The Night We Burned

by S. F. Kosa

  Weeks, it had taken. She rummaged through the pine needles, pulling free a pair of woolen socks, a pair of old sweats, a man’s flannel shirt, a hideous pink parka, a pair of holey tighty-whities she’d found in a bathroom wastebasket. Ordinary clothes. Ones that didn’t mark her as a fool. A freak.

  She looked down at Xerxes. Shook him by the shoulders before realizing that even if he was awake, she’d still have to carry him. Tears stung her eyes. She ripped the robe over her head, wrapped herself in the flannel, realized she should have stolen a bra. She leaned against the puzzle-piece bark of a ponderosa to remain upright while she pulled on the underwear and slowly inched the sweats up her legs, silently screaming in her head. She shoved her arms into the parka’s sleeves, then pulled the small wad of cash from its inner pocket. Almost thirty dollars. She’d swiped it dollar by dollar so no one would notice, from spare cash in desk drawers, the tip jar in a salon, an emergency stash under someone’s mattress. That one had been a five, but she prided herself on the fact that she hadn’t taken more. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. Didn’t want to steal. But she’d been desperate.

  She was desperate now. She’d begun to shiver, even in the parka. She needed to be moving again, to put distance between herself and Ladonna and Fabia and Tadeas. If they found her, they’d almost certainly kill her. Her crimes would be obvious.

  She’d committed so many. In the end, her survival had mattered most. Hers and that of the boy at her feet. She didn’t know why he’d become so important. She’d forgiven him for kicking her that night. It wasn’t his fault. It might not have been the cause of the stillbirth. His spirit had reminded her that she could be brave. His defiance had reminded her that disobedience was an option. She knelt beside him, eyes burning, throat burning, everything alight. She slid her arms beneath him once more and heaved.

  But she couldn’t lift him. Somewhere in the last few minutes, her strength had left her, the fuel that had gotten her this far burned away. A strangled cry slipped between her lips as she tried again. It was freezing out here. He might die of hypothermia. He couldn’t even walk. Her tears flecked his cheeks as she tried yet again.

  She wasn’t strong enough to save him. Just like she hadn’t been able to save her little girl. After all that, she still wasn’t enough.

  Her chest bucked with a sob she was too scared to let out. She pressed her lips to his cold cheek, leaned her forehead against his. “I’m so sorry. I tried so hard,” she whispered to him. “You deserve to live.”

  She shucked off the parka and wrapped it around his little body, over the blanket. He was breathing steadily, though soot blackened his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. His little heart beat furiously beneath her palm, defiant as ever. She’d imagined the two of them finding a new path in the world. She’d been ready to make sure he had a chance.

  Now she had to abandon him. Like his mother had, neither of them strong enough to shield him from the world. Was it better for him to die in his sleep, out here in the woods, no more pain?

  That was the basest, most pathetic lie she’d ever tried to tell herself. Of course it wouldn’t be better. It would be yet another death on her bloodstained hands. Yet another abandonment. Like she’d abandoned Eric two years ago, whispering to him in the night that she had to go, no he couldn’t come with her, he was too young, their stepfather wasn’t interested in him so he’d be fine. She’d told him to be strong. She’d promised she’d be back for Christmas just to get him to stop crying. He probably hated her now.

  Like Xerxes might if he lived.

  After one more sad, wrenching heave, she gave up. Her face soaked with snot and tears, she tucked the corners of the pink parka tight around him, then got to her feet. On impulse, she piled pine needles around his body, hoping to trap his heat, hoping it would be enough. As she stepped back, a pop of color caught her eye; her meditation stone, which she’d used to hit Parvaneh, lay on the ground next to her discarded robe. In the end, it had saved her, just not how she’d expected. Amid all the unreality and sorrow of the moment, it was the one thing she could take with her to remind herself all of it had happened, that she wasn’t insane, that she had escaped something real. She stuffed it in the pocket of the flannel shirt.

  Walking away was harder than murder as it turned out. It wasn’t a sharp, shocking pain, like the moment the blade of that hunting knife sank into Darius’s body. This was an agony that rose with every step that carried her away from Xerxes. A searing certainty.

  She bore the agony, plotted her way through the tree-studded darkness using the white markers she’d painstakingly laid down for herself to guide her to the state road…and she began to navigate toward freedom. Behind her, the fire glowed orange and evil. With every shift of the wind, she could smell death in the air. She wondered what people would find when it was all over. Would they know what she’d done, or would the flames cover the evidence of her crimes?

  By the time she neared the county road, four miles through the woods, with sirens screaming and the sun laying the truth bare, she was on her hands and knees. Crawling, too exhausted to carry her hideous, weak body any farther. Defeated, sobbing, she dragged herself to a culvert near the road. She edged herself inside, soaking her sweats but finding a dry spot where the slender trickle of water diverted. A place to rest, finally. Wondering if this was her last morning on earth, praying that something out there would reach for her if she fell, carrying her to some golden vein of peace and light, she let her eyes fall shut and found nothing but darkness waiting.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Bend, Oregon

  December 14, present day

  Noah slows as his GPS tells him his destination is on the right. He turns into a gravel driveway rutted with mud and puddles. In front of us is a tiny cabin, smoke puffing from its chimney. The windows are lit with a cheery glow. It looks almost quaint. Noah pulls in behind an ancient-looking Ford Fairmount that I swear I’ve seen before—turning at an intersection on Hailey and Martin’s street the morning the meditation stone was left on their doorstep.

  “Get out,” Arman snaps. He pokes Noah with the muzzle of the gun again.

  Noah curses and shoves his door open, emerging with Arman close behind him. Arman keeps the weapon aimed at Noah. He seems to sense I’m no threat at all. Together, we make for the rotting front porch, our shoes sloshing in the mud.

  As if she senses our approach, she opens the door. I haven’t seen her in two decades, and I of all people know how time can warp and squeeze and twist a body. But still I am shocked by what I see.

  She used to be so slender. I couldn’t help but be jealous. I’d been slow and fat and hapless my whole life, something my mother harped about nonstop, hiding food and shaming me, something my stepfather used to make me think we were on the same side, slipping me treats, making me believe he cared so he could use me how he liked and keep me quiet. I’d dream of being tiny, lovely, certain everyone who saw me approved. And Parvaneh was lovely. Big eyes, silky hair, lips that formed a perfect little bow. Darius’s gaze always turned hungry as he watched her. Only in the moments near the end, when those eyes would roll, when that mouth would twist with bitterness or suspicion, was her prettiness marred.

  The woman before me bears little resemblance to that person. Her straw-like brown hair hangs to her chin. Her face sags with the weight of jowls and is pitted and slashed by scars, as if meth has been a close friend for years. Her body is swathed in a black tracksuit that clings to every roll and pucker. Her hands are encased in blue gloves. She sees me looking at them. “Burned,” she says in a flat voice. Then she steps aside.

  Arman wraps his fingers around my upper arm and pushes me inside after Noah. Parvaneh has pulled two chairs away from a table that takes up a good portion of the space. On one side of the room is a bunk bed, sheets rumpled and blankets tossed back. On the other is a square of counter space littered with crusty dishes, a small stove, a wi
ndow with dingy beige curtains. At the back is a closed door, maybe one that leads to a bathroom. And set into the wall a few feet from the bed is a fireplace where cheerful flames dance.

  Arman positions himself on one side of it, the gun still aimed at Noah. “Do as she says,” he instructs. He glares at Noah. “I could shoot you.”

  “Because you’ve killed before, am I right?” Noah asks.

  “He hasn’t killed anyone,” Parvaneh says. “He only sets the fires.”

  I stare at her. So casual about the lives she’s taken. “You murdered all of them.”

  “They deserved it. You of all people know that.”

  “Are you the one who ran Miles off the road?” I ask.

  “That was me,” Arman announces, looking proud of himself. “He was about to draw too much attention to things, and Mother wanted a little more time to bring you in. So I took care of it. And I used your car, so people might think it was you.” He looks at his mother.

  “The reporter survived,” she says, sounding irritated. “And framing her was stupid. What if she’d been arrested? How would we have gotten her?”

  Arman clenches his jaw and stares at the floor.

  Parvaneh leans against the counter. “You lost the weight,” she says to me. “Looks like you went a little too far if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t,” I say quietly.

  She grunts. “I’ve been looking for you for ages. Imagine my happiness when I figured out your little game.”

  I look over at Noah, whose eyes streak left and right like he’s trying to find a way out. But Arman has that barrel aimed straight at his head. I pray he doesn’t move.

  “How did you find me?” I ask.

  She laughs. “It wasn’t easy—until it was. I looked for Anna Wilbur for years, along with Eszter Wilbur. Hell, Eszter anything. I even found your brother on Facebook and stalked him for a while, but after he posted about his long-lost sister a few years ago, I realized you were enough of a coward that I’d have to work a little harder.” She gives me a stiff smile. “So I decided to come back to Bend. Because you know the only person who wasn’t too chicken to go by his birth name? Tadeas. Arnold Moore.”

  “You forgot that Marie lady,” says Arman.

  “No, I didn’t,” Parvaneh snaps. “She changed her name when she got married. She wasn’t hard to find. A pain in the ass to kill, though.” She looks down at me. “You probably didn’t feel so bad when you heard she was dead, am I right? You and I both hated that one.”

  “Jesus, you’re evil,” Noah mutters.

  Parvaneh rolls her eyes. “She was always a bitch. But Arnie, he was just stupid. And talkative, with the right lubricant.” She mimes lifting a bottle to her lips and gulping down its contents, then staggers a little. “It made him easy to kill too. But before I did, he told me how to find Ladonna. He’d seen her at the hospital when he had to take his girlfriend for some infection or something.”

  “But he couldn’t have known about me,” I say.

  Her smile is eerie, her eyes faraway. “He didn’t know what he knew. But because he was so helpful with Ladonna, I asked if he knew more. You know what he said? He knew some folks who’d taken in a girl just after the night we burned. And they’d always wondered if she had been part of the Oracles.”

  I shake my head, unable to wrap my head around what she’s saying. “But they didn’t even know—”

  “It almost didn’t work,” she tells me. “Hailey didn’t want to hire a cleaning lady at first, but I’ve got experience, and I don’t charge much.” She smiles at me. “Remember how we did that? And they’ve got the sweetest picture hanging in their living room. The one of their dead little girl. All it took was a question about her to get the story, and a few more questions after that to get her talking about you.”

  “She didn’t know I changed my name,” I said.

  “Then maybe she never knew you as well as I do,” Parvaneh says. “I know how sneaky and greedy you are, how you like to take what isn’t yours. Hell, you stole my fake name and made it your own, Christy. And it worked, so why wouldn’t you do it again? Hailey had told me you worked for an online news magazine, and when I Googled Dora Rodriguez, sure enough, LinkedIn told me exactly where you worked. It all matched up.” She tugs at her gloves. “I thought I’d have to go up to Seattle to get you,” she says. “I wanted to scare you first, though. I wanted you to know what was coming. So I tipped off your friend Miles.” She grins, shaking her head. “I never thought you’d have the balls to come down here yourself. But I’m so glad you did.”

  “You didn’t have to go after Hailey and Martin.” My fingers curl around the edges of my seat. “They’re completely innocent.”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t do much, really. Arman snuck in and put that candle in the closet. Hung the oily rag over it. But I’m the one who got Hailey to give me the keys to the castle, so to speak.”

  “Why hurt them, though?”

  Her expression twists. “You murdered the most important person in the world to me. You ruined my son. I needed you to feel that. Too bad the fire took too long to catch.” She gives Arman a scathing look.

  It takes every shred of self-control I have not to scream with rage. “You didn’t have to do that! You knew I was at a hotel. You even figured out which one.”

  “Actually, I did,” Noah says with a sigh. “The mistake I made was telling Arman. Not to mention falling for his whole Children of Darius message-board scam.” He turns to Arman, looking hopeful. “You really had me going, buddy. It’s all fake, right?”

  Arman nods. “She wanted to find you too.”

  “And I totally fell for it.” Noah leans forward. “But you hear what she’s saying about you? What she really thinks?” he asks, though Arman won’t meet his eyes. “She said you’re ruined. She’s dragged you into this, and now she’s blaming you.”

  “The only one to blame is her,” Parvaneh says loudly, pointing at me. “She recruited me into the Oracles. We’re only here because of her. Everything we’ve suffered is because of her.” Her voice rises. “Arman was born damaged because of her.” Her palm collides with the side of my face, twisting it to the side.

  My ears ring and my cheek burns. I keep my eyes on the floor while I catch my breath.

  “Arman told me what happened to your wrist,” she says. “You’re easier to break than you used to be. You used to have all that fat protecting you.”

  I slowly raise my head but keep my gaze trained straight ahead. “Did you bring me here just to insult me?”

  “I brought you here,” she says loudly, “to make sure you understood what you’d done.”

  I meet her eyes. “I know I hurt you. I know you being in the Oracles was my fault. I’ve never forgiven myself for that. But I tried to get you to come with me. You have to remember that. I tried to get both of us out.”

  “You tried to get me in trouble!” yells Parvaneh, her eyes suddenly sheened with tears. “You tried to turn everyone against me!”

  “I tried to get you to see how insane it all was,” I shout. “It wasn’t safe to be open with anyone, remember? I dropped as many hints as I could!”

  Her lips peel away from her teeth. She’s missing her top left canine. “All while you were glued to his side, sucking up all his attention. You expect me to believe you were somehow trying to help?”

  My nostrils flare. “You know what I was actually trying to do? Darius would have killed more people a lot sooner. That’s what he wanted to do after Octavia. He was acting like a cornered animal. He wanted to sacrifice one Oracle each night, just like the pigs.”

  “I remember the pigs,” Noah says, staring into the fire. “I could hear them squealing when Kazem tried to give them that medicine.”

  “You think you were saving people?” Parvaneh hisses. “What if that had been the key to our salvation—did you ever
think of that? You stopped Darius from acting out the wisdom of the consciousness.”

  “Apparently, I didn’t.” I remember the tightrope every night, as he brought me to his bed, as he proclaimed that he’d heal my sorrow with a new baby, a new vessel for a soul. I swallowed down my growing disgust, and I tried, in any quiet, nonchallenging way I could think of, to steer that man away from killing us all, all while slowly plotting an escape. “I’m sorry. I never knew where you stood. I was afraid you’d give me away. And you’re right about me—I was too much of a coward to admit I had doubts.”

  Parvaneh’s eyes are lit with hatred. “But you let me get beaten for them. You told everyone it was me who doubted.”

  “I know you did. You were too smart not to.”

  “I loved Darius,” she says, her voice rising again. “I loved him more than all of them did, and he was the only person who ever really loved me. And you killed him for no reason.”

  “No reason?” I whisper. “Darius wanted us to slaughter a child. All around us, people were being murdered—people we loved and cared about! Darius wasn’t going to let Xerxes out of there alive.”

  “Maybe that was for the best,” Parvaneh says.

  Noah glares at her with a chilling kind of disdain. “You were made for him,” he says. “So why didn’t you stay by his side instead of running to safety?”

  “Because of you!” howls Parvaneh. “You were meant to be the sacrifice. And you,” she says, her manic gaze falling on me, “murdered the most amazing man in the world—I burned my hands trying to save him, but it was too late.” She’s holding them up, evidence of my crime.

  “I know what I did,” I say wearily.

  “And he wasn’t going to kill you,” she adds. “So it wasn’t self-defense. He trusted you, and you used it against him. For some horrible reason, he liked you best.”