I steady myself. I’m ready.
Ro bites his hand. He drops the light. It falls against something so that the beam is shining almost straight up. The man steps into it. He turns toward me. And I see him. Ro’s attacker.
It’s Cam.
Cam reacts to being bitten by shooting his hand out. His palm hits Ro’s face, and she crashes down to the dirt floor of the warehouse.
“Stop!” I scream, and run toward them.
“Jenny? What are you doing here? I told you to go home.”
“Get away from her, Cam.” I sweep up the flashlight and put myself between them. He steps toward me. I shine the light in his eyes. “I mean it. I’m going to call the cops.”
He puts his hands up. “I didn’t mean to hit her. It was a reflex.”
“Was Kara a ‘reflex’ too?”
“Kara?”
Ro cries behind me. I turn to look at her. Cam lunges for the flashlight. But I’m ready for him. I time my foot to kick him in the crotch.
He bends in half and stumbles backward. “I’m done!” he yells at a dark corner. “Do you hear me? I’m done.” He limps out into the night.
I spin around to Ro. She gets up, holding her face. Tears shine on her cheeks. “Why did you do this, Jenny?”
“What? We need to go.” I reach forward for her arm, but she jerks away and flattens herself against the wall like she can’t get far enough away from me.
“You set me up. You left me that note on your bed telling me to come here after dark. Why, Jenny?” Her voice cracks, making my heart follow suit.
“Ro, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t leave you a note.” I creep slowly toward her, holding out my hand. “Let’s go back to the motel and call the police. Cam won’t get away with this.”
She slides along the wall away from me. “I don’t believe you.” She moves fast. One moment she’s still in front of me; the next she’s in the deep shadows of the warehouse.
I sweep the flashlight around. “Ro?”
A moan from the corner. I spin toward it. The light falls on a person huddled on the ground. He’s surrounded by bottles. A syringe lies in the dirt by his right hand.
I fall to my knees next to him. “Ben?” I shake him. He moans again, but his eyes don’t open. “Ben?”
Nothing.
I pull my phone out of my pocket. I don’t have a signal.
Cam did this. All of it. He left Ro that note. He texted me from Ben’s phone. Why? Why does he want us all together in this horrible place? To kill us? Like he did Kara?
“I’m going to get you help, okay?” I stand up and walk slowly to the window. Cam could be anywhere. I can’t let him catch me off guard. The signal is better, but it’s drifting in and out. It’s not enough to make a call.
The cracking sound of a heavy foot in the debris makes me spin around again. “Ro?” I call out. There’s no answer. The hairs on my arms stand up. My feet scream to run, but I can’t move.
I smell smoke.
Suddenly, I’m seven years old again, standing in the bathroom doorway, watching the world turn into a burning hell in front of me. My scar pulses. My heart beats in terror. This fire is different from the ones in the trees. This is a fire I can’t control.
Movement behind me. Ben’s leg twitches. My feet unfreeze themselves. I have to get him out.
Smoke fills the warehouse and funnels out the window. I drop my flashlight and loop my hands under Ben’s arms. His deadweight is too heavy for me with the smoke stealing my oxygen.
I pull my shirt over my mouth, but I still cough violently. My eyes sting, and tears stream down my face.
I drag Ben inch by inch. I don’t have the time or the strength to be gentle. I flop him over the side of the window so his head is in the fresh air and then push him from behind until he hits the ground. I jump through the window after him and pull him as far as I can out of the path of the fire.
He doesn’t move—not even a twitch. I fall to my knees. In the darkness, I can’t tell if he’s breathing.
“Stay with me, Ben.” My phone has a signal now. I punch in 911.
“Jenny!” My heart stops. “Jenny!” Ro screams again. She’s still inside.
The operator answers the phone. “Help! There’s a fire!” I screech into the phone.
A cracking sound comes from the building. It’s going to come down. Come down with Ro inside.
I drop the phone on top of Ben. The operator will trace the signal.
“I’ll be back!” I yell to his unconscious figure, and run to the window to save Ro.
But when I reach it, my body stops. It refuses to go any farther. My eyes betray me. I see Hailey in front of me standing by the burning stove. I see Kara’s body, limp and twisted outside that club. I hear the screams from that house while I’m curled up in the bathtub holding my ears.
If my feet don’t move, Ro is going to die. She’ll be another name on my list of ghosts.
One foot slides forward. Then the other. My adrenaline takes over, and I go headfirst through the window and into the smoke.
I scoop up the flashlight from where I dropped it trying to move Ben and sweep the beam through the warehouse. Smoke reflects the light back at me. I flap my arms, trying to clear a path.
“Ro!”
She doesn’t answer. I drop down and crawl where the air is fresher. “Ro!”
“Jenny!” I hear the terror in her voice.
“Ro, come to me. This is the way out.”
“Jenny, help me!”
“This way, Ro. Come to my voice.”
“Jenny!”
She’s not coming. I keep moving forward. Then I see them. The flames tearing through the roof and up the sides of the walls. The whole place is about to come down.
“Ro, you have to run. Run!”
“Jenny!”
She’s ten feet away. I reach out my hand. “Come this way, Ro.” She doesn’t see me. Her eyes are looking up. She screams.
A beam crashes down in front of her. She screams again. A wall of flames rises between us.
“Ro!”
“Jenny, I’m sorry.” Her voice is small and resigned. She knows she’s going to die.
“No!”
A deafening crack. Another beam crashes and lands feet from me. I’m showered in sparks that bite at my skin and clothes.
“Ro!” I scream one last time, but she’s gone quiet behind the wall of flames.
I fall down flat onto my stomach. I’m dizzy and light-headed. The inside of my nose burns. There’s nothing I can do. She’s gone. I couldn’t save her.
It would be so easy to close my eyes, to join Ro and Kara and my sleepover friends.
I hear sirens outside. Ben could be dead. I could have killed him too.
Another piece of the roof crashes down. I’ve only got seconds left to live. I don’t want to fight anymore, but my body takes over. My survival instinct is stronger than my mind. My knees pull themselves underneath me and prop me up. They shuffle forward slowly, then quicker and quicker. My palms scrape along the hot wood and ash. The clean air of the window guides me forward, and I pull myself out.
On the ground, under the trees and the starry sky, my lungs fill over and over again.
Paramedics surround Ben’s lifeless figure. I crawl toward them. They’re too busy yelling out readings and cutting off Ben’s shirt to notice me coming out of the darkness. Ben’s still alive. Barely.
A stream of water shoots from a fire truck into the building. From the looks on the firefighters’ faces in the glow of the flames, I know the water is an empty gesture. This fire is too dangerous to approach. It will have to burn itself out.
Will anything be left of Ro when it does?
A paramedic starts to pump Ben’s chest. I want to throw myself
at Ben’s feet and beg his forgiveness. Beg him not to die.
But if I stay with Ben, the questions will start.
I’ve been through this before.
First the paramedics will check that I’m okay. They’ll ask me what happened, but they won’t push. It’s not their job.
The police will come next. Their questions will start off routine: Why was I here? Did I see who started the fire? Who else was inside?
They’ll give me a day or two to collect myself. Then a detective will come knocking on my door. Someone will wonder why my stepfather was being investigated for tampering with evidence and falsifying information on an arson report. Someone will have decided that it’s too coincidental for me to have been in two fatal fires in my short life.
The questions will get even harder.
There’s nothing I can do for Ben, but I can save myself.
My phone was tossed aside by the paramedics and lies in a patch of weeds at the base of a tree. I scoop it up and crawl back into the darkness.
* * *
—
When I stumble into my room, my clothes are shreds. They reek of smoke. Of death. I take them off. I want to throw them out the bathroom window and make them go away forever, but I can’t do that.
I pull the bag out of the trash can in my room. I stuff the clothes in the bottom of it and then replace the bag. I’ll find a way to get rid of them later.
I stand under the shower until my hair and skin are no longer black with soot. When I step out and see myself in the mirror, I expect a monster to appear before me—one that lets people die. But I don’t look any different.
My phone lies on the bathroom counter. There’s only one thing I can do to try to redeem myself. To keep the monster hidden.
There were four of us in that warehouse. One is dead. One is hopefully still alive and at the hospital. One is dripping water on the floor of her stone bathroom.
That leaves the fourth.
And he has a key to my room.
Cam wanted us gone.
He didn’t want to feel guilty about Ben anymore. He said it himself before he set the fire: I’m done.
I witnessed everything that happened with Suds. Suds was a threat to the project. Mike Vargas blamed Cam for that. So Cam got rid of Suds.
Ro and I both know how Cam felt about Kara, and that she didn’t feel the same way. He disappeared from the club the night she was murdered.
Kara must have told him her story too. That’s why he left her those things, so that it would look like someone from her past had found her and killed her.
Cam left the stuff for me so I wouldn’t go to the police if I found out. Mutually assured destruction. If I told, so would he.
Well, I’m done too. It will destroy my life if Cam tells them about me, but I’m not thinking of myself anymore. I’m going to do the first truly selfless thing I’ve ever done. For Ro. For Kara.
I wipe the dirt and smeary fingerprints off my phone, and I call the police tip line.
It’s a recording. After the beep, I tell the machine one simple thing: “Cam Vargas did it.”
Then I claw open the drawer where my magic sleeping pills live.
I don’t know how many I take.
* * *
—
My body reacts to the smell of smoke. It thrashes at the duvet covering my face. A figure stands over me. Her blond hair shines in the brilliant sunlight coming through the window. She holds up pieces of shredded cloth and tosses them in a black trash bag. She leans over me and glares.
Flashing police lights. Yelling outside my window. “We’ve been through this before. Either get a warrant and arrest my client or get off the property.”
* * *
—
FaceTime ringing over and over and over again. Hailey’s voice saying, “Don’t cry, Jenny. Don’t cry.”
* * *
—
I hear the bathroom window slide open. I hear Ro bounce into the room. I feel her plop down on the bed. Then I open my eyes, and she’s gone.
* * *
—
There’s a knock on the door. My eyes unseal and blink in the dusky light. I pry open my mouth. It’s sticky and dry and tastes like vomit.
The knock comes again. I sit up. My head spins. The room is foggy. I stand. My legs feel like Jell-O. They wobble me to the door. I open it a crack.
Dad smiles and holds out a bowl of broth. “Are you feeling better?”
I smack my lips, trying to remember how to make sound come out of them.
Dad’s eyes narrow. “Should I take you to the doctor? Monica said you had a stomach bug. But you don’t look so hot.”
I reach out and take the soup. “I’m okay,” I croak. “I just need some more rest.”
“I’ll let the school know you’ll be out sick tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” I start to close the door, but Dad doesn’t move. I ache to tell him what happened to Ro. To have him wrap me in his arms and tell me everything will be okay. But I can’t. I don’t want to place that burden on him. Two fatal fires. He’ll know. And he’ll have to conceal it from the police when they come around asking. He’s already a felon. I won’t be responsible for sending him back to jail.
“I need to lie down again. Is there something else?” I ask.
He glances over his shoulder at the empty parking lot. “Make sure you keep your door locked.”
I take the bowl of soup to my bed. When I slurp a spoonful, it drags like barbed wire down my raw throat. I should see a doctor. Smoke inhalation is dangerous—even later, when you think you’re fine.
I know I’m not fine. Ro is dead. Her screams still echo in my head. They won’t let me rest.
I reach for my sleeping pills, but then put them back into the drawer. I can’t take them forever. Even though I want to.
I flip on the TV and watch one mindless show after another until the late news comes on. It starts right away with a late-breaking news graphic. They’ve gone all out and created one for Las Piedras. It’s magenta, with flames burning up the word “FIRE.”
The reporter comes on the screen. She stands with her back to the cottonwoods. Her boobs are covered. I know what that means. It makes my empty stomach churn; my heart pound; my sick lungs gasp for air.
She holds a piece of paper in front of her. “The police have released a statement about the body that was found in the remains of the building. It was burned beyond all recognition, but from a skeletal examination, they believe it was a woman. Those remains are now being sent to the lab to see if they can get an ID. We’ll let you know more as soon as we find out.”
I turn off the TV.
My first feeling is overwhelming relief. Ben isn’t on the news. He must still be alive. Then the guilt comes back.
Ro is dead.
I spend my sick day pacing. And coughing. And trying to swallow. The curtains are shut. It’s a dark, unidentifiable time of day in here.
I keep waiting for the police to show up. For them to walk me and Dad into the office and start the questions. I’m ready. I’m not even going to make them ask me a thousand things. I’m just going to confess—and then tell them absolutely everything I know about Cam.
The office door opens, and someone steps in front of my window.
“Here’s the deal. My client admits to striking the young lady. He is willing to plead no contest to a simple battery charge. He’ll pay a fine and do community service. Everybody wins.” I creep forward and pull aside the curtains. The lawyer is on his cell phone. He rolls his tie up and down on his finger. He drops it.
“No, the girl in that abandoned warehouse. What are you talking about? What nightclub?”
The lawyer’s eyes flit over to me. I drop the curtain.
There’s a knock on my door. This is it. “Ju
st a minute!” I yell, to give myself time for another couple of breaths.
The person on the other side doesn’t wait. They have a key.
I glance up at the chain. It’s hanging down. I never locked it.
The door pops open. I stand at attention, ready to dash into the bathroom and out the window if it’s Cam.
“Feeling better?” Monica asks.
“I, ah—” The look on her face tells me that she doesn’t care. I shut my mouth.
She closes the door and sits down on the bed. She points to the chair. “Sit.” This is a different Monica. This isn’t the one who made coffee in her underwear or cut off my wristband from the club. I sit.
“The police have been here asking questions about Cam.”
“Oh?” I pick at a piece of lint stuck to the side of the chair. People who are guilty do things like that. I stop and look her in the eye.
“There are an awful lot of coincidences that all tie back to Cam. Suds, the girl at the club, this warehouse thing. They have some sort of evidence. An engraved lighter. It’s at the forensics lab right now.”
She gives me a second. I don’t say anything.
“It got me thinking. All those things are tied to Cam. But they’re also tied to you.”
“What?”
“I love your father. Almost as much as I love this project.” She stands up and steps forward until she looms over me.
She’s accusing me of murder now? I should tell her everything. She deserves it. She can be the one who conceals it from the police to save her precious project.
She pulls a piece of paper from of her pocket. She unfolds it and smooths it out on the bed. “I found this outside your bathroom window.”
It’s a stick figure drawing of a girl with yellow hair surrounded by orange flames. On the top it says Not so innocent in red Sharpie.
I reach for it, but Monica whips it away. “I don’t know what your deal is. I don’t know if Daddy doesn’t give you enough attention, or if you’re mad at Mommy, but it stops now.”
Watch You Burn Page 23