Burned

by Natasha Deen

  FIVE

  Meena Sharma.

  Through the window in the stairwell, I saw her step out of her sedan.

  Calm.

  Confident.

  Stone-cold killer.

  Spinning, I took two giant steps, slammed through the doorway out of the stairwell and into the hallway, passed Vincent, still standing outside his door, and headed for the back exit.

  “Hey! Kid—what’s going on?”

  No time for talk. It was all about survival.

  I crashed through the rear door and skidded to a stop. A couple of cops coming up the stairs. My heart slammed against my ribs. I rushed back to Vincent’s apartment, pushed him inside and closed the door behind me. “Told you that you’d see me again soon.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Meena.”

  One word was all it took. His face went slack, white. He cursed, low and vicious.

  Rage made me see two of him, made the world blur at the same time it sharpened every edge. I didn’t want to hide from the one who’d slaughtered my family. I wanted the fight, wanted to slam my fist into her round face and come away with her blood on my knuckles. But not now. Not here, when cops and guns came with her. Not when she could shoot me down and lie to the world.

  “She may not be here for you.”

  We made eye contact.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t buy it either. The closet. Now.”

  Through the walls, Meena’s footsteps sounded, coming ever closer. I yanked open the closet door and fumbled past the clothes for the compartment in the wall. If I squeezed my shoulders together, there was enough space to hide. Vincent locked me in the vertical coffin just as the knock boomed at the door.

  “Yeah—”

  I heard his muffled voice.

  “—I’m coming.”

  “Mr. Pyra.”

  There was a time I’d liked her. Adored her and her daughter. But now? God, I hated her voice, and I despised the thought of her. Smug. Confident. A mass murderer cloaking herself in the skin of a protector.

  “Congratulations,” said Vincent. “You got my name right. You must be so proud.” He paused. “I’d ask who you are and what you want, but you have the smell of bacon all over you.” Another pause. “And powdered sugar. Isn’t sugar bad for pigs?”

  She chuckled.

  “If you’re checking up on me, talk to my parole officer. I’ve been a model citizen.”

  “We’re not here for you, Mr. Pyra.”

  “I’m crushed.”

  I took a shallow breath. With less than an inch between the plywood and my nose, I wasn’t sure how much air I had and how long it would have to last.

  “We have reports of a young man entering your building.”

  I allowed myself a small breath. A boy. Not a girl.

  “So?”

  “He’s wanted in connection with a traffic accident.”

  “He hit somebody?”

  “Someone hit him.”

  “Let me get this right.” Vincent was amused. “You’re going door to door in this building, trying to track down a victim who walked away? You guys run out of murderers to find? I got a plugged sink I need help with, if you’re looking for work.”

  She answered, but I lost the conversation because I was trying to figure out how she’d tracked me.

  Then I realized how she’d done it. The security cameras on the streets. I was always careful around them, but my run-in with Eagle Man had made me rash. Note to self: Don’t be a moron when in danger. And remember that cops can gain access to the cameras faster than you think.

  “—waste your time.”

  Vincent’s voice pulled me back to the conversation.

  The creak of the chair shifting under someone’s weight preceded Meena’s response. “You and I have been in the system too long to play games, so I’m going to level with you.”

  “Wow.” His contempt made the word heavy. “Should I make popcorn and we can paint each other’s nails while you spill your guts?”

  “Two years ago. You remember that woman and her two kids who died?”

  The ice was on my skin, frozen memories of that night, of the flames that burned the heart from me.

  “Lots of women and kids die,” said Vincent, and I gave him credit for keeping his voice steady.

  There was no room for me to move or shift my weight. I wiggled my toes and fingers, trying to keep the blood circulating and prevent myself from passing out. My shoulders ached, and coupled with the pain from the car accident, I was in a world of agony so bad I felt it in my hair. But it was nothing compared to my sharp, pointed rage as I listened to her talk about my family.

  “Her ex-boyfriend shot them, torched the house.” She paused. “We’re still looking for him.”

  The image haunted my dreams; the unanswered questions tormented me. Who had she shot first? Had Danny screamed? Did Emily cry? Mom would’ve thrown her body in front of both of them. I wanted to wail. There had never been a boyfriend—never been an ex-boyfriend. There had only been Meena, lying about a phantom lover to cover her tracks.

  “Unless you want me to partner with a witness and give you a sketch of this guy,” said Vincent, “I can’t help you.”

  “He had an accomplice,” she said. “That woman? She had been my housekeeper for four years. We shared stories about our kids. She helped change my daughter’s diapers.”

  Yeah. And you shot her in return for her loyalty and hard work. I held on to my fury. It was better than diving into the grief.

  “Most cases go cold in forty-eight hours, but not this one. Not for me. It stays hot. I’m going to find the guy and his partner, and I will bring them to justice.”

  “An accomplice?” Vincent snorted. “How do you know? You can’t find him—you can’t even find some guy who got hit by a car.”

  “We have video.”

  “Of the hit and run?”

  “Of the fire.”

  My heart slammed against my ribs.

  “And I saw the hit and run. I never forget how perps move, Mr. Pyra. It’s the same guy, and I’m going to find him. Bring him to justice.”

  How I’d moved the night of the fire was no longer how I moved now. Back then I was a girl. Now I was living life as a boy. Girls move from the hips. Guys from the shoulders. My run-in with the gangbanger must’ve made me forget my training. One stupid mistake, and Meena had me in her sights. I stopped breathing and hoped Vincent would keep control.

  “What kind of video?”

  Way to go, Vincent. Way to stay in control.

  “Now you’re interested?”

  “Because I think you’re full of fertilizer.”

  “YouTube. Someone taped the fire. Isn’t it great living in the modern age? Private citizens tape crimes, and thanks to Google Alerts, I get updates on anything I’m interested in. And I’m very interested in the fire and this guy.”

  “Video, huh? Let me see.”

  Nice play, Vincent. I kept wiggling my fingers and used the memory of my dead family as a painkiller for my screaming muscles.

  “Sure.” Confidence was in Meena’s voice. “Give me your phone.”

  “Nice try. Do it on yours.”

  There was silence, and I guessed she was calling up the YouTube video.

  “You can’t tell much,” Vincent said after a minute. “That could be anybody.”

  “It’s a clue.” The words slithered from her mouth. “I don’t like unsolved cases. And I don’t like men who murder women and children.”

  God, I wanted to vomit.

  On her.

  Poor Emily. A street kid I’d befriended during one of my volunteer stints. S
he’d educated me about life on the streets. I’d convinced her to come off them, to get into the system. She’d been at my house that night to sleep over. We were going to find her a social worker the next day. If she hadn’t been there that night, they wouldn’t have mistaken her body for mine. She’d be alive, and I’d be dead. My mom’s trust in Meena may have gotten her and Danny killed. But Emily’s death was all on me.

  “Your friend isn’t a good guy.” The chair squeaked. Probably her standing up.

  “I don’t have friends like that, but even if I did, he can’t be that much of a threat. After all, you came to my apartment alone.”

  “The boys are outside. He’s a bad guy.” She paused. “But I’m dangerous.” Another pause. “Not just to him.”

  I imagined her staring Vincent down.

  “I’m deadly to anyone who gets in my way. We have officers canvassing the apartments. He murdered a six-year-old boy, shot him down—”

  It took everything in me to stay quiet. For the first time, I was grateful for the coffin I was trapped in, because it was the only thing keeping me upright.

  “—every cop in Vancouver wants him. He did a good job of trying to stay out of the cameras,” she said, “but we know where all the convicts live. It’s a matter of when not if we’ll get him. If he’s your friend—”

  “Told you. I’m not friends with murderers.”

  “—tell him to surrender. No one wants a shootout.”

  Late at night, hunkered in a cardboard box and watching the rain turn my hut into sludge, I’d occasionally wondered if I’d done the right thing in never going to other cops and telling my story. Hearing her talk about killing me in plain sight… yeah, I’d made the right decision.

  “Do the right thing, Mr. Pyra.” The door opened, closed.

  A few minutes later Vincent cracked the lock, and I stumbled into the light, holding on to him for support.

  “You have to leave Vancouver,” he said.

  “Not till I’m done with her.”

  “She’s got a video.”

  “You said no one can identify me.”

  His face crumpled with irritation. “Sure, the video’s mostly shadow and movement, nothing else. Some kid running down the street. But she won’t give up, Jo. As long as you’re out there, you’re a threat.”

  “Good.”

  “There’s software, algorithms she can run…”

  I scowled. “That’s television fiction. Most departments can’t afford that kind of equipment.”

  He tried to stare me down.

  “Let me see it.”

  Vincent pulled out his phone and went to YouTube.

  I watched as he typed in arson, Vancouver and dead family. A bunch of videos came up.

  “This is the one,” he said as he clicked the link.

  I watched the video, then handed the phone back. “If she’d been able to clean it up and see anything that would identify me, she wouldn’t have been here. She’s got nothing.”

  “Run, Jo, and run hard.”

  I shook my head, ignored the pleading in his voice. “Someone has to make her pay.”

  “She’s going to kill you. Whatever your mom saw her do, it’s going to cost your life.”

  I shook my head again. “She can’t get away with this. I won’t let her.”

  Fear for me pinched his face, pulled his skin taut. “Don’t be stupid. She’s got the guns and loyalty of every cop on the force. All she has to do is call you a child killer and they’ll pump you so full of metal you’ll set off detectors in the next province!”

  “She set fire to my family. I’m going to end her.” I met his gaze, pretending not to see his terror. “I promise it’ll be fine.”

  “You promise.”

  “I’ve never lied to you, have I?”

  He sighed. “No, you never have.”

  I stood. “I know exactly what I need to do.” What I didn’t tell him was I only had two hours to get it done, and if I was wrong, it was going to burn me.

  Permanently.

  SIX

  Between the rattle of the SkyTrain, my injuries and the walk, I should’ve been dead tired by the time I got to Meena’s house. But as the train pulled into its stop in the New Westminster suburb she lived in, all I was thinking about was my family. My hate took the edge off the cold wind, and my muscles vibrated with the desire—no, the need—to make her pay for what she’d done. I got to her house on Gifford Street, took in the quiet slumber of the neighborhood.

  My family was forever sleeping in three cemetery plots. They’d never need light, never crave a soft bed or blankets still warm from the dryer. I couldn’t bring them back, but I could—and would—make Meena pay for taking them from me. Stealing her laptop had never been a priority. It was too risky. She was bound to screw up someday, and taking a turtle approach—slow and steady—seemed the best strategy. I’d used the homeless network to keep tabs on her. So far, they’d only been able to bring me word of minor infractions, nothing I could take to the news.

  Now, thanks to some random neighbor who’d decided to record the fire, Meena had video of someone running from the house. She had a solid record for closing cases, and I was the ultimate loose end. I was a target, but no way was I going to be prey. I needed to take the risk, get in her house and get the evidence I needed to put her away. I took the tools from my pocket and headed up the stone path to her front door. Bending, twisting my body so the light hit the lock, I slid the tension wrench into the lower opening, turned and held it steady, then slid the pick into the lock.

  “Are you totally stupid?”

  I jerked upright, pulling the muscles in my back. Whipping around, I saw the girl—the urban climber from earlier that night. “What the—how did you get here?”

  “With my feet, newb.”

  “An urban climber, walking? Shouldn’t you be swinging from a web?”

  “That’s Spider-Man.”

  “This can’t be a coincidence.” I folded my arms across my chest, palming the lockpick. “Are you following me? What do you want?”

  She snorted. “Watching grass grow would be more interesting than following you. Anyway, don’t be stupid. It’s a prime neighborhood. Why wouldn’t we both end up here?” Her gaze swept the street.

  So did mine. No way was she here for a night of buildering.

  “It’s got choice pickings.”

  Stealing made more sense for why she was here, but I wasn’t thrilled with her tone. And I didn’t like her pet name for me. I’d had enough. Must have been the adrenaline from earlier that had made me feel like she and I were kindred spirits. “Fine. Go away.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Setting up for a game of checkers. What does it look like?”

  “Looks like you’re getting ready to get arrested for attempted B and E.” She paused. “That’s breaking and entering.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Yeah, I managed to puzzle that one out.”

  “So? What’s going on?”

  “None of your business.”

  “It is if you get us caught.” She came up the steps.

  “Us?” I looked around. She couldn’t be alone, and I didn’t know if that was good or bad news for me. “You have a team looting the houses here?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she said, “Did you even check to see if the house is alarmed?”

  “I’m not stupid.”

  “You are if you’re breaking in through the front door.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to explain why I knew all about the house setup but figured if I didn’t give her something, she’d never leave me alone. “Thanks for the tip, but you notice the trees cover me. Go away.” I pushed past her, stepped down the
stairs and headed to the back door.

  “You don’t have any bags. No car.”

  “No wonder you’re a climber. Talk about eagle eyes.”

  “Spotted your sorry attempt to play cat burglar from a hundred feet, didn’t I?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  She sighed. “I’ll keep watch.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause if I don’t, you’ll ruin the neighborhood for the rest of us. I’ll give you a signal if anyone comes your way.”

  “What’s the signal?”

  “Me screaming, ‘Run!’”

  That made me laugh. “Fair enough.”

  We got to the back. Usually, I can pick a lock in under ten seconds. Having her around made it take longer. Still…“See?”

  She shrugged. “I’m beside myself, I’m so impressed.”

  I rolled my eyes and stepped into the quiet house. Despite what Climber Girl thought, I had broken into houses before. To fulfill the deal with Vincent, I’d done copies of art, gone into the homes and replaced the originals with my replicas. I had rules about which homes and which pieces of art I’d take. I would only steal paintings that were already stolen, and Vincent respected that.

  Climber Girl followed me through the door and into the kitchen. “You’re lucky they don’t have an alarm system.”

  Luck had nothing to do with it. Meena was arrogant, too full of herself to think someone would break into her place. A couple of times, I’d helped my mom clean houses, and the memories of this house’s layout came flooding back.

  “Hey!” Climber Girl’s voice hissed my way. “You sightseeing or shopping?”

  “Stay here. Watch the door.”

  I pulled a tiny flashlight from my pocket and panned it around the kitchen. No laptop. I aimed the beam at the living room. It washed over a rocking horse, princess castle and enough pink toys to put me off the color for the rest of my life.

  “Get what you need and get out.”

  I jumped at the sound of Climber Girl’s voice. She stood less than a foot behind me. “I thought you were keeping watch.”