by Wild, Nikki
“Everyone already gone out?” I asked, looking around at the practically deserted common area.
“Yeah,” Stoggins said, hanging a heavy steel pot up to dry. “Probably nothing major, but they asked for a bunch of us. Got enough guys here to man the other engine if something else comes up.”
“I’m surprised I’m not getting a damn earful from the Captain about the other day.’
Stoggins let out a laugh as he turned the faucet off, looking at me over his shoulder. “You had us talking about that for a while, but Garfield wouldn’t say what you two got into that had you so mad—he said it wasn’t for him to say.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. ”It’s not something I really want to talk about right now.”
“It must be pretty bad if you won’t even talk about it with me.”
“You could say that,” I offered, letting the weight of everything that had happened settle into my thoughts. “When I’ve got it all sorted out, I’ll make sure to tell you everything.”
Maybe not everything, I thought.
“Works for me,” Stoggins said with a shrug. “Not like I need to hear you go on and on about your problems. I’ve got my own shit to worry about.”
“Real sensitive of you,” I muttered, shaking my head. As I turned to go make sure my equipment was all in order I saw the captain pass by the door.
Before I could even speak, he waved me over, an odd expression on his face.
“Gunner, I’m going to need you in my office for a moment,” he said, his face setting into a deep frown.
“Listen, Cap, if this is about the girl—”
“It’s not. This problem’s way more serious, Cole. Just please, get into my office and have a seat. I’ll be in there in a minute.”
I frowned, a strange tightness starting to creep into my chest as I gave the captain a silent nod. Something was up, something the Cap didn’t want to talk about in the hallway. Maybe he’d decided to take action against me after I punched Garfield the other day.
His office was empty save for a red folder set squarely in the center of his desk. I didn’t like the look of it. Something about how out of place it seemed just put me on edge.
I sat in one of the two chairs in front of the captain’s desk, my hands set awkwardly on the arm rests as I waited for him to return.
It didn’t take him long, and behind him came a tall, bald-headed black guy I’d seen a few times before, but couldn’t remember from where. My mind jumped automatically to the thought that this man might have been some kind of HR rep from the city, or something, here to talk to me about the plentiful accounts of unprofessional conduct I’d perpetrated on multiple occasions.
Unfortunately, the truth ended up being much more grim.
“Gunner, this is Lieutenant Frasier,” the captain said. “He’s with the arson unit, and he wanted to ask you a few questions.” Then he delicately maneuvered his belly around the edges of his desk and flopped into his ratty, worn-out swivel chair.
I narrowed my eyes. “What the hell does the arson squad need from me?” The fire investigative unit was where all the police transfers headed when a few cops decided their jobs were a little too tough for them. Cops and the firemen didn’t get along—in a sort-of-friendly-but-not-really kind of way—and having some cops hanging around pretending to be firemen never sat too well with me.
“It’s actually your sister we needed to speak to, but the number we have on file isn’t in service any longer,” Frasier said, sitting down in the chair next to mine. “I heard from the captain that she was staying with you and wanted to set up an interview whenever she’s available.”
“An interview to find out what, exactly? You think the fire at her apartment was intentional?” If my suspicions—and hers—were true, then it was. But something about the way Frasier said it made my hackles raise. The fuck was he thinking, wanting to question my baby sister?
Cool it, Gun. Let’s be a professional. Shit, Tanya had me thinking all kinds of things, feeling all kinds of things—all of which were driving me nuts.
“We just wanted to see if she had maybe witnessed anything before the fire. Or if her landlord was in any kind of trouble that she knew of.”
“So it was arson,” I mused, clenching the arm of the chair. My mind immediately flashed to Tanya’s stalker, the way he’d broken my Mustang’s window and the scorched brick sitting on my counter back home.
“That’s what our investigation is pointing to, yes,” the lieutenant affirmed. “We found evidence of an accelerant at a few points around the building. It was sloppy—maybe a crime of passion, or maybe he’s just new to burning shit down on this kind of scale—but he’s done his homework. There was a hole busted through the dry-wall near the building’s laundry facility and a few gas-soaked rags shoved inside. Once he lit those rags, the walls went up in no time.”
Firefighters like me don’t usually spend a whole lot of time contemplating the why and how of the calls we respond to. For us, it’s a lot simpler than that. Is it on fire? Okay, then how to we put it out?
We don’t think a lot about the specifics. About the victims. Yeah, sure, we think about them when we’re saving them. And we think about them in this sort of abstract way—every guy fantasizes about pulling grateful citizens out of a burning building. But we don’t think about the little things. The details. Because honestly? That’s what makes it real.
And to do this job, you gotta keep a certain distance. Have a certain amount of clarity. See the forest, but not the trees. You gotta look at the big picture. Fire: bad. Girls: pretty.
So knowing how this fucking psycho had done it—knowing what parts of the building had gone up in flames first—it let my well-informed imagination run wild.
Fuck. All those people_._._._
“You have a suspect?” I asked, hoping that maybe they already had someone—someone who didn’t know my sister—who looked good for the crime. If Tanya’s stalker was the kind of guy who’d set an entire building on fire, then I didn’t want to think of the lengths he’d go to in order to get to her now.
Never should’ve left her. Not even at the mall. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m so fucking stupid. Just because I didn’t want to talk about a stupid fucking kiss_._._._
The lieutenant shrugged. “The usual. Landlord, a few disgruntled tenants. Nothing solid just yet.”
“I might have a lead for you, then,” I said, taking a deep breath.
“Go ahead.”
“My sister has a stalker,” I began, staring into the space between the captain’s desk and myself. Even talking about this brought to mind the horrible things that happened that night. “A violent one.”
Frasier leaned forward. “And you think that he could have set the fire? Do you have any evidence?”
“Last night, after I brought my sister home from_._._._work, my car was broken into. I came outside and found my back window smashed in with a brick. When I brought it inside, I saw that it had scorch marks on it. There was a note, too. A message for my sister. It was weird shit, man. Like_._._._Criminal Minds-level crazy.”
“I see,” the lieutenant said, taking out a notepad and jotting a few things down as I spoke. “And you just learned of this person last night?”
“Yes,” I said, flexing my hands anxiously. “My sister and I had been estranged until the fire.”
“Do you know the name of her stalker?”
“No, he’s stayed fairly anonymous. Like stalkers tend to do. Look, like I said, I’ve only just been made aware that this guy even existed.”
“Has your sister filed any police report on the matter?”
“No, I don’t think so. She never mentioned it, just told me that he accosted her at work. I think that his message and the brick have been the first time he’s communicated since then.”
“Then we’ll definitely need to have that talk with your sister, Mr. Cole.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, rubbing my hand over my face as my thoughts raced. “I’ll make sur
e she’s available to talk to you. Mind if I grab your number so we can set something up?”
“Absolutely,” he said, scribbling what I could only assume was his work number down on his notepad and tearing the page out. “If she can get back to me as soon as possible, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure thing,” I said. “Is that all you needed?”
“That should be everything,” Frasier answered as I began to stand.
No sooner had I reached for the door then it flew open. Stoggins was standing square in the doorway, his eyes wild, face twisted and pale.
“Something wrong, Stoggins?” the Captain asked, his mustache bristling at the intrusion.
“We just got a call, Cap, and I think Gunner’s gonna wanna be on this one.”
Cap snorted like a bull about to charge. He hated being interrupted. Hated cryptic shit like what Stoggins said even more. “The hell are you talking about?”
“It’s your house, Gunner,” Tom said, turning to me. “There was a 9-1-1 call just a few minutes ago.”
My stomach went cold and I froze in place. My thoughts drifted right to the worst possible scenarios—Tanya lying dead on the living room floor, some freak in a drama mask standing over her with a knife. My house in flames.
“Let’s go,” I said. When I moved, I didn’t think about it. I was action man again, muscle memory taking over. The exact same thing that let us charge into burning buildings without ever thinking about the consequences.
I was still on autopilot as I geared up and climbed into the cab of the fire engine. My pulse pounded like a war drum in my ears and the siren wailed as we pulled out of the garage, a symphony I’d heard a thousand times before, but now it was different. Personal.
Loss wasn’t really my thing. I tended to book it before I could get attached. I’d learned that from a shitty father—drink it away, or get away. But now, with Tanya, I had no choice. I had to wade right into the thick of it. For once, I had to stick around and see how it all turned out.
I started preparing myself for the worst.
Chapter 10
Tanya
I knew the second I saw the house that something was wrong.
I was on the phone with Chelsea, walking back to Gunner’s from the bus stop. I’d just finished a mini shopping spree at the mall. I wanted to get there early enough so’s I wouldn’t be getting home after dark. Gunner lived in a nice enough part of town, but considering some psycho had the hots for me and was on the loose, I wanted the sun beating down on me at all times. I wasn’t gonna make it easy for him.
Besides, I was on my own carrying bags full of new clothes and holding a brand new cell phone to my ear. No way I was gonna chance it.
“You’re serious?” she asked me. I could almost see her wide, doe-like eyes through the phone. “Jesus, Tanya. You think it’s the guy with the mask?”
“That’s my best bet,” I told her, plodding along the sidewalk. It was an older neighborhood and I had to be careful of cracks and raised tree roots. “It makes the most sense, at least. I can’t think of anyone else who’d go through the trouble.”
“What about Craig?” she asked, and I cringed. If I never heard that name again, it would be too soon. “He was always kinda nutty, huh?”
“Craig was infatuated, Chel. Not obsessed.” He was an old ex of mine, some fan from my days at the Dollhouse. I was just nineteen when I met him, and he was forty-six. I guess I thought back then that having an older guy interested in me meant I was hot shit. I didn’t realize until later that all the perverts go for the chicks with daddy issues.
“Besides,” I continued, “Craig’s been out of the picture for years. Why would he show back up now?”
“That’s true,” Chelsea admitted with a sigh. “I don’t get it, sweets. You got all the bad luck.”
I smiled a little. That was one hell of an understatement. But I knew Chelsea had seen her fair share of bullshit, too.
“Well, both our moms are dead,” I pointed out. “Maybe this is just the shitty part of the movie right before we become Disney princesses.”
Chelsea laughed at that, a shrill chortle that nearly blew out the speaker in my phone. When she came back down to earth, she said, “I love you, sweets. Just be safe, huh?”
“I will,” I’d promised her.
So when I got to Gunner’s driveway and saw his house—when I knew something was wrong—it took me a long time to build up the courage to figure out what it was.
It’s hard to say, even now, how I knew. Even from the outside, I could tell something was just_._._._wrong about the whole thing. Jax wasn’t where I’d left him this morning, either—out front by his dog house, safe and sound behind the chain-link fence. And I didn’t hear him bark when I got to the stoop.
I put my hand on the knob. “Jax?” I called out. “Here, boy_._._._”
Nothing. Silence.
I let go of the doorknob to grab my key, but when I did, the door just swung open. It was already unlocked. And I was sure I hadn't left it that way.
I set my bags down on the stoop and dialed 9-1-1. Most people only ever have to call once or twice in their whole lives, but for me, it was becoming a habit.
“9-1-1, state your emergency.”
I peered through the open door. “I think someone’s in my house.”
“Okay, ma’am,” the dispatcher said in this stoic way that made what was happening to me seem even creepier. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah. And it’s my brother’s house. Not mine. 4288 Camptown Drive. Yellow with a teal door. You can’t miss it_._._._”
Stupidly, I crossed the threshold into the house. When I did, the silence around me was deafening. Thick, like it held actual weight that pressed down on me like a vise slowly, slowly clamping shut.
I glanced around. Everything seemed the same. And yet not the same. Somehow, I knew that everything around me had been_._._._violated. Touched.
The dispatcher’s voice startled me. “Where’s your brother, ma’am?”
“At work,” I whispered. “He’s a firefighter.”
“Are you in the house?”
I was moving down the hall. I couldn’t stop myself. Something was pulling me forward. Urging me on.
“Yes,” I told her.
The dispatcher said, “Can you get out?”
“The dog,” I answered. The door to Gunner’s room was open. I had to look inside. “I can’t find the dog_._._._”
“Ma’am, the police are on their way. If you can get out of your house_._._._”
Gunner’s room looked normal. Or normal as far as I knew, anyway. There were some clothes on the floor. A wrinkled, unmade bed. But nothing out of the ordinary, except for one conspicuously open drawer.
I knew better than to touch anything that could be a crime scene. I backed out my stepbrother’s room and turned toward my own. That door wasn’t open.
That door could have someone behind it.
Someone who was in my room. Waiting for me. Breathing, just on the other side of that door.
Wearing that awful mask_._._._
“Ma’am? Are you still there?”
“I think_._._._” I paused to swallow. My mouth was so dry. “I think he’s in my room.”
The operator was telling me to run. To get the hell out. Solid advice, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t move.
Except to reach out toward the door. The one that might have held my death behind it. The one I should have, under no circumstances, tried to open.
But I did. As if in a dream, or guided by some unseen force, I thwarted my own will and used the back of my wrist to open my bedroom door.
“Jesus,” I gasped. “Oh, fuck.”
My room was trashed. I hadn’t owned much, but the furniture and bed I’d been using were strewn across the floor. The TV was broken, fragments of the screen scattered right in my path. The dresser was overturned, drawers pulled out, its flimsy back panel in splinters.
As I surveyed the damage, I saw my ma
ttress had been stripped, as well. And hanging over the wall in front of me was the top sheet, covering up something beneath it. Something that smelled.
“He left something for me,” I said into the phone.
But as I reached up to pull down the sheet, I saw it. Right at the top, there was a glass container with what looked like powder in it.
That was when I’d finally listened to the dispatcher and left the room, wishing I knew where the fuck Jax was.