuous way inside, but Connor also didn’t have a battering ram. I watched as two firefighters slammed the heavy steel cylinder against the rotted wood. It caved almost immediately, sending a gout of flames out to greet us.
Behind me, I heard the roar of water pumps coming to life as the hoses began to stream high-powered jets of water toward the flames that had begun climbing out of the lower windows and up the outer walls.
“Go!” one of the men on the battering ram shouted, and the other three men hustled inside of the building. What I saw I had seen a thousand times before, but somehow it all seemed so much more frightening.
I wasn’t sure if it was my own nerves, or the fact that what I could lose in this fire meant so much more to me than it ever had. It wasn’t just me or my friends who could get hurt—trained professionals who knew exactly what could happen with a single slip-up or even the slightest bit of bad luck. No, this fire could cost me my whole family, which turned a routine blaze into a trip to the mouth of Hell.
The fire around us was creeping its way up the walls, crawling like a mass of snakes that kept eating and giving birth to one another again and again. I took a moment, focused on the sound of my respirator, the steady rhythm helping me find an island of calm in the storm that my thoughts and emotions had become.
“Structure still looks sound upstairs. I’m gonna head up, Freddy and me up and Gunner and Tim down here. Maybe whoever’s in here got stuck in the upper seats,” came a voice over my earpiece, corresponding to the movements of one of the firefighters at my side. I nodded my agreement and made my way toward the large set of double doors that would lead down to the stage.
I pushed hard, throwing my shoulder against the old wooden doors, but to no avail. What little the door did give appeared to be hindered by something shoved against it from the other side. I peeked through the small crack I’d manage to make, seeing the jumbled legs of the theatre seats piled half-way up the door.
“Fucking bastard,” I breathed, looking around for another way to get inside.
Places like this always have a cast entrance, I thought. I can get to the stage from there.
I could only hope that I was right, or that Connor hadn’t blocked that door off, as well. Through the smoke I spied a hallway leading along the outer wall, and against all the terrible possibilities I saw before me, I chose to believe that it would lead to the dressing rooms and the back stage access.
I had to believe that. If I didn’t, then there was no hope left. No hope for Tanya. And without her, no hope left for me.
Shameful to say, my knowledge of theatre didn’t come from any actual dramatic experience—no, I’d learned all about the back workings of theatrics through my own boyhood need to find more daring make-out spots. I’d never imagined that it would come in handy, especially not now.
I walked cautiously through the smoke-filled hallway, doing my best to read the tiny brass plaques on every door. I’d at least discovered that I had picked the right hallways, finally discovering a heavy wooden door that read “Cast & Crew Only.”
Once again I threw my weight against the door, my heart sinking when it didn’t budge on the first try. I felt my pulse in my ears, drowning out my thoughts as I once again flung my body against the stubborn thing.
To my surprise, the door not only opened, but practically fell off of its hinges, sending me stumbling to the floor on top of the half-rotted thing. I let out a groan of pain as I slowly pushed myself up to my feet.
“Everything all right down there?” I heard over the radio.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said, rolling my shoulder to make sure I hadn’t dislocated it.
The others all sounded off as I looked around through the hazy darkness. Despite all of the smoke, I couldn’t see any evidence that the fire in the lobby had spread back toward the stage, in fact the fire hadn’t managed to touch this part of the theatre at all—not yet, anyway. It wa
s too perfect. Something in my gut told me that I was getting closer and closer to finding Connor and Tanya. Connor liked theatrics—he was the kind of guy who enjoyed a show—and what better place to put one on than on the stage itself?
I walked past the forlorn stage equipment that lay strewn backstage, the sounds of a conversation reaching my ears as I crept closer to the stage proper. Luckily I had more than enough cover from the heavy curtains left behind when the theatre was closed, blocking Connor from even noticing my approach.
“Fire fixes everything,” I heard him say, his words ringing clearly across the stage. I reached out, pushing the curtains aside just in time to watch as the tiny glimmer of a lit match fell from Connor’s hand, right onto a smeared ring of red surrounding the crumpled body of my sister.
“Tanya!” I screamed, rushing out of the curtains like a bat out of hell.
“No!” Connor snarled as I threw myself into the ring of fire. It was spreading quickly, lighting up the wood beneath her and already starting to catch on the legs of her chair. I lifted it up just in time, pulling both the chair and Tanya from the flames, cutting away at the ropes with a knife I kept in my boot as quickly as I could.
I couldn’t carry her like this. Not strapped to the chair. Before I could save my stepsister, I had to set her loose.
“She has to die!”
Without warning, I felt something hit me from behind, square in the middle of my back. I stumbled sideways, tripping on the uneven floorboards in the stage and toppling over.
I saw stars as the pain in my back flared, then began to ebb away. I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could, the heaviness of my gear weighing me down, slowing my movements. I searched desperately for my knife, something to defend myself with.
I’d lost it somewhere. Let it skitter away into the fire and smoke and darkness creeping in from all around us.
Fuck.
“She won’t leave here alive,” Connor said. “Not while I’m still breathing!” He was at my side suddenly, emerging from the toxic black clouds like a monster out of the fog. He pushed me with all his might in an attempt to topple me again and I used his momentum to move with him instead, though I still damn near lost my balance.
