Flaming Crimes

by Chrys Fey

  She hung up the hose and jogged back to her own house. Standing there was her neighbor Karen. Karen’s house was the one right next door. They shared the same woods and saw each other when they came home or went to get the mail. When Hurricane Sabrina had ripped off Beth’s screened-in porch, it had slammed into Karen’s house.

  Beth hurried to her. “Karen.”

  Karen spun around and grabbed Beth’s arm. “Oh, Beth, I can’t believe this is happening. It doesn’t feel real.”

  Beth knew the feeling. Ever since Donovan had said it looked like the smokestacks were next to their house, she had felt as if she were in a dream.

  Guilt ripped through her. She hadn’t called Karen. Or pounded on any of her neighbor’s doors to let them know about the fire. All her actions, since she had jumped out of Donovan’s truck to gather a few possessions and call for help, hadn’t felt like her own. The one thing she remembered doing for Karen was trying to reach as much of her backyard as she could with the reach of their hose. Everything had happened so fast.

  “I tried to wet as much of your backyard as I could with my hose, but I should’ve called you. I’m so sorry.”

  Karen put her arms around Beth. “It’s okay. I’m just glad our houses are still standing.”

  Beth nodded. She was grateful for that, too. So far, no one’s house had been touched. “Do you need my help getting stuff out of your home?”

  “I grabbed a few things already. I was running around in circles in there because I could barely think.” She gave Beth an embarrassed smile. “I actually brought out a bag of potatoes. And a reporter from the newspaper came up to me and asked me my name.” She covered her face with her hands. “He got a picture of me doing that.”

  Despite the chaos, Beth gave a small laugh. “I brought out our coffeemaker and blender.”

  Karen laughed, too. Then her smile faded. “If I could, I’d put a giant bag around my whole house and carry it out of here.”

  Beth nodded. “So would I.”

  They turned back to look at their endangered homes. Neither of them said anything for several moments. They just held each other.

  “Excuse me?”

  Beth turned to see a man with a note pad and pen. He had a camera around his neck. “Is that your home?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure, but don’t use my full name or put my address in your paper.” She had heard about a young woman, a victim to these fires, whose address had been put in the newspaper along with her picture, and because of that, a prison inmate had written her a letter. Beth didn’t want the same thing happening to her, especially since there were a few inmates who would very much like her address, if they didn’t already have it.

  The reporter asked her questions, and she told him everything that had happened up to that point. As she spoke, her gaze kept drifting toward her house and the fire. She didn’t want to take her eyes off it for too long.

  “You said you saw the smokestacks on your way home and your husband knew it was here. What was the first thing that went through your head when you realized he was right?”

  Beth peered at her home. The fear she had felt at the moment was still with her. Her thought then continued to echo in the back of her mind now.

  “No,” she said. “No…”

  The reporter thanked her for her time and backed away. She watched him snap pictures of her house and the firefighters running back and forth.

  Karen put her hand on Beth’s arm. “I’m going to my car to call my husband again. He’s in Tampa and is trying to get back. I know he’s worried.”

  Beth nodded. “Okay. I’ll be here, or somewhere around here, when you get back.”

  “Thanks, Beth.”

  Beth glanced toward the opposite end of the street, wondering about her own husband. Donovan was taking a long time to get back. The smoke was still thick, obscuring her vision, but she could see a figure stuck in that smoke and moving toward her. She smiled, thinking it was Donovan, but the closer it got, the more she realized it wasn’t him. The way the figure walked wasn’t right. This man swayed back and forth. His pants were baggy and low on his hips. His arms were buff; his torso was lean. Nothing about this figure was her husband. Nothing.

  A burst of wind blew past. It whipped Beth’s hair and swept away the smoke, clearing the road. Her heart caught in her throat when the figure became visible. Dark skin. A shiny bald head and black beard. Black pants held up by a silver belt buckle and a gray wife beater tank top. She didn’t have to see his tattoo to know it was Viper.

  Her eyes lowered to the silver gun in his hand. It was just like the one she had seen him with before. The bullets in that gun—each and every one—had her name written on them.

  He continued to walk toward her. Only the length of a firetruck separated them.

  She was rooted in place—unable to move, to dodge, to go for cover.

  His lips spread in a sneer that showed impossibly white teeth. One of those teeth was gold. She couldn’t see it, but she could visualize the sneer he had given her when they were face to face. Even given the distance between them, she knew the one he wore now was the same. The first time she saw it, ice had laced her spine. His smile had spoken volumes then, menacing, like a hyena’s grin. Now it called to her through the haze, telling her she was in deep shit. She was his mouse, and vipers like to swallow their mice whole.

  The gun at his side elevated.

  She slowly lifted her hands. Would he shoot her if her hands were in the air, if he saw she was unarmed? Of course, he would. That answer came to her, and yet, she still couldn’t unstick her feet from the road. Viper would shoot her dead right where she stood. The gunshot would get lost in the commotion going on around them, and no one would realize she was shot until someone saw her lying in the road, bleeding.

  “Ma’am?”

  She whirled and came face to face with the fire chief, a burly man with nutmeg skin and a black mustache. His presence at that moment was the answer to her unspoken prayers. She felt sure Viper wouldn’t shoot her with a witness beside her, especially not the fire chief.

  “Are you the homeowner?” He pointed at her house.

  “Yes, I am. Is something wrong?” Something was very wrong. A criminal was on the scene with a gun and a death sentence for her. She debated telling him this, but he had so much to handle already. What more could he do about Viper? Not much. She needed a cop.

  “Everything is okay,” he said, and she wished he were right. “We have the fire in the back contained.”

  A small dose of relief surged through her. At least her home was safe. With that flash of relief came more anxiety. Had Viper set the fire to smoke her out? Had he set it up as a cover to kill her out in the open? Was he setting the fires across Central Florida, or was he a copycat?

  She swallowed, but her mouth was dry and her throat was full of smoke. “Thank you,” she told the fire chief. “Thank you so much.”

  He stepped away, and she looked back toward where Viper had been. He wasn’t there now. She turned in a full circle, scanning the faces and searching the smoke for him, but he was gone. Except, he wouldn’t be gone for long.

  She raced up her driveway and dove into her house. Heart pounding, she spun the deadbolt and bolted up the stairs. The house phone was on the floor where she left it after calling 9-1-1. Now, she needed help for an all new reason. She snatched it up and jabbed the buttons. She paced back and forth while she waited for the ringing to end.

  “This is Thorn.”

  She froze. “Thorn, there’s a fire at our house, and Viper is here. He’s here!”

  “Fuck. Where’s Donovan?”

  “I don’t know. He was helping a neighbor.”

  “Find him fast and get out of there. You can’t stay. I’m on my way, and I’m bringing reinforcements.” The line cut off before she could thank him.

  In the next moment, she was pounding down the stairs. She threw op
en the door, slammed it shut at her back, and ran through the firefighters to the end of the driveway. Her gaze ticked back and forth. Viper wasn’t hiding in the smoke, at least from what she could tell, so she took off into it toward Dale’s house, the last place she had seen Donovan. She needed to find him before Viper did. Deep down, she was afraid he already had found Donovan and that was why her husband hadn’t come back to her yet. Viper would’ve shot down Donovan, and even innocent Dale, to get to her. He wouldn’t care about them as long as he got his end goal—her. She pushed the thought out of her head, not wanting to believe Donovan was dead.

  ****

  The moment Donovan smacked out one section of flaming grass, another section had caught fire. After beating out several flames, the wet towel he had was dry, burnt, and holey. He tossed the ragged towel on the sidewalk and started to stomp on the flames. As he kicked dirt from Dale’s garden onto the flames, more inched toward the shrubs.

  The two men worked side by side, pointing at areas for the other to get to quickly. Dale with the hose and Donovan with his boots attacked the flames that continued to hop over from the woods. Every once in a while, they raced to the backyard to check on it, but the fire hadn’t ventured that far yet. By the time they got the fire extinguished and doused the flames closest to the yard, the entire front lawn was crisp.

  They collapsed onto the sidewalk, panting. Sweat slithered down Donovan’s spine. It was a hot April day, with the temperature higher than usual for that time of year. That was one reason the fires were sparking up easily and thriving so well. Donovan took the sleeve of his shirt and swiped it across his face. A peek at his watch told him it was five o’clock. The sun would be setting in another two hours. When it did, firefighting would be even more difficult.

  Donovan stayed with Dale, monitoring the fire with him until more help could arrive. The crackling sounds of fire devouring wood was so loud it was the only thing Donovan could hear. And with the fire so close, it felt even hotter. He couldn’t stop sweat from pouring down his face. With the hose in hand, he marched up and down Dale’s lawn, feeling the heat of the blaze against his skin. Whenever the fire edged closer, he’d blast it with water, but soon he wouldn’t be able to keep it at bay, even with Dale’s help. The fire was expanding and gradually dominating the lot next to Dale’s house. The fire wanted to push on, to take more, eat more, destroy more; Dale’s property would be the first thing it would target. The only thing they had working for them was the wind was blowing away from Dale’s house, but that wouldn’t stop the fire. Oh no, it would move with or without the wind’s sway.

  The sound of a car driving past drew Donovan back to the front yard, but by the time he got there, the car had passed. He looked to the right to see taillights disappearing in the smoke. The red lights blinked out.

  Donovan turned away from the street to join Dale. They were exhausted by the time the firetruck came to take over their efforts. He left Dale in the capable hands of the firefights and headed back to his house, back to Beth. His steps were slow, and his feet dragged. This day was crawling. He wanted it to be over, so he could hold Beth on the couch and know their home, their lives, were safe. He walked through the smoke and past the steaming remnants of where the fire had been.

  Drilling and beating and grinding filled his eardrums, collided against his temple, and planted the first seed of a headache. Sighing, he lifted his shirt and mopped his face with it. Wishing for clean air to breathe, a cool shower, a cold beer, and Beth, he trudged on, but a shout made him come to a stop in the middle of the road. He couldn’t tell what the man had yelled, but anger vibrated off his deep tone. Wondering if it was the fire chief issuing commands, he picked up his pace again. If something was wrong, he wanted to know.

  Halfway home, he saw red taillights flash on. Frowning, he headed for the car. With each step he took, the smoke thinned, and he could make out the backend of a black sports car.

  “Get in the fucking car!”

  The order made Donovan’s heart plunge to his colon. He jogged forward, frightened for a reason he couldn’t explain.

  The form of a man took shape. He had his arm extended and was pointing something at someone else. This other person was a little shorter, shapely. Female. She had her hands lifted on either side of her head. Donovan’s heart rate doubled. That feminine figure belonged to his wife.

  “I don’t have a problem killing you now, but I don’t want to do it this close to so many pigs and firefighters. Get. In.”

  Beth took a hesitant step forward. Viper pointed the gun at her temple. She flinched away from it and shifted to the opened car door. Horrified, Donovan watched her slip into the backseat. Viper followed her, with his gun leading the way. The door slammed shut behind him, locking Beth inside that vehicle with a gun in her face and criminals surrounding her.

  Donovan ran with everything he had in him. “Beth!”

  The car peeled off with squealing tires. In seconds, it vanished in the swirling smoke, but Donovan didn’t stop running. Couldn’t. That was the love of his life being taken away from him. He had vowed never to let that happen again after Oahu, but it was happening again—right in front of him.

  “Beth!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Viper was in front of her.

  “Hey, bitch,” he said. “Remember me?”

  She tried to calm her body as it screamed, Fight! Run!

  “No,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  Viper laughed at her questions. “Nice try, Felicia,” he said, using the name she had given him when she was undercover. “Or should I call you Beth?” He jabbed the gun at her, not giving her a chance to respond. “Get in the fucking car!”

  She didn’t move.

  He took a step closer so she could see his gold canine tooth. “I don’t have a problem killing you now, but I don’t want to do it this close to so many pigs and firefighters. Get. In.”

  She inched to the car.

  Viper followed her movements. The gun never once left her head. She ducked into the car and slid as far away from Viper as she could, pressing herself into the other door. Two other men were in the car, sitting in the front seats. The driver had dreadlocks, and the man in the passenger’s seat had a small afro, but she didn’t care as much about them as she did about Viper. He angled his body and pointed the gun at her temple.

  “Drive.”

  The car sped off.

  “Beth!” Hearing Donovan’s voice shouting her name made her heart break. She looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Donovan running toward them before the smoke swallowed him. Overcome with fear, she faced the front and saw the car zoom past the firetrucks, the cop cars, and her house. They were taking her away from everything she knew and loved, the place she needed to be. Her palms and underarms dampened. Her heart banged against her chest and all her pressure points, making her feel like she’d explode into a million pieces.

  The car zipped around the corner, almost hitting some of the people who had congregated there. She had no idea where Viper was taking her. He could just be looking for a quiet neighborhood where he could pull her out of the car, force her onto her knees, and pop the bullet in her head, execution style. Or he could be taking her somewhere special he had picked out, a house or shack out in the boonies where he could keep her for a while, forcing her to take drugs and do other things she didn’t want to think about.

  After the terror she experienced in Oahu, she never wanted to be someone’s prisoner again. She couldn’t be trapped in another closet, bleeding and starving and hoping. She would rather kill herself than to go through the trauma again. Yet, the idea of taking herself out made her think of Donovan. How could she do that to him? Leave him forever when she knew he’d do anything and everything to get her back?

  Donovan would risk himself if it meant she’d live. She couldn’t let him do that.

  She looked out the window as her body shook. No, she wouldn’t let Donovan risk hi
mself for her. Nor would she let Viper torment her.

  Streets blurred as the car raced out of the neighborhood, aiming for the main road. She thought about the lessons she’d taught her students. She had coached them on what to do if someone had a knife to their throat, grabbed their arm, and wrapped their arms around their middle. She had told them to run in a zigzag if someone was shooting at them and to look for a toggle switch, button, or wire to pull if they were ever put in a trunk. They could also kick out a taillight or push down the backseat to escape through the car. But not once did she ever tell them what to do if they were trapped inside a car with a gun pointed at them.

  There was only one thing she could do.

  Her eyes lowered to the buttons for the door and window. Her hands were gripping the handle, just inches from the lock; she doubted they had the sense to flip the child lock. She had one way out—the door her body was pressed into.

  Viper probably thought she was too frightened of a loaded gun to attempt escaping. No, she didn’t want to get shot, but she was a self-defense instructor, damn it. Escaping was what she encouraged her students to do. “Do whatever you can to get free. If a man is sexually assaulting you, scratch him, bite him, pee on him. Do whatever you have to do to save your life.”

  She also told them not to let fear hold them back. “Don’t let your fear paralyze you from trying. Even if he has a weapon, fight back. Look for your own weapon. Hit him and run.”

  She had no weapon other than her own hands and feet, and she couldn’t pee on him, but she sure as hell had a way out. Even if he shot her, it was a risk she’d have to take—for Donovan. Everything she was doing from here on out, it wasn’t for her but for the man she loved. Running with a gunshot wound wasn’t impossible. All she could do was hope the bullet wouldn’t hit her in the back or strike a major organ or artery.