Pray for the Girl

by Joseph Souza

  I turn the corner and head up the street where the party was being held. I look up at the house as I pass. The lights are still on, and a few cars are parked along the sidewalk. It’s not quite the full-on rave it had been when I arrived, but there’s still some activity going on up there. Are those murderous arsonists celebrating my death? The death of The Galaxy? I pick up speed until I’m turning off the street.

  Glancing toward the rear of the van, I see that it’s littered with tools, plywood, and junk. No way I’ll be able to sleep back there. And my back will be much worse in the morning if I do. The long hike back to the van has sobered me up and convinced me that I’m okay to drive to my father’s house. The streets will be deserted at this hour. Most of the police officers will be down at the diner, examining the scene of the crime. Arson and attempted murder, no doubt, although only a few people will know about the latter.

  Not a single vehicle passes me on my way home. I breathe a sigh of relief once I park in the dirt driveway and begin hobbling toward the door. It’s dark and warm inside, and the embers in the wood stove are still glowing. I check in on my father and see that he’s sound asleep. I remove my wet clothes and head to the couch. The wounds along the bottom of my stumps badly need to be cleaned and massaged with ointment, but I’m too tired to do it right now. I’ll save that until morning. Instead, I remove my prosthetics, lay them gently down on the floor, and then fall back along the seat cushions. Resting my bruised head on the pillow, I fall asleep almost immediately.

  For some strange reason, the girl from the fruit market comes back to me, and I suddenly remember what her name means. Zarafshan—spreader of good things. And with shame and much guilt, I remember her telling me how safe she felt because American troops were stationed nearby and keeping order on things. Keeping her safe.

  It’s as much motivation as anything for me to get to the bottom of these two murders.

  29

  MY FATHER’S SHAKING MY SHOULDERS WHEN I WAKE UP. THE SUN filters in through the flimsy curtains and seems to burn my retina. How long have I been out?

  “Wake up, Lucy,” he says. He’s dressed in boots, jeans, and his winter coat despite it not being winter yet. His cheekbones appear sunken, and his skin has that papery look of onion skin.

  “What time is it?”

  “Just past noon.”

  “I slept that long?”

  “You certainly did,” he says. He turns and points to the old television, which he hardly ever watches.

  I sit up and rub my bleary eyes. The news is on, and the top story is about The Galaxy burning to the ground. The bottom of my thighs are molten lava as I keep my eyes glued to the set. My father goes over to his recliner and sits.

  The reporter interviews a tearful Yanni. He’s overcome with emotion and speaks about the diner as if he’s lost a beloved family member. Behind Yanni are a slew of firefighters dousing the pile of rubble, hoping to cool down the smoldering remains so they can search through the rubble. An important piece of Fawn Grove’s history is now gone, the reporter says.

  What do I do now? I’m out of a job. It’s bad enough that I have nothing left to do, but now I have zero access to Dalton and these two murder investigations. The diner was my last conduit to the town’s activity, and to Stefania and her gang of malicious teens.

  The screen transitions to the news desk. Fire investigators strongly believe that the fire had been intentionally set. The burn pattern leads investigators to conclude that an accelerant had been used to ignite the front section of the diner. Further sampling tests will be needed before they can determine what caused it.

  Police are searching for an itinerant cook who worked briefly at the diner, believing him to be a person of interest. A photograph is put on-screen showing a dazed-looking Iggy taking a selfie of himself inside The Galaxy’s kitchen. His eyes are glazed, and he appears to be stoned. Behind him the place is a mess. Pots and pans lie everywhere. Food has been tossed all over the floor. Iggy’s face is contorted and staring up at the camera as if surprised. Off in the distance, flames can be seen rising up.

  The screen transitions and a reporter stands in front of a modest bungalow. I recognize it immediately. A mother stands with her arm around her grieving teenager. It’s Nadia and her daughter, and Stefania’s crocodile tears make me sick to my stomach. She looks like an Athenian goddess after losing the Miss Universe title to Miss Sparta.

  “What was the suspect like?” the reporter asks her.

  “He was so gross, always making dirty jokes and commenting on my body,” Stefania says. “And he smoked a lot of pot.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone when it happened?”

  “Because my grandfather’s an elderly man who has a hard time finding cooks. Maybe if I’d reported him earlier, the diner would still be here. But I didn’t want my papou to lose his business because of me.”

  Lying little bitch!

  “Did he ever put his hands on you?”

  “No, but that’s because I stayed as far away from him as possible. Sometimes I’d see him smoking pot out by the Dumpster. I told him he shouldn’t be doing that, and that my grandfather would be angry if he knew he was getting high on the job.”

  “How did he respond to that?”

  “He warned me that he would burn this place to the ground if I ever told anyone.”

  “So you didn’t say anything?”

  “I was scared at first.” She shakes her head and starts to cry again. “I eventually reported him to a Fawn Grove police officer, and that’s probably why he set my grandfather’s diner on fire.”

  My mind can barely process this sensory overload, and it takes a moment for me to realize how rotten these kids are. They set me up to take the fall, but more important, they tried to kill me. No, they tried to kill Iggy. Thank God I managed to escape, although I can no longer use my Iggy persona to snoop around town. They succeeded in killing off both Iggy and Jaxon in one fell swoop, and I’ll be damned if they lay a finger on Lucy Abbott. I’ll do anything to protect her.

  But how do I make my way back into Fawn Grove’s good graces? When Lucy left, she claimed she left for good unless these two murders were solved. I look over at my father and notice that he’s staring intently at me. I forgot about him. After shutting off the news, I sit back on the couch and think about what to say.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do,” he says.

  “That girl they interviewed is a rotten liar.”

  “So what’s the truth?”

  “Her name is Stefania.” I neglect to mention Brynn for fear of angering him. “She told me to meet her last night at a house party her friends were having.”

  “That’s asking for trouble. Why’d you go?”

  “Because she said she’d tell the cops I tried to feel her up in The Galaxy’s kitchen if I didn’t show up. I couldn’t allow her to get me in trouble.”

  “So you went to the party?”

  “I figured, what’s the worst that could happen?” I say, taking out my Tracfone and turning it on. “They got me drunk and then drove me down to the diner. Those kids were the ones who torched it.”

  “Miserable little tykes,” he says, shaking his head. “Where are all the parents these days?” Is he being ironic? Does he not remember abandoning his own family years ago?

  “They poured gasoline over the dining room and then lit it on fire. Someone hit me over the head and then left me there to die.”

  “How’d you get out?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “What about that photograph they put up of you—or Iggy—on television?”

  “I don’t remember taking it,” I say, holding up my Tracfone. “Someone must have taken it after they knocked me out and then e-mailed it around town. That’s how it ended up on social media.”

  “What’s social media?”

  “Facebook and Instagram.” I realize he has no idea what I’m talk
ing about. “They sent that photo out to everyone they could. That’s how the news station got hold of it.”

  “Sneaky little bastards.” He starts to cough. It takes over a minute before he’s calm enough to hear me.

  “They probably burned the diner down for the insurance money and then tried to put the blame on me.” I stare out the window. “But what would a fifteen-year-old girl know about insurance policies and arson? And why would she even care about her grandfather’s diner? She’s not getting any of the money.”

  “You better change your outfit. The police will be scouring this town looking for you.” He gets up slowly and begins to walk toward his bedroom.

  “Where you going?”

  “Not feeling too good, especially after seeing that news report. Think I’m going to lie down for a spell.”

  “Shout if you need anything.”

  He waves his bony hand in the air before disappearing inside the room.

  I take off my pants and see the bloodied acrylic socks pulled up over my stumps. I gently pull them off until I see the assortment of cuts and bruises over the scarred surface. A box of wet wipes sits on the coffee table. I pull a few out and begin to carefully clean the wounds. It’s extremely painful to the touch, and I wonder how I’m ever going to walk in these prosthetics again. After they’re wiped clean, I toss the bloody wipes on the table and pick up the tube of medicated ointment. I squeeze lines into my palms and then massage them into the chafed folds of skin. I unroll some gauze, which I always keep in my bag, and wrap it around both stumps until they’re adequately covered. Then I take two fresh acrylic socks out of my bag and pull them tightly over the bandages.

  Something from last night comes back to me. I grab my Tracfone and open the message. Someone wants me to text them. Whoever pulled Iggy out of that burning diner obviously has something important to tell me. I wonder if it’s safe to call them. But then why would they save my life?

  The prosthetics lie on the floor below me. I’m not ready to put them on just yet. I remove the brown contacts from my eyes, allowing them to return to their natural blue color. What now? I can’t go out into the world as Iggy, and I certainly can’t walk around town as Lucy. And creating another persona is totally out of the question. I’ve used up my personality quotas for a lifetime. Best thing to do now is sit back and rest, and try to think of a way out of this crazy mess.

  The message on my phone intrigues me. I’ll call this person later and find out what they want. And then I’ll ask them why they saved my life.

  * * *

  Sometime later I hear the sound of my phone ringing. I jolt upright on the sofa and pick it up. But it’s my other phone that’s ringing. The one registered to Lucy Abbott.

  “Hello?”

  “You’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you, Lucy.”

  “Who is this?” My head is spinning cobwebs of barbed wire around my brain.

  “It’s Dalton,” he says. “Brace yourself, because The Galaxy’s gone.”

  Dalton? “What do you mean gone?” I act surprised.

  “It burned to the ground last night.” He sounds almost happy when he says it.

  “Oh my God!” I say. “Let me guess. Yanni didn’t clean the grease trap and it caught on fire?”

  “Nope. Someone torched it. The fire investigators are almost sure of it. Of course they have to do an investigation first, but they found evidence that an accelerant was used.”

  “An accelerant?” I play stupid. “What’s that?”

  “Someone poured gasoline in the dining room and set a match to it.”

  “They think Yanni’s trying to collect on the insurance?”

  “No. The main suspect is the cook who worked there. Iggy.”

  “Why do they think it’s him?”

  “Seems he was a disgruntled employee. Yanni was hard on that poor slob, and it looks like Iggy was trying to get back at him.”

  “By burning down the diner?”

  “Apparently so. He must have been drunk, because this idiot actually took a selfie of himself inside the place just after he torched it.”

  I laugh. “He must be the world’s dumbest criminal.”

  “They think he also might have burned down the Denny’s. That’s why The Galaxy has been so busy as of late.”

  “Have the police found him yet?”

  “No, but we will. A guy like that won’t get very far in this town.”

  “Good work, Dalton. You’re really hitting your stride.”

  “Maybe you should think about moving back, Lucy.”

  “Why in the world would I return now?”

  “Because we captured the killer of those two kids, and the people here badly want The Galaxy replaced in its original form. A few of us think you’re the one to do it. It’s as much a historical landmark in this town as is the monument they built for Angus Gibbons.”

  “Do you have any idea how much it would cost to find a similar caboose and then make it look like the original? You know I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “I’ve talked to a few of the bankers, and they’re willing to give the new owner a generous business loan well below market rate. Someone in town has already set up a GoFundMe page for The Galaxy, and it’s managed to raise over two thousand dollars since the fire. The town council is talking about applying for the historic registry, meaning you’d get additional federal grants as well.”

  “This all too much for me to think about right now.”

  “This is your big chance, Lucy. You’d be a returning hero if you came back to Fawn Grove and resurrected The Galaxy.”

  I hang up and lie back against the armrest. A returning hero in more ways than one. The thought of running that diner swirls curiously in my head. Am I really considering it? It’s not the worst idea in the world, but attitudes here would have to change first before I’d take on that challenge. The thought of operating my own establishment has always intrigued me. I envision a stainless steel exterior and a retro bar with a sleek dining room. The menu would be reinvented to incorporate classic diner fare from around the country. I picture people from all over traveling here to eat my food. Maybe even the Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives crew.

  While I’m getting lost in this silly daydream, my phone buzzes, jolting me back to reality. It’s a text message. The person leaves a number and time of day for me to get back to them. Three-thirty this afternoon. The time on my phone tells me it’s six minutes until two. Roughly an hour and a half until then. I type OK and then lie back on the sofa, wondering what crazy thing will happen next.

  * * *

  I punch in the numbers and listen to the ringing. A few seconds pass before the phone picks up. There’s no hello or answer. Just an awkward pause.

  “Thank you for saving my life,” I say.

  “Don’t thank me.” Her voice sounds young and jittery.

  “I assume it was you who dragged me out of that burning diner.”

  Another long pause.

  “Why did you save my life?”

  “Because I’m tired of everything going on in this crappy town. Things need to change, or someone else is going to die.”

  “Why did they torch the diner?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

  “Look, I can’t talk for long, but you’re in a lot of danger if they find out that you’re still alive.”

  “Think I don’t know that? My face has been plastered all over the news.”

  “I’ll also be in a world of trouble when they dig through that rubble and discover that there’s no body beneath it.”

  “Will they know it’s you?”

  “It’s possible, seeing I didn’t leave with them. That’s why we must act right away.”

  I pause to consider her words. “What should I do?”

  “You’re going to have to prove your innocence if you hope to live a normal life in this town. Otherwise you better move to Alaska.”r />
  “How do I do that?”

  “That’s why I called.”

  “Mind if I ask who you are?”

  “I was with you last night, but I can’t give you my name. If any of the others find out what I’m doing, I’ll end up like those two dead kids.”

  “Are you telling me that all of this is related?”

  “Of course it’s related. And it’s not what you think.”

  “In what way?”

  “It’s worse. Much worse.” Another awkward pause passes between us. “I had no idea they were going try to kill you, or I never would have gone along with it. I only thought they were planning to set you up to take the blame.”

  “And you were okay with that?”

  “No, but it’s better than being an accomplice to murder.”

  “Why didn’t they kill that woman before me? The one who worked at the diner?”

  “I don’t know anything about that. Someone wanted her to live and I’m not sure why. You, on the other hand, were totally expendable. And I think you know why.”

  “Because I’m a redneck loser in people’s eyes? A nerdy pothead who cooks at the diner?”

  “Yes. And because you’re easy to blame. Don’t take this the wrong way, Iggy, but hardly anyone would miss a guy like you, or ask why you’d torch a dump like The Galaxy, especially after Stef made all those nasty accusations against you.”

  “All of them false, by the way.”

  She laughs. “Of course they’re false. That’s just Stef being Stef.”

  “I take it she’s the leader of your little ring of juvenile delinquents?”

  Another laugh. “Oh no. Stef’s an angel compared to that one.”

  “Mind telling me who ‘that one’ might be?”

  “Keep that selfie on your phone, Iggy. It’s going to save your skin.”

  “Why?”

  “I downloaded photo-imaging software on to my computer, thanks to my dad’s credit card. He once showed me how to do it. It allowed me to blow up that selfie to three thousand times the original. It’s not easy to see, but if you look closely you can make out who took that photo of you.”