Shotgun

by Marie Sexton

“Let’s add ‘screwing’ to the list of things I never want to hear you say again.”

  “Whatever. You’re allowed to have a boyfriend. I mean, Mom has one, so I don’t see why you should be any different.”

  I was speechless, hearing the echo of Angelo’s words in my head. You’re buying into the bullshit double standard.

  And it was true. That was exactly what I’d been doing. If I’d fallen for a woman, I probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But because Lamar was a man, I believed it was something I had to hide from the person who mattered most in my life. I was a fool. “I guess maybe you’re right.”

  “So, are you getting back together with Mr. Franklin, or what?”

  “Should I?”

  Another eye roll. If they ever made condescension an Olympic event, thirteen-year-old girls would undoubtedly take every medal. “Mom’s right,” she said. “You’re a total idiot.” She reached into the backpack at her feet and pulled out a manila envelope, which she held out to me. “Mom said to give this to you. She said it’s time. She said you’ve both put it off for too long.”

  I looked down at the envelope, knowing what it contained without opening it. I swallowed hard against my dry throat.

  “So now you’ve dropped your big gay bombshell, can I go? I told Abby and Annabelle I’d Skype with them for the Doctor Who marathon tonight.”

  “Oh. Sure. I guess we’re done.” She stood up, and I followed suit, strangely reluctant to let her go. “You’re really okay with this?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m old enough to realize you and mom aren’t ever getting back together. You’re happier this way. And it’s fine. I mean, it’s not like I even remember a time when we all lived together, and at least you’re not fighting each other over custody and putting me in the middle like Annabelle’s parents, right? You guys still like each other, which is saying a lot. And now Mom has Greg, and you have Mr. Franklin, and everybody gets what they want.”

  “Uh… wow. Is it really so simple?”

  “He makes you happy, right?”

  “Yes.”

  She waved her hand at me in exasperation. “Then knock yourself out.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d ever doubted her. I couldn’t believe I’d ever thought she couldn’t handle something as simple as me falling in love. I pulled her into my arms, hugging her hard and kissing the top of her head. “I love you so much, Snowflake. You know that, right?”

  “Pull it together, Dad,” she said in disgust. “You’re messing up my hair.”

  LAMAR

  I ENDED up falling asleep again after Dominic left. Soft voices drifted through my dreams as Zach and Angelo went about their day, but I slept peacefully. I woke feeling like a new person. Not only was the worst of my headache gone, but a bit of my heartache was too. Maybe Zach was right. Maybe Dominic would come around. But if not, I’d survive.

  It was nearly two in the afternoon when I finally emerged from Zach and Angelo’s guest room for the second time, stomach grumbling and face creased from the pillow. I felt like a bit of a fool, but it was obvious they didn’t mind. They even fed me a late lunch. And then I rounded up Miss Priss and went home.

  The mess left by my stalker looked worse than it had the day before, mostly because I was now looking at it through the lens of needing to clean it all up. Zach, Angelo, and Jared had all offered to help, but I’d declined. This was my life, lying scattered across the floor, ripped asunder and torn to shreds. Somehow it was private. The idea of them helping me pick up photos of Jonas or CDs of music I’d bought ten years before made me uncomfortable. After ten minutes of wandering around the house, wondering where to begin, I was beginning to regret my decision. On the other hand, I recognized the moment for what it was: a chance to rid myself of years’ worth of accumulated memories and start fresh. The problem was, I’d have to sort through those memories first.

  The guest bedroom would be the hardest part, so I decided to leave it for last. Besides, I never used the space anyway. I closed the door on it for the time being.

  I started in the kitchen, shoveling broken dishes into the garbage can. Pots and pans were still intact, as were the cookie sheets and most of the utensils, but plates, bowls, and glassware had been reduced to rubble. When it was all said and done, I was left with two teacups, one pint glass, and a mixing bowl. I’d have to restock after payday.

  I took down the slashed living room curtains and tossed them onto my ruined couch. Both would need to be replaced. I tried the TV. Sound came out, but no picture lit the screen.

  I focused next on the books. Mountains of them littered my hallway. I trashed the cardboard boxes they’d been stored in, but then wasn’t sure what to do with the books. I needed a bookcase. I kicked myself mentally for not having brought any with me when I moved from Dallas. At the time, my priority had been to dispose of as much of my life as possible and run. It’d seemed easier to sell everything and buy it new upon arriving in Coda, but I now regretted that decision.

  Then again, having more furniture would only have given my stalker more things to destroy.

  I gathered the books and stacked them in the living room along the bare wall, sorting as I went, grouping them roughly by century for the older works, by decade for the more recent. I also found myself making one pile to donate to A to Z’s swap shelf and another pile specifically for Angelo.

  After eating such a late lunch at Angelo’s house, I forgot to eat dinner. By eight o’clock, I’d finished the books and put my bedroom back together, and my stomach was beginning to growl. I was exhausted. It was hard to believe it’d been only a little more than twenty-four hours since I’d come home to find the place ransacked. It felt like days had passed. I was glad the next day was Sunday, and I wouldn’t have to work. And on Monday, we’d find out whether or not the judge had agreed to a warrant to check Junior’s keys. In as little as thirty-six hours, Matt might be able to put an end to the nightmare once and for all. I scarfed down a peanut butter sandwich with a glass of milk and put myself to bed.

  It felt like I’d barely closed my eyes when I started awake. A glance at the clock showed I’d been asleep for less than two hours. I heard Miss Priss’s claws scratching the hardwood floor as she bolted through the house. I sat up, heart pounding, trying to figure out what was wrong.

  Then I heard it.

  A tiny noise from the living room. A click. A rattle. Very faint, but unmistakably there.

  I climbed out of bed and crept down the hall, heart thudding so wildly, I was surprised I could hear anything over it. Adrenaline tingled along my limbs. I heard the sound again, faint enough I was sure it wasn’t inside, and yet, I knew it was wrong. I stepped into the living room and realized what it was.

  Somebody was trying my lock. My stalker had apparently returned, but his key no longer worked as it had the day before.

  I stood stock still, debating my options.

  My first instinct was to yell. To alert him, so he’d run away. But then we’d never catch him. I could call Matt, but by the time he arrived, my would-be intruder would likely have fled. I tiptoed to the door and peaked through the spy hole. It did me no good. With the porch light off, the man trying my lock was nothing more than a dark shadow. I couldn’t tell if it was Junior or not. As I watched, my stalker turned and walked away. I could barely make out a car parked at the curb, but through the fisheye lens, it looked like nothing more than a darker freckle in an already dark landscape.

  I crept to the big front window in the living room, trying to stay out of sight, wishing I’d left the curtains up. The man was still there. He had his trunk open. The car looked like a small sedan, but beyond that, I could discern nothing.

  I went the long way around the room rather than straight past the exposed window. I walked as quickly as I could down the hallway to my bedroom, determined to call Matt immediately. My cell phone should have been on my bedside table, but it wasn’t. Had I left it in the living room? I tried to remember, but I’d been so
tired after finishing my sandwich. I’d barely managed to undress and pull on a pair of flannel pajama pants.

  Pants.

  I smacked my forehead. I’d left my cell phone in the back pocket of my jeans. I was just reaching for my discarded jeans when—

  CRASH!

  It was the unmistakable sound of glass shattering, followed by a heavy thunk.

  I ran back toward the living room, skidding to a stop at the end of the hall. A rock lay in the middle of the floor, tottering back and forth on its rounded bottom. Moonlight fell through the gaping hole in my wall, glittering across the floor, reflecting on the shards of my broken front window. In the second I stood staring at it, another rock flew through the window.

  No. Not a rock.

  Whatever this was, it was on fire.

  It exploded on impact, flames spreading like yellow carpet across my floor with a horrifying whoosh. Another Molotov cocktail followed, shattering on impact. Fire raced across a room that may as well have been designed to fuel it, books stacked on the floor and old, torn curtains draping the couch. Within seconds, it was leaping up the walls. I felt its heat on the bare skin of my chest and face.

  “Miss Priss?” I called, taking a tentative step toward the flames, horribly aware of how quickly they were spreading, and of my bare feet. Already, I was cut off from the kitchen and the front door. “Miss Priss!”

  Meow.

  Not in the main living area, thank goodness, but behind me. I hurried to the bathroom and found her cowering behind the toilet.

  “We have to get out of here, Miss Priss.”

  I scooped her up and ran for my bedroom. The flames had reached the end of the hallway. Luckily, there was less fuel here, but that didn’t mean I had time to waste. I tossed Miss Priss onto the bed and slammed the door behind us. The house had been built in the forties, and the one window in the bedroom hadn’t been designed for egress. I’d never even opened it, but it would have to do. I pulled the curtains aside, found the crank at the bottom, and tried to turn it.

  Nothing.

  I tried again. Felt it budge, but only barely. Something was blocking it. Or maybe it had been painted shut. I glanced around wildly for something to break it with, but there wasn’t much in my bedroom. The lamp? Then I noticed the lever halfway up the side of the window. I’d forgotten to unlock it.

  Clearly, I wasn’t good under pressure.

  Once I disengaged the lock, the crank turned, although it was agonizingly slow. When the gap was about a foot wide, I turned to grab Miss Priss—

  Who had of course jumped off the bed and was nowhere in sight.

  “Goddammit, Miss Priss, I’m trying to get us out of here!”

  Meow.

  Under the bed.

  I dropped to my knees on my new rug and lifted the bedspread. Saw Miss Priss’s eyes reflecting light back at me. I imagined I could see the flames in them, but no. Although I could hear the roar of the fire from the living room, I didn’t think it’d reached my bedroom door yet.

  “Come here!”

  I reached under the bed, stretching my arm toward her. She backed away from me. “Goddammit!” I scooted halfway under the box spring and finally managed to hook my fingers under her collar. I pulled her from under the bed despite her yowling protests.

  “You think being dragged around by your collar is bad?” I asked her. “It’s way better than burning alive.”

  I stood up and dumped Miss Priss through the open window. She landed on her feet and bolted for the edge of the lawn. Then, acting on a whim I didn’t have time to examine, I grabbed my new rug off the floor and tossed it out the window too.

  Then it was my turn.

  I lifted myself onto the windowsill. The gap was too narrow, but one good push widened it far faster than using the hand crank. I dropped to the ground, feeling triumphant. I’d escaped!

  The grass was cold and damp under my bare feet. I wished I’d stopped to put on a pair of slippers, but it was too late now. I scooped up my rug and hurried toward the front of the house, noticing as I did that the man who’d started the fire had left.

  From outside, the roar of the fire was barely audible. Ash drifted in the air….

  No. Not ash.

  Powdery puffs of white sinking in slow motion from the sky.

  Snow.

  I’d only seen snow a few times in my life, so it took me a minute to realize that’s what it was. It wasn’t as cold as I might have expected for the first snow of the year, but it was cold enough, especially since I wore nothing but a pair of pajama pants. I wrapped the rug around me like a blanket, rubbed my bare arms, and looked around for Miss Priss. She was nowhere in sight.

  Now what?

  Fire department.

  I reached for my pocket.

  No phone.

  “Shit!”

  I’d left it in my jeans pocket, on the floor of my bedroom. I ran halfway back to the open window and stopped short.

  Was I seriously thinking about going back into a burning building for my cell phone? That’d make a great addition to my eulogy. But what the fuck was I going to do now?

  I turned toward my neighbor’s house. It seemed impossible anybody could have slept through what had just happened, but then again, it probably hadn’t seemed loud to anybody but me. Even now, my fire alarm wasn’t going off. I’d never checked the batteries. Maybe they were dead. Or maybe my stalker had disabled the alarm when he’d broken in the night before. Maybe he’d had this planned all along.

  The thought made me shudder.

  I had to call Matt. I estimated it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since the rock had sailed through my window, but it felt like I’d wasted half a lifetime standing on my lawn, trying to decide what to do.

  And I was really beginning to get cold.

  I ran for my neighbor’s house, clutching my rug around me. I rounded the hedge between our yards, then cut straight across the lawn and took the front steps two at a time. I rang the doorbell with one hand while pounding on the screen door with the other. “Help! I need help out here!”

  It felt like I yelled for ages before the inner door jerked open. A tousled-looking older woman stared out at me with horrified eyes. “What the hell?”

  “My house is on fire.”

  “What?”

  “Call 911! And tell them to send Officer Richards.”

  DOMINIC

  I JERKED awake as Naomi burst into my room. As if that wasn’t enough to get my pulse racing, she held the cordless telephone attached to our landline out to me. “It’s some cop calling for you.”

  In the second it took me to take the phone and put it to my ear, I imagined a million things: Elena, my father, Dimitri.

  But then I knew: Lamar.

  “Hello?”

  “Dominic? This is Matt Richards. Lamar needs some help at his house right fucking now. And he’ll need a place to stay for the night.” He was speaking fast. In the background I heard sirens and somebody yelling. Underneath it all was a low roar. I couldn’t identify it, but it made the hairs on my arms stand on end. A glance at the clock told me it was just after midnight.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I have no time, Dom. Are you coming, or should I call Angelo?”

  “I’m coming. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  The line went dead before I finished speaking.

  “What’s going on, Dad?” Naomi asked. Her long hair was matted against one side of her head, and in the low light of my bedroom, the color looked completely normal. I didn’t need to see her to know she was scared.

  “It’s Lamar,” I said, already scrambling out of bed, hunting for some pants. “That’s about all I know. They said I need to come immediately.” I found sweats and a T-shirt, and pulled my shoes on without socks. Naomi followed me into the living room, where I grabbed a jacket off the rack and my keys off the hook. “You’ll be okay, right? I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

  She nodded stiffly. “I ho
pe he’s not hurt.”

  “Me too.” I kissed her forehead. “Go back to bed, honey. But lock the door behind me first.”

  I took my truck, because it was closest to the front door and I could unlock it with the fob rather than fumbling with an ancient lock. I drove too fast, glad for the light traffic this late at night. I was halfway to his house before I realized it was snowing, albeit only barely. Fat, lazy flakes danced in the beams of my headlights. A block from Lamar’s turnoff, I caught the first sight of smoke and flames. I drove even faster after that.

  Two cops stopped me halfway down Lamar’s street. One of them checked my name before letting me through. Past the barricade was utter chaos. There were only a few houses on Lamar’s street, but there seemed to be an inordinate number of pedestrians lurking around the edge of his yard, watching his house burn. A line of firemen with a hose directed a torrent of water toward the flames. It didn’t seem to be helping. I left my car in the middle of the street and rushed toward the house. Matt intercepted me almost immediately, grabbing my arm and pulling me up short before I reached the yard.

  “Thanks for coming.”

  It seemed like a ridiculous sentiment. I could only stare at the tower of flames that had once been Lamar’s house. “What happened?” I asked. “Wasn’t anybody watching his house, or—”

  “I was. But whoever did it must have been watching too. I got called away for a drunk and disorderly downtown, and while I was gone”—he gestured to the house behind me—”this happened.”

  “Where’s Lamar? Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine.” I was surprised to hear a note of humor in his voice. “Shaken up a bit, but he seems to be handling it well.”

  “Where is he?”

  Matt turned and pointed. It took me a minute to find what he was pointing at. It was Lamar’s backside, sticking out of a hedge in his neighbor’s yard. He seemed to be crawling around in the bushes on his hands and knees.

  “What’s he doing?”

  Matt raised his eyebrows at me in a way that told me he was definitely amused. “Looking for his cat.”