Watch You Burn

by Amanda Searcy

  The tears I’ve been holding back all day spill down my face. I drop to my knees in front of Ro. “I’m sorry for earlier too.” I’m sorry you got burned.

  I take her arm. “We have to do something about this.”

  “Please let me stay here tonight. I’ll go to Henderson’s in the morning.”

  “This is bad. You need to go to the hospital.”

  “No!” She jerks her arm away from me. “They’ll call my aunt. Or they’ll send me to the group home.” She stands up. “Never mind. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “Ro, I’m not letting you go back out there. I’ll do it. I know how to treat a burn. But first…” There’s a voice that lives in the dark, hidden recesses of my mind. It’s the voice that told me to lie about the matches when I was seven. It’s the voice that watches out for me. Protects me. It’s the one that speaks now. “Why were you out there, Ro?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Ro?”

  She blinks tears out of her eyes. “I didn’t have anywhere to go. You don’t want me here. My aunt locked me out. I thought maybe I could find a spot in the colony. Somewhere I could sleep for tonight.

  “Before I saw that man, I thought you were hiding something from me about the fires. I should have trusted you.”

  The knife of guilt twists deeper and deeper into my stomach.

  “Did you call the cops on me? Leave an anonymous tip?”

  She shakes her head frantically.

  There’s only one way to find out if the feds are on to me. If they have the photo that was in my bag, the one left in my locker of me starting the fire.

  “I can’t get what I need at Henderson’s. We need real medical supplies. If I take you to the clinic, do you think you can get us inside?”

  * * *

  —

  “That one.” Ro points to the window above the sink in the kitchen. She works it back and forth until it pops open. She hoists herself up, wincing as her burned arm straightens to hold her weight. I glance over my shoulder. That guy is still out there somewhere.

  I copy Ro and pull myself through the open window, but I fall into the sink and then roll onto the floor.

  “Ow.”

  Ro laughs.

  It was easy getting out of the Los Ranchitos. The security guard was down the street, watching the fire, and all the noise blocked the sound of the gate opening and closing. Dad always has a truck with the key stuck in a magnetic holder under the frame for anyone who needs to run a work-related errand. We were out and on our way in no time—much easier than all those times I sneaked out on foot.

  I’ve never heard the clinic so quiet. Every squeak on the floor sounds like a cannon going off.

  The place is a mess. The DEA didn’t clean up after they searched it.

  I walk a few paces behind Ro, scanning the hallway until I see it: My bag. Right where I left it.

  I pick it up and throw it across my body. I’m not letting go of it until I can open my history book to the chapter on King George III.

  Ro hops up onto the exam table, as if I’m a real doctor about to examine her. I dig through the cabinets until I find what I need.

  It’s hard to see in the dark, but I clean the area around her burn, put some ointment on it, and wrap it in gauze.

  “Keep it dry. If it starts to look infected, you’re going to have to go to the hospital.”

  “Okay. Where’d you get that?” She points at my bag. My hand slides over it protectively.

  “I left it here.” I look away from her. “We need to go. We can’t get caught here.”

  * * *

  —

  I wait until Ro is asleep in the Los Ranchitos before I take my bag into the bathroom. I lock the door and sit on the edge of the tub. I don’t know what I’ll do if the photo is gone.

  I open my history book. It’s there, untouched. Ro was telling the truth. She didn’t tip off the cops—not about me, at least.

  I do what I should have done at school. I rip the photo into a hundred little pieces and watch them swirl down the toilet bowl.

  Ro is still asleep in my bed when I wake up. I place a note that says Do not leave on the nightstand and step out into the cool, hazy air.

  With Ro’s burn, and the photo, I haven’t had the thought-space to process that there’s a murderer out here. He killed Kara and chased Ro. He knows about my secret. He could be anyone, anywhere. He could be watching me right now.

  I want to duck back inside my room and bolt the door, but I can’t. I have to find Ben. I have to apologize, beg, do anything to make him understand. I’ll tell him everything. I’ll accept my punishment.

  When I get to the coffee shop, no one’s seen him. He doesn’t answer his door.

  The walk home is long and miserable. But when I stop into Henderson’s to buy snacks, I keep my head up and smile at Ruby, as if my whole world isn’t crumbling around me.

  Ro stays all weekend, so I know she has forgiven me for saying we aren’t friends. We eat and camp out in front of the TV. I examine her burn over and over again and feed her ibuprofen. She doesn’t seem too bothered by any pain. It seems to hurt me more than it hurts her.

  I want to know more about the man who chased her, but I’ve been asked to relive the night I was burned too many times. I would never do that to her.

  On Monday morning, she has to leave. I’m sad about that. It was nice not being alone this weekend—even considering the circumstances. And we’re okay. Ro hasn’t mentioned the fires again.

  I dread going to school. It’s a project day, and I don’t have a project anymore.

  Teresa meets me in the hallway. Her face is pinched. “Jenny,” she says, but nothing else.

  It must be hard for her to be the teacher that set up the project that got busted by the feds. I wonder if she got yelled at by the principal, or if she’s worried that my dad is going to call and threaten to sue.

  She starts to say something again, but I cut her off.

  “I know,” I say. “I was there.”

  “I’m so sorry. Obviously, you won’t have any more project days. You did great work at the clinic. I’m giving you an A. You can spend your project time in the library until the end of the year.”

  “What’s going to happen to Doc? Is he going to jail?”

  Teresa shakes her head. “They released him. That’s all I know.”

  I suddenly feel better than I have in days. Doc’s not in trouble. He’ll reopen the clinic. Ben will come back. I’ll make a thousand peanut butter sandwiches. Do whatever it takes to get Ben’s forgiveness for what he saw between Allen and me.

  * * *

  —

  I don’t go to the library. It’s not like anyone is going to check, so I slip off campus during lunch.

  I couldn’t change first, so I’m in my bee uniform, walking down the street. I get leers and a couple of whistles, but they roll right off me. I’ve seen way too much to be intimidated by that now.

  Some men I recognize as regulars are hanging out on the clinic’s porch. The usually open and welcoming front door is shut. I walk up to it and knock.

  “Doc won’t let us in,” one of the men says.

  “But Doc’s here? Is Ben with him?”

  The man looks annoyed. “I don’t know. Doc won’t let us in.”

  I step off the porch and go around to the kitchen door. I try the handle. It pops open. “Hello?” I call inside. I hear the sweeping of a broom across the wood. My heart lifts up to the sky. Ben. I can explain what happened with Allen.

  I bound into the front room. Doc turns around, startled. He stops sweeping and rests the broom against the wall. I look back and forth, scanning the front room, the exam room, the kitchen again.

  Doc’s alone.

  “I don’t know where he is,” Doc says. “I wi
sh I did.”

  He picks up the broom and starts sweeping again—pieces of paper, an empty bandage box, dirt tracked in by the agents.

  This might all be my fault. But I can’t—won’t—live with that. Instead, I choose to believe Ro. She didn’t call the cops on Doc. It was Suds and the story he spread around that caused this. The fault lies squarely with him.

  He got what he deserved.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask Doc.

  He shrugs. “The news made this place sound like some sort of a crack house. No one’s going to donate now. We’ll have to close.” My face must look horrified. He smiles sadly. “It’ll be temporary. I’ll find some way to raise more money. Restock. Reopen the doors.”

  “You should call Teresa,” I say. He looks down. I see the shame on his face. “She cares a lot about this place. She’d want to help.” I head back out, but in the doorway to the kitchen, I turn around. “If you see Ben, will you tell him I’m sorry?”

  Doc doesn’t ask what I’m sorry about. He nods. I step into the kitchen and pull the peanut butter and bread down. The men on the porch may not be allowed in, but at least they’ll have something to eat.

  This will be my first step at making amends with Ben.

  * * *

  —

  The week is quiet. I don’t get any surprises outside my door or in my locker. Ro’s been in and out, but not as much as usual. It’s the end of the semester. She said she has to catch up on all the schoolwork she hasn’t done.

  Three times I send Allen’s calls to voice mail. I’m afraid to answer. I’m also afraid not to answer. I can’t risk making him angry, but I won’t go out with him again—especially since Ben is still missing after catching us together. The fourth time Allen calls, I tell him I have the flu.

  The Los Ranchitos is almost finished. The formerly blacked-out section is now lit. Furniture is being moved in and construction equipment moved out. After the parking lot is repaved, the whole thing will be inspected and permitted, and that’s it.

  I try not to think about what that means. My room won’t be my room anymore. It will be restored to its brand-new glory, and we will leave. I don’t know where we’re going.

  Dad has Monica. I can’t imagine us all living in a house with rooms that are connected. One where you can hear through the walls. One where Monica will watch me constantly.

  Ben’s still MIA. On Saturday afternoon, I try a final time. If Ben isn’t home, if he keeps dodging my calls and texts, I’ll have no choice but to declare us over. The thought spreads pain through my chest.

  When I walk into the coffee shop, Jackie is at the counter alone. She gives me a sympathetic look and waves me over.

  “Getting healthy is hard,” she says. “Sometimes you feel on top of the world, and sometimes you feel like the world is on top of you. Don’t take it personally. I know he cares about you. But when it gets bad, there are days when even love can’t lighten that load.”

  I’m going to start to cry if I stand here and face her any longer. She knows it and turns to wipe a rag around the espresso machine.

  In the stairwell, I rub my eyes. She’s right. I’m being selfish. All I think about is me. Why Ben won’t talk to me. How explaining would make me feel better.

  I haven’t thought about him. About how he felt seeing Doc surrounded by federal agents and the clinic shutting down. About me betraying him with Allen.

  I pause on the stairs. It all feels too big. Part of me thinks I should leave him alone. Let him heal without me ripping the scab off. I keep going up. This will be the last time. After today, I’ll leave him in peace.

  When I exit onto the second floor, I can tell something is wrong: his purple door is open. I run toward it.

  “Ben?” I call, and push it open farther. I gasp. The apartment is trashed. The contents of the bookshelf are mixed in with the couch cushions on the floor. Glasses are broken in the kitchen. The sheets are in a heap at the end of the bed.

  I pull my phone out to call the police, but then something catches my eye. I move forward and lift up one of the cushions. Under it is an empty vodka bottle.

  No one did this to Ben. He’s done it to himself.

  Cam tells me to go home when I call him. He won’t pick me up and let me ride around with him. I think it’s because he wants to beat himself up over Ben without a witness.

  I grip my phone in front of me as I stumble along the sidewalk. Tears run down my face. The people I pass jump when they see me. A woman asks if I need help. I ignore her and keep going.

  When I get to my room, Ro isn’t there. I didn’t want to have to tell her about Ben, but at the same time, I wish someone were here to sit next to me. I don’t want to be all alone.

  I curl up into a ball on the bed. Flashes of Ben lying by the side of the road, cold and dead, keep playing through my mind. Is this my fault? If we had never met, if I had never gone to his apartment after Kara died, would he be okay? Would he be making cappuccinos and change at the coffee shop right now?

  I wanted to be worthy of him—to turn my life around like he did. I tried, but not hard enough. I brought this on both of us. If only I were stronger. If only I could have stopped setting those fires. If only I didn’t have to keep lying to everyone.

  Maybe Ben and I were never meant to be together. Maybe I just have to accept that I will never be worthy of him.

  It’s getting dark. I don’t turn on the lamp. I hide in the shadows. My arm burns as badly as it did when I was in that hospital bed with oxygen tubes in my nose ten years ago.

  My phone dings. I jump up and paw for it in my pocket. I made Cam promise to text if he found out anything.

  I swipe my phone on. The text isn’t from Cam. It’s from Ben. My heart starts to gallop. I open it.

  It has one heartbreaking line: I need you.

  A photo is attached. It’s grainy and a little blurry, but I recognize it.

  It’s the old warehouse in the colony. The one where people go to die.

  I run out of my room without grabbing a jacket or my purse, my shoes half on my feet. I only have my phone.

  The extra truck is gone, but Monica’s car is in the parking lot. The door is locked. I feel along the bottom edge of the door. No key.

  The office and Dad’s room are dark. I have no choice but to run. Into the cottonwoods and through the colony. Alone.

  I go. Ben needs me. I have to get him out of there. Get him to Doc or someone who can fix this.

  I dive into the trees. My ankle catches on something. I pitch forward and hit the dirt. I’m trying to go too fast. I know better than to run. I stand up and dust myself off. One slow step at a time, I pick my way through the underbrush.

  The moon is almost full. The trees send ghostlike shadows over me and the creatures dashing away. Too many creatures. I’m not alone.

  I fight the urge to run again. If I fall, I’ll lose seconds getting back up.

  I don’t look over my shoulder. I don’t flinch at the crunching footsteps behind me.

  I smell cooking food and woodsmoke. Raised voices and light come from the trees in front of me.

  My next steps take me into the colony.

  Five sets of eyes turn and look at me. They’re bundled up around a fire pit. Some wear blankets; others, army surplus.

  A few old structures are still half standing, but mostly tents dot the spaces between the trees. The trees themselves make up the back walls of plywood and cardboard shanties. A clothesline hangs above one, drying dingy T-shirts.

  One of the men at the fire stands up. “You shouldn’t be out here, darlin’.”

  I jump and instinctively curl in on myself when he steps in front of me. The other men stand. The first man holds out his hand. They sit back down.

  “Please,” I whisper. “I’m just passing through. I have to get to the
warehouse.”

  One of the men at the fire whistles. Another crosses himself. The man in front of me laughs and points over his shoulder. “They think that place is haunted.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts.” It’s an automatic, stupid thing to say. Ghosts aren’t my biggest problem right now.

  The man laughs. The light from the fire catches his face. I recognize him. He was on the clinic porch. I made him a sandwich.

  “Please. Ben’s there. I have to help him.”

  The man considers this. “Ben’s a good guy.” He motions over his shoulder. “That’s a bad place. You’re not going to like what you find there.”

  I step around him. He doesn’t try to stop me. I feel all the eyes in the tents and lean-tos watch me as I make my way through.

  When I step into the clearing where the warehouse stands, I suck in a lungful of fresh air, as if it’s the last breath I will ever take.

  My whole body shakes from adrenaline and cold. From fear.

  A beam of light flashes in my peripheral vision. I run toward it and dive onto my knees in front of what used to be a large window. The flashlight beam sweeps in my direction. I duck. When I pull myself up to look again, a chunk of stone from around the window falls off in my hand. It’s a decorative facade. The warehouse itself is made of dry, splintering wood.

  “What the hell did you do?” a voice inside yells.

  “I didn’t do anything! Don’t hurt me!” another voice answers.

  It’s a familiar voice that makes my blood turn to ice and freezes my limbs.

  But I have to go inside. I have to help her.

  “Get away from me!” Ro screams. I jump over the window ledge and run to where I hear a scuffle.

  The light whips around, giving me flashes of what’s happening. Ro is grappling with the man holding the light. He’s much bigger than she is. She looks terrified.

  I plan my attack. When his back is to me, I’m going to run and jump on him. Pull off his ears. Claw out his eyes. Whatever it takes to get him away from her.