by E. A. Barres
25
THREE LONG DAYS after the fire, Cessy still had trouble breathing.
Every inhale felt forced, like air drawn through jagged rocks. The doctor told her that smoke had done damage to her windpipe, and full recovery would take time. She had pain meds for her sore throat, but shock had left her body weak, unused. She stiffly walked out of the hospital.
Chris was gone when she left. But she knew he’d find her.
The Uber driver didn’t ask her any questions. She didn’t offer conversation.
Cessy closed the door to her apartment behind her, went to the bedroom. Lay down on the bed. Coughed hoarsely. Wept bitterly.
“Everybody in that house died,” a cop had told her, one of those times in the hospital when she’d drifted back to consciousness. “Everybody but you.”
There was nothing accusatory in his tone. He said the sentence plainly. No emotion in his voice.
In her apartment, Cessy rubbed her fists over her eyes, rolled to her stomach, moaned and cried.
Everybody but you.
Her chest exploded into dark clouds, and she coughed until she nearly vomited.
Everybody because of you.
For this kind of grief, there was no reprieve.
Cessy went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, drank greedily from a water bottle until the plastic crumpled. She grabbed another, went to the front door, coughing on the way, and sat down, her back against it.
Four people were dead.
Rose was dead.
Cessy thought about Rose’s life, how she’d built her own business dedicated to caring for the less fortunate, the countless people she had helped … all to end up dying in a fire.
Because of me.
Cessy cried and coughed and vomited.
She cleaned the vomit, leaned back against the door like a broken doll flung against it. It wasn’t just Rose, of course. Dana and the other residents of the house. Dana, with his soft eyes and thin body and hesitant smile.
A knock on the door echoed against her back.
Cessy scrambled to her feet, breathing hard. She faced the door, which seemed larger now, dominant, a drawbridge to some castle.
Another knock.
It could be Chris.
Or it could be the men who’d tried to burn her alive.
Cessy had known they’d come back for her. It was what she deserved, after all. Her penance was to bear the deaths of everyone in that house, and then her own.
She remembered reading somewhere that people who survived suicide had spoken of the regret they felt the moment they stopped off a bridge, fired a gun, swallowed pills, felt a noose tighten, or however else they’d decided to end their life. It didn’t stop them from another attempt, because regret fades and is forgotten, but it did indicate some will to live.
And that regret flooded Cessy now. She didn’t want to die, even if she felt she deserved it.
The door lock suddenly flipped. The knob turned.
Chris sauntered in, holding up a shiny gold key. “Hey, Cess. Had this made while you were in the hospital. Oh, I’m taking your bed while I’m in town. Also, I still snore and fart in my sleep.” He studied her. “Your place smells like puke.”
“Thanks.”
“By the way, they didn’t see me.”
“Who didn’t see you?”
“The guys watching your place. Two bald dudes sitting in a car across the street. Same guys who were outside the hospital.”
“Shit.” Cessy thought about Smith and Harris. Fear spread inside her like a web. “What do they look like?”
“I don’t know. Kind of boring? Maybe both in their thirties. Wearing polos.”
Her throat was scratchy when she spoke again. “Their names are Smith and Harris. I think they burned down the safe house.”
Chris nodded. “Cool. This place have a back door?”
“There’s a window in the bathroom that leads to a fire escape.”
“A fire escape?” His face wrinkled. “How old is this building?”
“Very.”
Chris walked to the bathroom and peered inside while Cessy coughed. “Nice bathroom, though. They work alone?”
“No, they work for someone—I don’t know who.” Cessy glanced at the door, expecting a knock at any moment. “Do you have a gun?”
“Oh yeah,” Chris said cheerfully. He walked into the bathroom, and Cessy heard him slide the window open. He walked back out, holding a bottle of nail polish, toothpaste, and a toothbrush.
“What are you doing with my nail polish?”
Chris dropped the items on the floor. “People in a rush aren’t going to take time to look at clues, just follow them.”
Cessy heard footsteps down the hall.
Chris heard them too. The siblings glanced at each other, and he walked to the hall closet. “We know who’s trying to find you. We know where they are. Which means they can’t surprise us.” He pulled open the closet door. “Let’s keep it that way.”
Cessy followed him into the closet. Chris took out his Sig and grinned. Cessy closed the closet just as someone pounded on the front door.
She had an overpowering urge to cough, as if that smoke was filling her again. She buried her mouth into her brother’s shoulder and coughed once, softly.
He smelled of sweat, of the outdoors.
“Did you lock the front door?” Cessy whispered.
“Huh?”
They heard the front door open.
Shadows rushed past the thin line of light at the bottom of the closet.
Cessy waited, trying not to cough, staving off panic. Chris was a statue next to her, the gun pointed at the closet door, unwavering.
“Fire escape,” a man said.
Footsteps rushed past the closet. The front door slammed.
Chris lowered his arms. He told Cessy, in the dark, “I need to follow them.”
She thought about Rose.
About Dana.
About the screams throughout the house during the fire.
“Yeah,” Cessy said, “we do.”
CHAPTER
26
“DON’T YOU FEEL,” Nicole asked Deb, “that we should be able to do what we want?”
“Definitely,” Deb said. “I just don’t think that’s how life works.”
Nicole drank from her coffee, set the cup back down on Deb’s kitchen table. “I’ve been doing my job for twenty-five years. Working for someone else, busting my ass. Life feels like it should finally be paying off. Like I should be happier in my job. Find it fulfilling. Your husband used to tell me that.”
Nicole headed public relations for a small museum in DC dedicated to the history of medical science. She’d complained about the job for as long as Deb had known her.
“He did?” Deb asked. “I didn’t know you two talked about that.”
Nicole looked uncertain for a moment. Nodded.
“Are you still thinking about going into business for yourself?” Deb went on.
Nicole frowned. “It’s so risky. I don’t know if I can do what you did.”
“Right? And I still don’t have any leads. Not that winter is a good time to find work, but still.”
“Ugh. See? As much as I like the idea, I don’t think I could. My job is like a bad marriage. Things may be better outside it, but do I really want to take that chance?”
Deb gazed at her friend.
Nicole stared into her coffee. “Yeah, I know. I should have the balls to do it. But I’d rather just complain about … I don’t know, capitalism? Shut up.”
The doorbell rang.
Deb pushed back from the kitchen table. “I’m with you,” she told Nicole as she headed out of the kitchen. “Starting your own business will be a lot to handle. Especially at your age.”
“We’re the same age,” Nicole called back. “And did you miss the part where I told you to shut up?”
Deb opened the front door.
It took her a moment to recognize the young woman outside.
The young woman didn’t respond. She just crossed her arms and looked around. She wore torn jeans and an oversized flannel over a hooded sweatshirt, and the hood covered her dirty blonde hair. Her face was thin. Knife-sharp cheeks.
“Can I come inside?” she asked.
“No,” Deb said simply.
“It’s cold out here.”
“Not until I know why you’re here. And how you found me.”
The girl sighed impatiently. “Obviously, I found you through Google. And I came here to help you, to tell you something. But it’s really cold and I’d like to come in.”
Deb didn’t budge. “What do you need to tell me?”
The girl grimaced, blew into her hands. Winter’s warm days had passed, and now the region was gray and lifeless. And the descent of cold without snow exaggerated the effects, turned the world barren and harsh.
“Maria’s dead.”
“I know.”
“You do?” The girl seemed confused.
Deb decided not to tell her about Levi. No need to disclose him to a stranger. “I saw it on the news.”
“It was on the news?”
Deb changed the subject. “Did Maria tell you anything about my husband?”
The girl’s expression turned hard. “Christ, lady. They killed my friend a couple of days ago, and all you can think about is your husband?”
“They killed him too.” But her comment gave Deb pause. It did seem callous to ask for insight into Grant.
“Why did Maria die?” Deb asked instead.
The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it was some random dude. That happens. Or maybe it’s because she talked to you.”
Pricks on Deb’s skin. “Do you really think that’s why?”
“Depends on what she said.” The girl held up her hand. “And I don’t want to know what she said. You understand that?”
Deb nodded.
She and the girl stood quietly for a few moments. The girl shivered, and Deb couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. She could see the girl’s fear, just under the hard surface she was trying to project.
And she changed her mind about disclosing her contact with Levi.
“There’s a guy I’ve been talking with,” Deb said. “He’s with the FBI. He can probably help you.”
The girl made a dismissive sound. “Before or after he arrests me for what I do?”
“Hopefully, before.”
A quick grin flashed across the girl’s face at Deb’s response, as if she couldn’t help herself. “He did seem nice,” the girl offered. “Your husband. I mean, from what Maria told me. He was sweet with her.”
That wasn’t sweet to Deb. And she felt it again, that change in the grief she felt for Grant, in the memories. The smile, the hugs, the kisses. The way he would touch Kim’s hair.
Everything now held a sinister quality.
“Anyway,” the girl was saying, “whoever killed Maria, and maybe your husband, isn’t fucking around. That’s what I came to tell you. You need to be really careful. I heard the cops were looking for some crazy whore or something, but the guys that ran us? Some dudes named Smith and Harris? They were for real.”
“Their names were Smith and Harris?” Deb made a note of the names, so she’d remember to tell Levi.
“Yeah.”
“What’s going on?” Nicole called out.
“Nothing,” Deb said, leaning back inside the house. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her.
The girl had been right. It was cold.
“You got someone here?” the girl asked. “That your daughter?”
“How do you know I have a daughter?”
“Maria told us.”
Deb was stung at the idea of Grant telling some other woman about her, about their daughter, their lives.
The girl had the same thought. “That’s probably why they went after Maria,” she said. “All that talking.” She glanced around again. “Listen, I got to go.”
Deb wanted to ask her for more information, but she was conflicted. Too many emotions—betrayal, fear, anger—swirled inside for her to come up with anything clear.
“Do you have any money?” the girl asked. “That I could have?”
The request distracted Deb, clarified things. “Why?”
“I need a bus ticket or train ticket or something.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked.
The girl stared at her. “Wouldn’t you? I’m not staying around here.”
Deb went back to the kitchen for her purse, told Nicole to give her another minute.
Nicole barely glanced up from her phone. “Fine.”
Deb gave the girl half the cash she had, a little less than seventy dollars. The girl took Deb’s money, opened her duffel bag, stuffed it inside. Deb saw piles of clothes and a large blue bong in the bag before the girl zipped it shut.
“I’m sorry about Maria,” Deb said. “I know she was your friend.”
“I didn’t know her like that.” The girl paused. “And if anyone asks you about me, that’s what you tell them. I didn’t know her like that.”
Deb watched her walk away, and something occurred to her. Something, Deb realized, she should have thought of right away.
I heard the cops were looking for some crazy whore or something.
You got someone here?
That your daughter?
What if that girl was the killer, and she was gathering information about Deb’s house? Scoping it out, learning everything she could before she came back later?
Deb’s fingernails dug into her palms in fear and frustration.
And she hadn’t even gotten the girl’s name.
Deb closed the door, stood inside the hall alcove.
Worry built relentlessly inside her. Deb tried to stop it, or at least slow it. She was happy that she’d mentioned the FBI. Knowing that she had some connection to federal law enforcement might give a killer pause.
Smith and Harris. She’d need to tell Levi those names, call him as soon as possible and tell him what had happened.
Levi.
She relaxed a little, remembering what he’d told her when he’d stopped by to tell her about Maria:
“Are we in danger?” Deb had asked. “Me and Kim?”
“I don’t think so,” Levi replied. “I hope not.”
“You hope not?”
“I’ve studied people like this for a long time,” Levi told her. “A long time. This is someone who works in a pattern, going after specific people for certain reasons. Your husband and the other men were all executed in the same fashion. Maria was killed differently. It could have been a client, it could have been one of her pimps. But it doesn’t seem like the same killer, and the motives don’t appear to bear any relation.”
Deb thought about all that, fought the fear down. That fear, like a great black void rising up and threatening to swallow her whole. Threatening to divorce her from reason. Telling her to take Kim and run far away from the life they’d built here and hide in some distant city.
Like that girl was doing.
But she didn’t need to run, not yet, even if there was that pressing voice inside, telling Deb to leave. The same voice that urged her to take Kim out of school whenever the nation was sent reeling from another school shooting. The same way she wondered why people lived in California, when a giant earthquake was guaranteed to someday wreak havoc on the state. The same fear of living just outside of Washington, DC, one of the obvious targets of terrorists worldwide, an area destined to be struck as the sophistication of weapons, and the heated desire for destruction, advanced.
And, as always happened, fear receded.
The worst might happen, but probably not to her. Or Kim.
Deb took a breath, steeled herself as best she could.
Walked back to her friend, one of the only people in the world she still trusted.
CHAPTER
27
CHRIS AND CESSY sat in Chris’s gray Honda Civic. A blue Acura idled a block away, parked on a quiet residential side street off Rockville’s town center. Fortunately, even with the other parked cars and the darkly thick night, they could still see the shadows of the two men’s heads.
Smith and Harris were sitting inside the Acura. And had been for the past thirty minutes.
“What the hell’s taking so long?” Chris asked.
Cessy took a long drink from a bottle of water Chris had in the back seat. Her throat felt better, although now she had the pressing sensation that soon she’d need to pee. “They’re probably trying to figure out where I went, what their next step is.”
“Or they’re dating, and saying goodbye is hard.”
Cessy frowned. “I didn’t get a relationship vibe when I talked to them.”
“Either they’re dating,” Chris said, “or they know we’re here. And they’re watching us and waiting for backup.”
Cessy thought about that. “Shit.”
“Right? So let’s just say they’re dating.”
Cessy couldn’t figure out if her brother was serious. She was used to his humor, but he’d grown more deadpan over the years.
“You just have the one gun, right?” she asked.
“Yeah, but does it matter? When’s the last time you went to a range? Has it been since you left Arizona?”
“Once,” Cessy said. She coughed. “With Hector.”
Cessy paused, thinking about the tone in her brother’s voice when he’d asked, “Since you left Arizona?”
There was resentment buried under that question. And she wasn’t sure if she should address it.
They hadn’t talked much about their time apart, and it wasn’t due to a lack of opportunity. Smith and Harris had driven for close to an hour, out of Baltimore and into Rockville, a small town near DC. Cessy had never been here before, given the city’s exorbitant reputation, based on its proximity to Washington and concentration of high incomes. She’d always assumed she could barely afford to live, shop, or eat in Rockville, and pretty much figured her credit card company would suspend her account if she even drove within the city’s limits.
She and Chris had spent the drive talking about Arizona, about people they knew, about traffic, the conversation as smooth as the surface of a lake. Nothing about how little they’d communicated, the distance between them, why she’d left him behind.