by Rye Hart
“If we get there and you're not up for it, we'll leave. Simple as that,” he said. “But nothing will happen to you, I swear. I just feel like putting you in that place again is going to jog some memories loose inside of you.”
His smile was warm and his face incredibly trustworthy. Despite the misgivings I so rightly had, I still found myself feeling better as I looked into his eyes. He was right. He'd be there. I wouldn't be alone. It would be okay.
“Okay,” I said after a few minutes. “As long as you'll be there. Let's do it.”
“That's my girl,” he said and returned to shoveling food into his mouth.
My girl, I thought to myself. It was an odd and interesting choice of words. Was there more meaning behind them in his mind? Was he actually staking a claim to me? Maybe subtly voicing his desire for this thing between us to grow once this crisis was in our rearview mirror? Or, was I simply projecting my own desires? Hoping that was the case?
I didn't know and didn't have time to explore all my thoughts and feelings on the matter at that moment in time. Because Oliver was right about one thing – we had a lot of work to do.
~ooo000ooo~
The first stop on our way out to the warehouse was my place. Which, in and of itself wasn't so scary. Not unless you were afraid of the enormous dust bunnies lurking in the corners and the mountains of laundry that needed doing.
No, my place wasn't scary on its own. But knowing these assholes were stalking me and could possibly be waiting in there, ready to pop out at me like some goddamn jack-in-the-box from hell, made me more than a little nervous.
But, I sucked it up. I had to. There was no other choice. I could either do this and confront whoever it was trying to kill me, take them head on, and put them down. Or, I could live in fear the rest of my life. Spend my days looking over my shoulder, watching and waiting for that other shoe to drop. Spend the rest of my life wondering when I was going to wake up in another burning building – and this time, with no Oliver there to save me.
No, I was sick of this bullshit and needed to put a stop to it. Needed to reclaim my life. I wasn't the sort of girl who hid from her troubles or liked to be intimidated. I was the sort of woman who took life by the horns and beat it into submission. Bent it to my will. This was going to be no goddamn different if I had anything to say about it.
We walked through my home, and Oliver asked me questions like, “Do you remember doing this before you left? Do you remember doing that before you left? Do you recall any sounds or smells that are unusual to your place?”
“Wow, you really watch those crime documentaries pretty closely,” I said and smirked at him.
“I also listen to a pretty good podcast on the subject,” he replied, flashing me a smile. “So, do you? Do you remember anything at all?”
I tried. I really tried to remember, but all I got back was nothingness. I reached into the darkness in the back of my mind, searching for the memories I knew were in there somewhere, but came up completely empty. My memories remained elusive, sitting just beyond my grasp. I could brush them with my fingertips, but couldn't grab hold of them and bring them back to the light.
“It's like the memories are there,” I said, “but they're just out of reach. Barely. I can sense them and can almost see them, but I can't quite bring them into focus. This is so goddamn frustrating.”
Oliver took my hand. “It's okay,” he said. “You're doing great. Just don't give up.”
We walked into my bedroom and I collapsed on my bed, lying on my back, and stared up at the ceiling. My familiar purple bedspread beneath me, soft, warm, and inviting. I rolled over and patted the bed next to me, encouraging Oliver to join me. He smiled, then plopped down beside me. I nestled my head on his chest, and he played with my hair.
It all felt so normal and comfortable to me. It felt so much like we were just a normal couple, like the countless millions out there, enjoying a quiet and intimate moment together, that I was almost able to forget about all of the madness and chaos that was upending my life right now. Almost.
I closed my eyes, a wave of exhaustion washing over me, and I felt like I could go back to sleep. I hadn't slept but a few hours the night before, and I was home. In my bed. With Ollie. That feeling of warmth, familiarity, and comfort radiating between our two bodies. Part of me wanted nothing more than to curl my body around his and sleep for the next three days.
But then his phone dinged, sounding the alarm that a new text message was coming in, and ruined the moment. But then, my eyes flew open as something wormed its way into my head. It carried a sense of something familiar – and yet, something entirely dark and foreboding. Something terrifying. Something that sent a wave of cold from my toes, all the way up to my nose.
I jumped up from the bed, my heart thundering in my chest, and my pulse racing off the charts. I looked around wildly, trying to find out what that noise had been and where it had come from. Intellectually, I knew it was Ollie's phone. It was a text message. I got a hundred of them a day.
Yet, on another level, it was something darker. More sinister. A sound that set off a primal, fight or flight response inside of me.
“Sorry, it's just Jimmy,” he said, putting his phone away. “He's ragging on me for taking my vacation time—”
He looked up at me, his words dying on his lips as he stared at me. I was staring at the wall. The sound. A text message. That was it. It was a text message. I scrambled from the bed and walked toward the door.
“Madison?” he asked, a note of worry in his voice. “What is it?”
“I remember now,” I said. “It wasn't night when I left the house. It was daytime. I was given an address to meet someone. Someone who said he had some information for me about the arson cases.”
“Who?”
“I didn't get a name,” I said. “But I made sure we met in a public place. A Starbucks down the street.”
“Let's go,” he said, grabbing my hand.
Before we made it out of my bedroom and into the living room though, the smell of gasoline hit me like a ton of bricks. The acrid stench of it was overwhelming. A wave of fear rolled through me upon smelling the gas, but it was nothing like the tsunami of terror that stole over me when I saw the smoke billowing out from the other room.
Oliver stepped in front of me, blocking my exit. At first, I wasn't sure why. Although, on some level, I knew what was happening, I was having trouble making the connections in my mind. The fear had gripped me so hard that it was distorting my sense of reality.
But then, I was able to cut through it, to focus on what was happening. And when I managed to get control of myself again, it dawned on me.
My living room was on fire.
CHAPTER NINE
Oliver
No gear. No masks. No suit. Nothing to protect ourselves from the wide, red snakes of flame slithering across her living room floor. The smoke was already thick and made it impossible to see, but I'd heard a door slam somewhere in the house and, immediately, I knew what was happening to us.
Somebody had snuck inside, doused the place in gasoline, struck the match that set it ablaze, and ran out, trapping us inside. Ran away like a little bitch.
He was getting sloppy, I thought to myself. Sloppy and bold. But, none of that really mattered if we were dead. He seemed focused on one thing and one thing alone – killing Madison. We'd been operating under the assumption that he was nervous about her re-opening the old arson cases. And to me, that still seemed the most logical assumption to make.
But, I had to admit, it could just as easily be a crazed fan, a jealous ex, or maybe a guy whose love went unrequited and he'd developed an unhealthy obsession with her. She could be a target for a million different reasons.
I had no idea who he was, what his beef with her could be, or why he was so intent on murdering her – not with any certainty. But, my only goal was to make sure that didn't happen. That I protected her and kept her alive.
My phone was in my pocket, Jim
my's message still open. I hit call, knowing he wouldn't let me down. Putting the phone on speaker, I had Madison give the address when he answered as I rushed out into the living room. Madison screamed my name, terror punctuating her every word. I didn't have time to go back and soothe her. Couldn't afford to take the time to calm her down. I needed to act and I needed to act fast, so I called out to her as I ran from the room.
“Stay put,” I yelled. “I know what I'm doing.”
The kitchen was right by the living room – thank you, open floor plans. Water. We needed some water. I grabbed the spray nozzle, but it wasn't long enough to reach. Not only that, when I squeezed the trigger, I found that there wasn't even enough pressure to make a difference. Which meant, I needed buckets or something more powerful. I searched around the kitchen quickly, flinging open drawers and cabinets, looking for something to use to battle this blaze. But, I came up empty.
The smoke was growing thicker, the heat inside her place more intense. Flames licked at the doorway that led to the back of her house, burning bright and hot. We couldn't get out that way. I heard Madison's coughing growing louder, more insistent. For her, it had to be like re-living the night in the warehouse and I couldn't even begin to imagine the terror she had to be feeling.
We had to find a way out. Soon. If we didn't, we were both going to die. I looked toward the front door and saw that it was blocked by a solid curtain of flames that burned bright and angry. The smoke stung my eyes and was clouding my vision. I couldn't see a thing.
This was bad. And it was getting worse. If I didn't get Madison out of here soon, we were both going to succumb to the smoke, pass out, and ultimately die. I couldn't let it happen. Wouldn't let it happen.
Coughing and blinking back the tears that stung my eyes, I felt my way back along the wall toward the bedroom. I dashed inside and slammed the door. The room was already thick with smoke, but I wanted to keep any more from getting in. Plus, the door would provide a brief buffer from the flames that were crawling down the hallway like serpents from hell.
I found Madison crumpled on the floor underneath the window. I tried to lift it, only to find that it had been nailed shut. I banged on the window, hoping I could break it, but found that it wasn't glass. It was some sort of a double-paned plexiglass or something like they use around the tellers in banks.
In other words, it was unbreakable.
The mystery man had thought of everything. He'd turned Madison's home into a deathtrap. One I was beginning to doubt we were going to get out of. Lying on the ground at my feet, Madison coughed violently, tears cutting through the soot on her face. Dashing into the bathroom, I flipped on the water and ran a couple of washcloths beneath the faucet. When they were good and soaked, I took them back out to the bedroom.
I helped Madison to her feet and handed her one of the wet washcloths.
“Put this over your mouth,” I said. “It'll help filter out the smoke.”
“We're going to die here,” she replied, her voice cold and resigned. “He killed us.”
“Bullshit,” I snapped. “Put the fucking washcloth over your mouth. Now.”
She did as she was told, but I could see by the look in her eyes that she was on the verge of giving up already. We stood there, in the middle of her room, and I looked around, frantically looking for some way out of this fucked up mess. I wasn't willing to give up and I sure as hell wasn't going to let her.
The loud popping and cracking of wood echoed through the room as the fire continued its relentless march down the hallway. The paint on her door was beginning to bubble, telling me the flames were right outside. As if confirming my thought, a crack ruptured the door, thick as a thumb, running from the bottom of the frame, up to the doorknob. Tendrils of smoke poured through the crack along with the red and orange glow of the flames pressing to get through.
Then I heard the sirens outside. Jimmy and the crew must have broken the land speed record to get to her house, but the trucks were outside. A wave of relief, powerful and abiding, washed over me.
I imagined the buzz of activity going on outside the house as the crew geared up and started to battle the blaze. Hoses were run out of the pumpers and the crew was lining up. I knew that Jimmy and whoever he partnered with, would be coming through the door to find us as the rest of the team hit the house with the water and fire retardant.
“You're going to be fine,” I said to Madison. “We're going to be fine.”
The words were barely out of my mouth when a deep and ominous groan sounded overhead. The groan was followed by hard, loud cracks and pops. The fire was in the attic already and, given how dry they tended to be, was eating its way through the roof. It wasn't going to be long before the flames came bursting through as the whole ceiling came crashing down on us.
Which meant, I needed to get Madison out of there. I couldn't lose her. Not the same way I'd lost Lauren. I wouldn't. I needed to get to her out of the house and I couldn't afford to wait until Jimmy and the guys found us. Time was ticking and the pressure was building.
The ceiling above us moaned and creaked like a dying animal. There was a loud pop and crash overhead – I imagined some of the overhead beams in the attic were already starting to come down in flaming ruin. The house had less material for the fire to eat than the warehouse did, which meant that time was very quickly running out.
“Okay, we're going out there,” I said. “We have to make a run for the front door.”
Madison's eyes grew wide and the fear etched on her face only deepened. She shook her head.
“W— we can't,” she wailed.
“We have to,” I said. “We need to get to Jimmy. This whole place is about to come down and we need to get out of here.”
“I— I can't, Oliver.”
“Yes, you can,” I said. “We have to go. Now. Stand back, Madison.”
She moved behind me, holding her washcloth to her face, shaking her head and muttering to herself. Using the wet washcloth in my hand, I grasped the doorknob and yanked it open. A burst of flame shot in, and I had to duck to keep from being hit in the face with it. As it was, I smelled the odor of burning hair, so I hadn't gotten away from it scot-free.
The scene in the hallway looked like a scene straight out of hell. Flames engulfed the entire room beyond the door. Long fingers of flame crawled up the walls and the smoke was thick and dark, the clouds, reflecting the fire, glowing a malevolent shade of red and orange.
Madison shook her head again, her complexion blanching and her eyes growing impossibly wide. “I can’t walk through that.”
Turning to Madison, I reached and grabbed her. I picked her up and slung her over my shoulder.
“You don't have to,” I said. “Now, keep that rag over your mouth. Don't take it off for any reason.”
I put my rag over my own mouth and adjusted her on my shoulder. The heat from the fire, even though it hadn't reached the bedroom yet, was intense. It felt like my skin itself was on fire. Taking a breath through the rag, I walked out the bedroom door.
I made my way down the hallway, dodging the bursts of flame that erupted all around us. Madison screamed when one burst of fire got particularly close to us. It was like walking through hell. Sweat rolled down my face and my eyes stung like a son of a bitch. The smoke was blinding me, so all I could do was walk in the direction I thought the front door was in and pray that I was going the right way.
The smoke was growing ever thicker and my eyes burned like they were on fire. Tears welled in my eyes from the sting but I kept moving forward. I carried Madison through a living room that was completely engulfed in flame – there was nothing that wasn't on fire. As I moved through the wreckage of the room, my own breathing was becoming more and more difficult. This time, I didn't even have a mask to share with her. I had to keep moving.
I heard a loud crashing against a wall. It wasn't the sound of the fire splitting the wood. It was the sound of somebody outside trying to knock the door in. Jimmy. The first thump w
as followed by another. And then another. On the fourth go, the front door cracked and blew off the hinges, splintering inward in a shower of wood shards.
