Glancing down, I felt my stomach tighten as the ground spun. I’d never been afraid of heights before but I’d also never considered jumping three stories either. Funny how that makes a difference. I didn’t think it would kill me but it definitely wasn’t going to feel good.
“DAHLIA!” Dean yelled over the flames crackling behind me, the sirens on the street, and the roar of the crowd.
I focused down on the ground, trying to see through the vertigo as shapes came in and out of focus. The heat licked at my fingers, singing my skin as the flames fought to get to the open window and the free-flowing oxygen. My hand started to sweat from the approaching heat, making my grip on the sill slippery. I couldn’t hold on much longer.
I followed the path of his familiar voice. Then I met his gaze with the only good eye I had. Dean was the only thing I could see clearly.
“JUMP!” he called up to me.
I shook my head like a frightened child. No way in hell!
“Baby, you have to. They haven’t turned the gas off yet,” he hollered above the rush of the flames, panic making his husky voice hoarse and desperate.
The heat burned my hand and the glass dug into my flesh as I held on to the window frame. The skin on my fingers bubbled and blistered under the scorching heat. And still, I hesitated.
“Baby, please!” he begged. “I’ll catch you.”
“Okay,” I said. My voice sounded small, weak and unsure. I wasn’t even positive he’d heard me until he positioned himself underneath me and held out his arms. I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Dean standing three stories down with his fucking arms out. God, help me, I was going to jump. I had to do it. I took a few deep breaths, letting the heat from the fire singe the inside of my lungs as I spotted the pain and fear on his face. I had to do it. I could jump. I could.
“Dahlia, I’ll catch you,” he said again.
I didn’t doubt him. I was scared. I’ll admit it, I was scared shitless. I forced everything else from my mind. If I thought about anything, I wouldn’t do it. I took another deep breath and closed my eyes and let the world fall away. If I couldn’t see it, I would be okay. I took a trusting step forward into nothing and let go.
Falling, I felt the air rush through my sweat-dampened hair as I plummeted, weightless, free, and terrified. I hit his body with a hard crash as we both collapsed to the ground in a controlled roll. The air rushed from my lungs at the impact and Dean’s arms wrapped around me, tugging me to him in a strong, panic-filled embrace. I relaxed into his arms, buried my head in his chest, and cried as clean air and his scent penetrated my being again. I didn’t have the energy to hold my emotions back.
A police siren blared somewhere in the near distance. Firefighters ran by us but I refused to raise my head. I didn’t want to see what had happened to my house, to my life.
Dean picked me up and cradled me against his chest, sliding his arms underneath my knees. Pressing his full, warm lips to the top of my head, he breathed in my scent, burying his nose in my hair.
“The paramedics will need to look at you,” he whispered.
I didn’t argue as he carried me to the ambulance. I didn’t want to see them, or anyone. He handed me over after some serious coaxing from the paramedic when he didn’t want to let me go.
I was right. Sometimes I hated being right. I had a few broken ribs, a lot of bruising, and a punctured lung. My hand had already started to heal. I hid it from the paramedic so he wouldn’t see my crushed hand. With all my other injuries, the paramedic didn’t notice. He wanted to take me to the hospital. They were afraid of internal bleeding. I wasn’t going, no way, no how. If there was internal bleeding, I wasn’t going to be the one to explain why it was healing already. The paramedic taped me up and gave me a lecture about the dangers of internal bleeding. I nodded respectfully and refused anyway.
Dean remained three feet from me, always in his sight and never out of reach. He didn’t touch me again while the paramedic examined me. I wanted him to. I wanted that feeling of home he radiated, and for him to tell me I was safe. I didn’t feel safe.
Something pressed like a weight in the back of my mind. There was something important I needed to remember but couldn’t. My brain was through, a jumbled mess of sensations and flashes. I had seen, done, and experienced too much in the past 48 hours. My brain and body had, thankfully, shut down.
A uniformed police officer came up to the edge of the open ambulance, and I tugged the oxygen mask from my face. Dean escorted the paramedic aside, talking out of earshot for what seemed like hours but was probably only seconds as flames consumed my home, windows burst out, and firefighters raced by.
A few minutes later, Dean stepped up into the ambulance and sat next to me. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t say a word. He was just there. His scorching hot power encircled me, making my breathing easier, making me feel safe again. His breathing grew ragged, and I felt each inhale he made in my gut like a shock to the system.
“Are you all right?” he asked low in his throat, sounding dangerous and territorial.
I turned to him. The strong line in his jaw was like granite as he clenched his teeth together. The tension in his gaze made the skin at the corners of his Caribbean blue eyes crinkle as his pulse throbbed a strong beat in his neck.
I threw my arms around his neck and fell into the warmth and security of his embrace. He stroked my hair with light, sure fingers.
“Ms. Sabin,” the detective interrupted in a clear and authoritative tone.
I’d used that tone of voice myself when I needed to be the scariest person in the room. Rarely had I heard it directed at me. The sound of it made my skin crawl with the implications accompanying that tone. I turned my tear-stained, bruised, and bloodied face to meet his. He took a quick intake of breath and his eyes softened. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I came home from breakfast this morning. I was attacked before I got into the house. I don’t really know what happened after that,” I said with a hiccup in my voice. “I woke up in my attic bruised, beaten, and tied to a chair with my house on fire.”
Dean exhaled sharply. He brought his hand up, rubbing soft circles across my lower back while his other hand clenched into a tight fist on his thigh.
“How did you get free?” the policeman asked.
“I pissed him off enough that he wanted to beat me some more. He ended up breaking the chair I was strapped to,” I answered, lifting my leg to show the zip ties still attached around my wrists and ankles.
The policeman whistled at the sight of the zip tie and the blood, now crusted, where I’d tried to squirm out of my bindings.
“What happened then?” he persisted.
They’d found something, probably Brody Lolek’s dead body in my backyard. Truth, or a version thereof, was my only option.
“Once I got loose, we fought. He beat me almost into unconsciousness. He was going to leave me in the attic to burn. I managed to find one of my dad’s old hunting knives and picked it up. We struggled and I stabbed him. We were still struggling when I shoved him away from me. That’s when he fell out of the window.”
Dean’s hand stopped the soothing circles on my back. He couldn’t smell the lie on me but he knew it wasn’t exactly true, either. I didn’t want to tell him how horrible it actually was. I didn’t want him to know that I’d almost lost.
Dean wrapped his arm around my middle, easing me against his warm solid chest.
“We did find a body on your back lawn,” he said, writing in his notepad.
I nodded and started crying again. I wasn’t even acting.
“I pulled up the recent police report from your address,” he said, still writing in his notebook. “Do you think it was the same perpetrators?”
“How could it be anyone else?” Dean snarled.
“Ms. Sabin, was anyone else in the house?”
“I live alone,” I said.
The boom of an explosion rocked the ambulance with the force from the blast. I clasped on to Dean’s arm as the ambulance rocked back and forth.
“Someone get that gas turned off!” the police officer shouted over his shoulder.
Dean leaned over and kissed my hair, a quick press of comfort as my entire life went up in flames.
My house was gone. Everything I owned was gone. The fire blazed out of control as the firefighters battled with not only a house fire but now a blue flame of burning gas from the second floor. I thought about all the things in my house I would miss. The T-shirt Danny had left on my floor before he died; Patrick’s favorite books, especially the copy of Cyrano De Bergerac his father had given his mother all those years ago; Amblan’s coffee mug. All gone.
AMBLAN! I don’t remember her being there when I left for breakfast. I didn’t look. Fuck! I forgot about her. Oh God! I forgot about Amblan.
“I don’t know if anyone else was in the house,” I murmured as I turned wide, frightened eyes to the police officer.
“Dahlia, who was in the house?” Dean asked, a thread of fear making his strong voice shake.
“I don’t know if Am was in the house. I don’t remember if she was there or not. I didn’t look for her,” I said, my voice quivering as my bottom lip trembled with grief. My breath hitched in my throat and tears streamed down my dirty cheeks. “She was staying with me for a few days. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
The policeman ran off toward the group of firefighters directing the hose. Charging into the burning house, the firefighters went after Am without a second thought. They were in there for what felt like forever as I watched my house burn, crumble, and fall to pieces. The gas company had finally turned off the flow but it was too late. There wasn’t anything left but a charred shell.
Dean helped me up to the police line where Kurt and Jade stood watching my house burn. Dean supported most of my weight, hugging me to him.
I waited, anxious for word. I would have called her but her number was in my phone. My phone was in the house. I should’ve known it by heart. I should’ve had her contact information in my head somewhere. I didn’t. So, I waited.
Jade took me into her arms and hugged me. I let her. I needed the comfort and I wasn’t ashamed to take it where I could get it.
The first firefighter burst out of the big bay window overlooking the front yard with what had once been my coffee table smashing one of the last windows still intact. Flames chased them out of the first opening they could find. A second firefighter followed him out and then a third. The third firefighter had something strewn over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. My hands started to tremble as long gangly arms dangled down the firefighters back and bounced off of his protective suit in lifeless movement. The body was charred and even black in some places, like a piece of meat that had been on the grill too long.
He carried the body to the ambulance with little finesse. There was no need to be gentle now. After he passed the crowd and got to the waiting ambulance, the firefighter dropped the dead weight he carried onto a gurney. A flash of the partially charred and blistered back caught my attention. Skin, gray from the smoke and soot in the air, glistened with silver-lined angel wings. The outlines of each feather sparkled in the early afternoon sun even through all the dirt and damage to her beautiful skin.
The heavy silence of realization surrounded me as the world stopped. My body and mind were frozen with sorrow and I fell to my knees in a hard thud. Someone was screaming a horribly shrill, agonized howl, echoing their suffering in my ears.
Oh God, it’s me. I’m screaming.
The world rushed back into my consciousness in a swirl of noise. The roaring crackle of the fire, Jade’s screaming, “I don’t understand. What’s happening?”, the firefighters yelling back and forth, the clatter of the crowd surrounding me, Kurt trying to keep Jade quiet, Dean’s soft voice in my ear, “Everything’ll be okay.”, the loud zzzzzzzz of the paramedic zipping the body bag, and my whimpering as I finally sank into a fetal heap on the ground.
Oh God. Amblan’s dead. Amblan’s dead, and it’s my fault. How am I going to face her parents? What do I do now? She’s gone . . . she’s gone . . . she’s gone.
My eyes filled with tears. My breath caught in my throat and my limbs turned to jelly as I sobbed.
I was responsible for her. I was supposed to look out for her. I was supposed to protect her. Who was going to look out for her now? Who was going to look out for me now?
A pair of strong arms encircled me, lifting me from the ground as if I weighed nothing. The smell of forest and musk filled my senses as Dean held me to his chest. I couldn’t move. I was lost.
“Kurt, if they need anything else, they’re to contact me. I’m taking her home,” he said in an odd mixture of command and tenderness.
“My home is gone,” I whimpered.
“I know, Baby, we’re going to my home,” he whispered against my hair as he made his way through the crowd with me secure in his arms. His warmth sank into my bones, surrounding me with Pack and their magic but it wasn’t enough. I’d lost someone that meant the world to me and nothing Dean did would bring her back.
“I’ve never seen her like that,” Jade said behind us.
She sounded terrified. The sorrow and fear in her usually rich alto made me crawl into myself, shrink. I wanted to hide from the world and the pain, not wanting to feel any of it. I cried again and clutched at Dean’s T-shirt like it was the only thing I had left.
“I’ll need to put you down to drive,” he said. I loosened my grip on his shirt and let him go. My fingers, stiff from the white-knuckle grip I’d had on him, ached. He opened the door to his truck and tucked me into the front seat then pulled the seatbelt over me.
I stopped crying.
I sat, strapped in and staring out of the windshield. This was all just a bad dream. It had to be.
I was so exhausted and my eyes stung from the smoke. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. He closed the passenger-side door and circled around the front of his truck, staying in my line of sight.
I closed my eyes, wishing it all to go away but the only thing I saw behind my eyes was the faint glimmer of silver as it traced beautiful white-feathered lines down Amblan’s back. Tears glided down my face, streaking the soot on my cheeks. I shook with each sob as his truck roared to life.
Everything inside me shut down, like a system of locks as that black box I’d stuffed so full of pain, regret, fear, and disappointment exploded. Everything I’d shoved down deep compartmentalized, and didn’t want to face consumed me like the fire that had eaten so much already. The ride to Dean’s house was silent but for my sobbing, which I couldn’t seem to stop, and the sound of the air-conditioning on full blast.
“We’re here,” he said as he turned the engine off.
I wiped my face with the palm of my hand, smudging black soot across my face.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
I would’ve liked nothing more than to crawl into his arms and have him shield me from the pain that was eating me up, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I nodded and got out of the truck.
I stumbled.
He stopped, his eyes focused on me, but he didn’t rush to sweep me up into his arms. I squared my shoulders and followed him into the house without a word.
It was the same as I remembered, a picture perfect Pottery Barn catalog shot, all dark woods and neutral fabrics. I followed him up the stairs to his bedroom, our footsteps silent on the carpeted stairs. He had a king-size bed centered against the back wall with mounds of white bedding. The fluffy down comforter, what seemed like hundreds of
pillows, and the pristine white sheets were tossed about like he’d just gotten out of them.
The dresser and nightstands were a deep mahogany and a plasma television was mounted to the wall. There were no pictures and no decorations. The room was Spartan at best, but comfortable. It smelled like him.
He breezed past me and opened an adjoining door, the master bath and flicked on the light. “Take a shower and get rid of some of . . . today. I’ll find you something to wear.”
I nodded, dazed, and entered his bathroom. His bath was the same dark wood that filled his bedroom. Brushed chrome fixtures with a high-end raised sink accessorized the vanity. The shower was an all-glass steam shower built for two and tucked into the corner like a work of art. Next to the shower was a Jacuzzi tub interrupting the cream-colored wainscoting around the room.
I dropped my clothing onto the floor in a heap of dirt, blood, and sweat and stepped into the shower. The water was hot on my skin, burning as it sluiced over the bruises on my body. I had to scrub my hair a few times to get everything out of it. I couldn’t scrub hard enough to get all the dirt off, though. I had scrubbed my right arm raw, taking the top layer of skin off in a spot or two where it bled. I could only focus on washing. If I thought about anything else, I knew I would fall apart.
I turned the shower off after I broke the skin on my left arm, too. I wrapped the towel around me, clinging to it, clutching it to me. Stepping out of the steam filled bathroom, I found a gray T-shirt, a pair of boxers, and sweat pants lying on the edge of the bed. I dropped the towel and slipped into the T-shirt and boxers, raked my hands through my wet hair and climbed up onto Dean’s bed. I sat cross-legged and stared at the wall, trying not to think. Numb was better.
Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death) Page 25