Unleash Me: Vol. 3

by Christina Ross

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I pushed the door open, and saw a whirling spiral of brilliant flames tunneling at the front of the room. And then there was part of the Camry itself—the twisted wreckage of the hood, crumpled beyond recognition—that must have slammed through the room’s only window when the car exploded.

  The window also was on fire, but far worse was that, with so much fresh air pouring into the room, the window may as well have been a lung, bathing the flames with oxygen and feeding them while they grew.

  Despite the smoke that stung my eyes and made me want to close them shut, I managed to look left, toward the room’s only other doorway, and saw that it too was raging with fire. With only a few glances, I absorbed the truth of my situation—none of which was good.

  Fire was all around me. It clung to the woodwork, hovered in churning ripples along the ceiling, twisted behind me, and snaked along the window in front of me, making it look like a rectangular door that led straight into hell.

  Drop to the floor. Get down where there are still pockets of air.

  I dropped to the floor and pressed my cheek against the hot linoleum, and in the same movement, I shut the door behind me in an effort to buy time. Despite the blast of searing heat that was turning this room into an oven, at least I could breathe here—even if my ability to do so was only fleeting. I looked around, and for the first time, registered that I was in the kitchen.

  With the gun in my hand, I crawled along the floor until I couldn’t go any farther. The fire was a living, growing barrier that prevented my exit.

  You’re going to die here.

  The hell I am.

  Then you better think of something fast, girl.

  There was a sink to my left. I lifted my head and saw a few hand towels on the counter next to it. If I was going to get out of here, I somehow had to soak those towels with water, drape them over my body, and run as fast as I could through the fire and out of the room.

  What if it’s worse in the next room?

  Then I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Isn’t it obvious? You will have lost.

  I haven’t lost yet.

  I closed my eyes so they were barely slits and took several deep breaths to fill my lungs with the clean air that rapidly was dissipating, holding the last breath before standing and running over to the sink. The smoke was too much. My eyes started to burn so badly that they instinctively began to close. Then, as I coughed and gagged on the smoke squeezing down onto me, I put the gun on the counter, turned on the water, and doused my face and eyes with the cool stream before drinking from it to ease the burning sensation in my throat. On impulse, I stuck my whole head under the water and soaked my hair before reaching for the towels.

  There were four of them. Within a matter of seconds, I’d drenched them with water and placed one over my head, another over my shoulders, and another over my back. The last one I kept in my hand to cover my face when the time came to run.

  None of this was nearly enough to fully protect me—I knew that some part of me would burn or catch fire—but it’s all that I had, and I was damned if I wasn’t going to fight to get out of here.

  So move.

  Covered in the wet towels, I grabbed the gun from the countertop, dropped to my hands and knees, and pressed my cheek against the floor, where there still was clear air to breathe deeply. I filled my lungs with it, coughing and hacking as I did so, and then sucked in more air before moving low toward the flames in an effort to find a way out.

  The heat of the fire started to thrum against my body as if warning me against getting closer to it—the force was that great. I felt my skin start to burn, and knew I needed to be quick. I looked at the door to my left, which was wide open and encased in flames. What I saw gave me hope. Just beyond the door, was a staircase that also was on fire, but not completely. Only part of the banister was burning, not the stairs.

  Get to the second floor.

  I’ll never make it past those flames.

  You will if you’re fast. You’re wearing at least some protection. Keep your face covered with the wet towel and reach out for the railing. You have no choice.

  What the hell am I going to do on the second floor?

  Jump out a window.

  A second floor window?

  That’s right.

  And break my legs?

  What’s worse? Breaking your legs or burning alive? Now, move!

  For once, the inner voice that had taunted me for so long was giving me the only direction I could choose. I committed the staircase and its position to memory, and then, with the towel fully covering my face, ran as fast as I could through the fire, which singed me. I rushed through the burning door and hooked a left, almost slipping on the melting linoleum. I then grabbed the railing with my right hand. I screamed when I stumbled, but then I caught myself from falling, dropped the towel so I could see, and scrambled up the rest of the stairs.

  There was a searing pain along my ankle. I looked down and saw that the bottom of my pants had caught fire.

  In a mad frenzy, I slapped away the flames, feeling my skin burn as I put the fire out. Then, I pushed forward toward the second floor, where the smoke was growing thicker along the ceiling. At the top of the stairs, I dropped to my stomach and took a breath of clean air. I pressed the wet towel against my open eyes to quell the stinging, and then tried to discern where I was.

  A hallway stretched to my right and to my left. All of the doors were closed, but instinct told me to scramble to the left and toward a door at the end of the hallway. There, I knew I could make my escape because through that door would be the street side of the house. There also was the possibility that the fire hadn’t reached that room yet, but I didn’t know for sure because the door was shut. Still, I rolled the dice and crawled as quickly as I could toward it.

  When I reached the door, I stood, opened it, and saw that it was a bedroom—three twin beds filled the room.

  There was no fire here yet. The air was clean. I looked around and saw a window to my left. I walked over to it, and looked outside. Time slowed. Tank was standing in the middle of the street with a handful of people, some who were wearing their nightclothes beneath winter jackets to keep out the January cold. Although I couldn’t hear him above the fire’s roar, it looked as if he was shouting at the house, the entrance to which was now fully encased in flames.

  The neighbors are there, but still no police. Still no fire department. Why?

  I looked down, where the Camry had exploded into the kitchen, and saw Cutter and Max almost immediately. I was so excited to see them there that I flung open the window without a second thought.

  That turned out to be my greatest mistake.

  Oxygen rushed into a room that was starved for it, and then, for reasons that purely came down to physics, whatever oxygen was left on the second floor was sucked through the window with such force that it created a vacuum.

  At the sound of the window opening, I saw Tank and the others look up at me, but I had no time to say anything to them. I had to hurry.

  Shut the door!

  I started to run toward it, but I was too late. Already, I heard a rumbling. Already, there was a bright, fiery glow roiling down the hallway toward me. I saw the massive blast of fire as it rolled into the room, and then, as quickly as I could, I dropped flat onto the floor as the ball of fire shot over me, scorching through the window, and blasting into the night air like a violent, unrelenting bloom that had found its spring.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  For a moment, still shaken that I’d managed to survive the blast, all I could do was lie flat on the floor. I turned onto my back and saw that the curtains above me had caught fire. Worse, the flames were reaching toward the ceiling and moving up the antique-looking wallpaper on either side of the window.

  The room is going to go up. I need to get out of here.

  “Lisa!”

  The call came from the street.

  Tank.

&
nbsp; “Lisa!”

  Thank God it was Tank.

  I sat up, feeling the heat of the flames press against my face, and then saw what needed to be done before I could safely get to the window and answer him.

  I picked up the wet towel that had fallen off my shoulders, stood, and smacked the towel against the curtains until it was safe enough to yank them down and throw them out the window in a billowing tumble of smoking fabric.

  Snuffing the fire fleeing up the walls was easier—it was a solid surface and the flames had only just begun to grow. Within minutes, the flames were out, and I was safe. For now. I looked up at the ceiling, and was relieved to see that it had only turned black due to the smoke. I turned to look around me, saw that smoke was leaching into the room from the hallway, and then went to the open window.

  Below me, on the sidewalk, were the flashing lights of police cars and two ambulances. They must have just arrived. Still, there was no sign of fire trucks. Not yet at least. I looked down and saw paramedics lifting the dead devil man onto a stretcher. Then, I saw Tank, who was directly beneath the window with his arms opened wide.

  “Jump!” he said.

  I couldn’t have heard him right. If I jumped and he missed, I’d almost certainly break my legs. If I fell the wrong way, I could hit my head on the sidewalk, which could be deadly because I wouldn’t exactly be dropping onto grass—I’d be dropping onto pavement. I shook my head at him. “You want me to jump?”

  “It’s only a twelve-foot drop. You know I won’t miss. I’ll absorb your impact. I’ve done this before in combat. You need to get out of that house before it’s too late. The fire is—”

  At that moment, the house shook violently as the window to my right exploded into the night air sending glass shattering onto the people below. The burst of flames that followed somersaulted toward the sky.

  The fire was closer to my room than I thought. I left the window, ran over to the door, and was shocked to see just how quickly it had spread down the hallway. Now, it was only a matter of feet away from reaching me. I looked at it in horror—it was raging toward me, destroying everything in its path.

  I slammed the door shut against it. My time here was running out. I hurried back to the window and looked down at Tank, whose arms were still held high.

  “Jump!” he called.

  “I’m scared!”

  “I’ll walk you through it! I’ll catch you!

  “What if you miss?”

  “I won’t miss. You need to trust me.”

  Behind me, I heard the door groaning and swelling from the pressure building against it. The smoke had started to spill into the room. It seeped around all the spaces where the door didn’t fit tightly. If that fire could blow out a window, then it certainly could blow open a door.

  And it’s going to.

  Shaking, I turned to Tank.

  “Put your legs through the window first!” he shouted above the sirens. “Sit on the sill! When you’re ready, push yourself off it and drop! I’ll catch you!”

  I felt paralyzed by fear.

  It’s not that far.

  There’s no way he’ll catch me. I’ll fall too fast.

  Have you seen your boyfriend lately? He’s five times your size. He can catch you. But it’s your choice—so choose, girl. You’re about to burn to death—that’s your worst option. That door isn’t going to hold forever. Listen to it. The fire is coming after the oxygen that’s in this room. It wants to feast on it. So move your ass before you lose your chance to escape.

  “Trust him!” a woman’s voice called out. “Jump, Lisa!”

  It was Blackwell’s voice, but it came from a distance. I looked for her in the fiery light that had overtaken the city street, and saw her running down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. Jennifer and Alex were running just ahead of her.

  “I’m frightened!” I screamed.

  “You have no choice,” Jennifer said.

  There was another explosion, this time at the far end of the house. I heard people shout out in fear, likely because a cascade of bricks followed the glass that fell to the pavement.

  “Please!” Tank said.

  Burn alive… or fall? Which is worse? You know the answer. Do this.

  Tentatively, I put my right foot through the window, centered myself on the sill so I could eventually sit on it, and then braced myself by holding on to the woodwork on either side of the window.

  When I felt somewhat secure, I lifted my left foot through the window, and felt the foulness of the night air wash over me. The smoke was so thick that it cut off my breath as black veils of soot drifted past me. Across the street, I saw two fire trucks turn into view, their lights spinning and sirens sounding. I looked down, saw that Tank was waiting to catch me, and then looked at Jennifer, Blackwell and Alex.

  That’s when the door behind me blew into the room.

  The force was so great, it was as if someone had pushed me out the window.

  That’s when I fell.

  That’s when I struck something hard.

  And that’s when everything went dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  When I opened my eyes, it was into a blinding tunnel of light.

  People surrounded me. I could hear talking. Something had been placed over my nose and my mouth. I felt somebody squeeze my hand, and then I heard his voice: “She’s awake,” he said.

  Tank. It’s Tank. Thank God it’s him. Thank God I’m alive.

  Where was I? My eyes, which were raw from the smoke, squinted into the light, and I looked around at all of the beeping, flashing machines that surrounded me. I started to feel claustrophobic until I realized that I was in the safety of an ambulance.

  “I’m with you,” Tank said. “Jennifer, Alex, and Blackwell are just outside. You can’t see them, but they can see you. They’re here with you. The paramedics are giving you oxygen. It shouldn’t be much longer before your lungs are clear. You landed right into my arms, just as I knew you would.”

  My voice sounded raspy and muffled when I spoke. Worse, my throat hurt like hell, likely due to the amount of smoke I’d taken in. “Tank, I’m sorry—”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. You just went through hell, and still you survived. Still, you got out. Against all odds, you’re free. I’m so proud of you, Lisa. We’ll discuss everything that happened to you with the police tomorrow. Not tonight. I won’t let them near you tonight, despite what they want.”

  He was seated at my left, and when I turned my head to look at him, he lifted my hand and kissed the back of it with such meaning, I felt the core of him sink into my soul. I’d never seen him like this. Never so emotional or rattled. His eyes were bright with a mixture of relief and concern. He smiled at me, but it was a forced smile. A troubled one. And I knew why. He was trying to keep it together for me.

  I squeezed his hand back with everything I had. The love I felt for him now knew no bounds—not that there were many before. Still, after this? The dynamic between us had changed. Seeing him so vulnerable and obviously so fearful for me underscored just how much he loved me. I’d never felt that kind of love before. Not this deep. Never this total, protective, and encompassing.

  I’m so grateful that he’s in my life.

  “How long have I been out?” I asked.

  “Ten minutes?”

  “Do I have to go to the hospital?”

  “Your vital signs are fine. You breathed in a fair amount of smoke, and you have an abrasion at your temple that was crudely bandaged when we found you, but it’s properly dressed now. You’ve also lost a tooth, and you have a burn on your ankle, which has been treated and isn’t as bad as it looks. The good news is that you’re breathing better now. Your oxygen levels are almost normal. That said, I have to tell you that they do want to take you to a hospital to be sure that you’re OK.”

  “Unless it’s absolutely necessary, I’m not about to exchange one prison for another—the hospital would probably keep me overnigh
t when all I want is to be home with you. Let’s see how I feel in a few minutes. Can you ward them off?”

  “They want to take you in.”

  “But can you do it?”

  He nodded.

  “Tell me you got them,” I said about the men who took me captive. “Tell me you found them in that cheap fucking van of theirs.”

  “The police found them. You were smart to tip off that cab driver before they abducted you. That man is a hero—he called the police right away. All along, we’ve had their plate number and the make of their van. We’ve been searching two days for it and for you. What I can promise you now is that they never will bother you again.”

  “They murdered people, Tank. Dozens of people. No one will believe what I saw in that basement. And now the evidence is going up in flames. They’re going to walk because of that.”

  “No, they aren’t,” he said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because of what was in the van.”

  Dead Esther.

  “There was blood on the walls and on the floor,” he said.

  “There was the dead body of a woman named Esther in the van when they pulled me into it. I never saw her—I only smelled her. She was rotting. Later, when I asked what the smell was, they told me that it belonged to a woman named Esther. They also told me that she’d been thrown into the Hudson. Beyond the blood and what they told me, where is the evidence that would lock them away?”

  “One of them is talking,” he said. “One of them wants to strike a deal with the police in hopes of receiving a lighter sentence. Already, he’s said plenty, enough to lock them away for life. We’ve got them, Lisa. So, rest now. Breathe easier. They’re all going down. We have all of them in custody.”

  “No, you don’t. Not all of them. They told me that there are more of them out there. Hundreds.”

  “We know about that. I told you, he’s talking. He wants to get off easily—he won’t, but for now, let’s let him believe what he wants to believe. Let’s let him talk. Because the more he talks, the closer the police will come to shutting all of this down. It’ll happen. He’s that eager. He’ll keep rambling, and we’ll get to the root of all of it. You’ll see.”