by Zoey Parker
Grady looks at me over his shoulder. “Watch it all burn, bitch.” He turns back to the debris littering the room and starts adding more to it. He throws buckets of brushes, stacks of unused canvas, easels in desperate need of repair. Anything that he can get his hands on, he grabs and throws it towards the fire that has caught firm root amongst my art. Smoke has begun to drift out and up, filling the room. It’s all too familiar, the same record on repeat, the exact twin of the last time I had run into my studio and seen my belongings on fire. Grady wasn’t an original or a creative man, but he knew how to find that one vulnerable point that mattered most to a person and drill into it until they broke. And here he was, breaking me.
I can’t hold back anymore. “Grady, please stop!” I sob. The smoke is rough against my throat, scratching and burning.
“It’s way too late for that, darling!” He cackles as he upturns a desk. It slams into the floor, sending pencils and sketchbooks skittering between my feet. “You had your chance, remember? You could have come back! I would have forgiven you, eventually! You would have had to earn that, of course, and it might not have been pleasant, but I’m not a bad man. There is always a way out.”
I’m crying now, tears running down my face, clearing tracks through the ash beginning to smudge on my skin. The fire is scorching. The oil in the paint is providing enough fuel for it to burn fast and hot. Waist-high flames are licking at the legs of the desk and easels, coursing along the winding strokes of each piece. “Please stop,” I beg. I can’t see this. It’s breaking me. “Please.”
“You had a choice! There’s always a choice. You chose wrong. You chose to act like a horny little skank, thinking with your pussy instead of your brain.” He’s seething, teeth clenched, eyes wild and bugging, as he steps around the flame towards me. He crosses the last few steps and drops his face inches away from mine. “It cost you, though, didn’t it? I have a question for you.” He rubs one harsh thumb along the side of my face, bringing it to his nose and inhaling. “Did you like it when he fucked you? Did you like being his little bitch? When he came inside you and started growing that little spawn of his, did you enjoy it?”
I shake my head as I look down at my lap. I’ll do anything to avoid looking at him. That’s a face out of a nightmare. It’s not human.
But Grady grabs my chin and forces my gaze up to meet his. “Answer me right fucking now,” he hisses. “Did you like being fucked by him?”
I bite my lip, refusing to answer.
“Answer me. Answer me!”
The smoke hangs thick in the room. I can’t see Marley anymore. In fact, the only thing I can see is Grady’s face, wreathed by the columns of smoke like some hideous portrait. The heady fumes of the paint and the cloying lack of oxygen in the room are making my head swirl. I’m having trouble keeping hold on reality. Lines won’t stay still, breaths are harder and harder to draw. The only thing consistent is Grady’s face, huffing into mine, and his hands pressed firm on the underside of my chin.
“Stand up!” he yells. He pulls a knife from his belt and reaches behind me to cut loose the cords restraining me to the chair. With a handful of my shirt in his grasp, he pulls me to my feet. I knock into him, stumbling, but he pushes me upright. He’s squeezing my cheeks. I can’t look away; he won’t let me move.
“I want an answer right now!” he bellows. He sounds out each word as he rages, “Did. You. Like. It?”
The room is a furnace now. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t move.
Grady is wrong. Fate is real; there’s no such thing as choices. I’ve never had a choice. Every single thing that’s ever happened to me was decided in advance. All the pain, all the failures, all the misery—that’s just what I got in life. I’m not good enough to deserve better. I deserve nothing more than what I have before me: fire burning everything I love, Grady holding me close and hurting me, and not a single place in the entire world I can go that would keep me away from him. There was never a choice. Never. I can’t see a single other thing. This is all I get.
So be it. I look Grady in the face and tell him the truth, “Yes, I liked it. I love him.”
* * *
The next three sounds I hear don’t make any sense at first. Bang. Crack. Thud. The smoke obscures everything except the vague, blurry outlines to my right. My eyes are red and stinging as I try to peer through the haze to see what’s happening. Only after the thud do I realize what is going on.
Bang. The door to the studio flying open.
Crack. The discharge of a gun.
Thud. Marley’s body collapsing to the floor.
Grady realizes exactly at the same time as me what is happening: Mortar is here.
He whirls me around, wraps his arm around my neck, and pulls me into his body at the same time that he unholsters his gun to press against my temple. Between the billowing smoke, the paint fumes, and his choking forearm, I can hardly breathe.
“Don’t fucking shoot,” he roars into the smoke. He can’t see any better than I can. We’re all blind in here. “I’ll kill her if you make a move.” I hear the metallic click of his gun as he cocks the hammer. The tiniest increase in pressure on the trigger and I’ll be dead.
My heart is pounding, my pulse throbbing, my muscles jittery and weak. I try to flop against Grady’s arm, but there’s no chance that I escape; he’s too strong. He starts to drag me backwards, despite my heels digging into the floor, as he continues screaming into the smoke.
“Stay wherever you are or I’ll fucking pull the trigger!” he thunders.
I hear Mortar growl back in reply, “Let her go, Grady.” There—I can see his silhouette through the smoke. He’s tall, broad, six and a half feet of strapping muscle and tight leather. His voice has the gravely rumble I fell in love with.
He came for me.
Grady slides backward with me in his grasp, not moving the gun from its resting point against my head. Mortar advances towards us slowly. I see the gun in his hand, although he doesn’t dare shoot for fear of missing Grady and hitting me by accident.
“Put her down right now,” he repeats. “This is between you and me.”
Grady is manic. “Don’t take another step closer!” he babbles. “Don’t you fucking move! I’ll kill her!”
“I killed your spy, Grady,” Mortar says. He’s the angel of death, a black silhouette in this hellish, smoky inferno. “I’m going to kill you, too.”
Grady laughs hollowly. “You have no leverage, scumbag. Stay the fuck away from me before I kill you and your bitch. You don’t want to see her get her head blown off in front of you, do you?”
“I told you once before, Grady: if you touched her again, I would kill you. But you weren’t smart enough to listen the first time.”
He laughs again. It’s an empty, fickle laugh, veering from desperation to bravado and back again in erratic loops. It’s the laugh of a maniac, of a man backed into a corner. “I killed your president. I stole your girl. And now I’m going to kill you, too. So funny that you think you’re the one with the upper hand. I’m the one in charge. I have been since the beginning.” He spits. The saliva grazes my ear on its way to the ground. “Did you really think you would just barge in here and rescue her?”
Mortar’s silent face tells him everything he needs to know. The laugh returns, more mirthful this time, as if this is all a game that he loves. “You’re as much of a bitch as this one.” He gives me a shake. “Go on, why don’t you tell him what you just told me?” He shakes me again. “Tell him!”
Mortar looks at me. He’s close enough that I can see his eyes, glinting in the smoke and darkness. I look back at him. The fear rooted in my body subsides for a moment. The tremors, the sweat, the panicked thumping of my heart, all of it ceases at once as I look at him.
Maybe there is fate. Maybe I’m supposed to be here, in the grasp of a maniac as my art burns around us, looking at Mortar straight in the eye as I summon up my courage and tell him the last true thing I know, the thing that le
d to all this, “I love you, Mortar.”
Then the world explodes.
A beam from the ceiling overhead drops between us. The thick wooden pole is riddled with curling flame. A shower of sparks erupts as it hits the floor, cascading into my face and burning little pinpricks in my skin where they land. I see Mortar leap backwards, narrowly avoiding it, at the same time that Grady throws me to one side. I land on a pile of canvas that has somehow stayed out of the flame. Moments later, Grady lands on top of me. His bulk crushes the breath from my lungs. I’m falling down a black tunnel as color drains from my vision. My mouth bobs up and down in a desperate search for air, but all I can draw in is smoke. It fills my lungs, stinging the sensitive tissue of my throat and chest. I cough, hack, writhing beneath Grady as I try to breathe.
Suddenly, his weight is lifted from me in one fell swoop. I manage to find a pocket of air amidst the smoke and I suck greedily as I swoon back from the brink of passing out. I stagger to a seated position on the piled canvases and look over to see Grady and Mortar grappling on the floor. Their guns are nowhere to be seen. Instead, they throw fists into each other’s face and torso. Each punch lands with a thud, but neither one is fazed.
Grady rolls on top of Mortar. Pinning his left arm to the ground with one knee, he delivers three sharp cracks across his jaw. I see blood and the fragment of a tooth go flying. Mortar manages to shift his weight and throw Grady off of him. He catches a wild elbow across Grady’s temple that sends him reeling. Both men leap to their feet and square up, fists raised, snarling as blood drips down their faces.
I’m still coughing, teetering on the edge of consciousness. The smoke and the chemical tang of burning paint won’t leave me alone or let me breathe.
Grady roars and charges towards Mortar. He ducks a punch and slams his shoulder into Mortar’s stomach, driving him back onto the ground. They disappear on the other side of the flaming debris.
I hear a tremendous cracking noise and look overhead to see another beam threatening to fall. Flame dances along its entire length. One more crack and it could collapse, right on top of where Mortar and Grady are fighting. I stumble onto my hands and knees and crawl around the bonfire. I see the tangled feet of the brawling men. Grady is on top of Mortar again, pummeling him in the face. With a frantic lunge, I wrap my hand around Grady’s booted ankle and tug.
He slides down Mortar’s body, surprised. As he looks back to see me yanking him away from the man I love, his face transforms into a nasty grimace. It takes him hardly any effort to pull his foot away from my weak hands and lash out. The hard edge of his heel catches me in the mouth. I fall backwards, numb and bleeding. The world reels faster.
I can’t move from where I’m sprawled on the floor. My eyes are riveted on the ceiling beam. As I watch, the last sliver of wood keeping it suspended above us is severed by the encroaching flame.
The next few moments play out in slow motion. The beam starts to fall, dropping straight down towards Mortar and Grady. I raise a pathetic hand and shout “No!” Grady hears me, looks up, sees the beam. He hurls himself backwards out of its path. Mortar is on his back. He looks up, too, just in time for the flaming wood to crash on top of him.
I’m spinning. There’s no way he’s dead. He can’t be. That can’t be it. That’s not fate. That’s not fair. No, no, no. “No!” I scream. “No!”
Grady launches himself to his feet. He sees me crying and looks over to where Mortar is pinned beneath the beam. Scowling, he turns back to me, seizes a handful of my hair, and starts to pull me behind him as he walks towards the stairs.
Mortar can’t be dead. I don’t know what to do or what to think or how to feel or if this is even real life anymore.
My scalp is in agony as Grady drags me roughly away. Mortar hasn’t moved. We reach the first step of the staircase and descend with a painful thump. Grady is limping slowly, clearly in pain. Blood oozes from cuts on his chin and forehead where Mortar hit him. He moves inexorably, as unstoppable as fate itself, carrying me away from my husband.
The intense moan and crackle of burning timber stops him in his tracks. My heart leaps into my throat. That must be Mortar. He’s alive, he’s escaping, he’s coming for me. That’s the only thing it can be.
Grady knows it, too. He redoubles his speed as he staggers down the next few steps. We’re halfway down the staircase when I look behind me and see Mortar. His knee is twisted at an awkward angle, but there’s no denying the fire in his eyes. He winces as he starts to climb down the stairs in pursuit of us.
Each bump of the stairs jolts my already battered body, but Grady is relentless. We’re three stairs from the bottom, then two. Mortar is so close behind us. I stretch out a hand. I can almost reach him. He’s one step back. Grady tugs open the door. It careens wildly.
Mortar’s fingertips brush against mine. He’s stretching as far as he can. He hops down the last step at the same moment that Grady crosses the threshold of the building. His hand is wound in my hair. There’s no getting away.
I’m reaching for Mortar. Only a few more inches and I can grab hold. He swipes for my hand, misses, bumps the door.
Then, the rusty screech of metal. The door has been tortured long enough. It leans away from its hinges, separating at long last, and falls with a clang between Mortar and me.
Grady slogs through the grass on his injured legs. I’m screaming. Mortar is trapped behind us. The building has begun to sag, seeping smoke from every crack and crevice. The fire must be burning through the structure now. It can’t be much longer until the whole thing collapses—with Mortar stuck in it.
There’s a tiny sliver at the top of the doorframe. I see Mortar’s fingers gripping it. The roof is so close to caving in. He doesn’t have long.
I’m shrieking at the top of my lungs as we approach the police cruiser. “Shut up, bitch,” he mutters as he throws me in the back of the car again. “He’s as good as dead.”
Just before the door slams shut behind me, I see the roof give way. The whole building falls into itself, throwing sparks a hundred feet into the air.
“Mortar!” I scream over and over again. “Mortar! Mortar!”
He can’t be dead. If he is, then I’m about to be dead, too.
Chapter 16
Mortar
Pain. Everywhere. My body is a million and one cuts, bruises, burns. Every motion brings a stab. My knee is an epicenter of heat where it took the brunt of the weight from the falling beam. I can already tell that the kneecap is smashed. God only knows what else is fucked up down there.
I have to ignore it. Can’t lose focus. Can’t let go. There’s one thing to concentrate on: Grady. I’m not letting him get away.
He’s dragging Kendra across the yard. He’s got a fistful of her hair. She’s screaming, thrashing, but it’s not doing a damn thing. She needs me. I need her.
I grit my teeth. I can taste blood in my mouth. The heat is pouring at my back from the fire upstairs. It’s out of control. There’s no stopping it. The whole building is going down. Without the support beams in the ceiling, it’s going to collapse. I have to get out of here before that happens.
The door. Can’t believe it fucking gave way. Now, of all possible moments. How many times did I remind myself to fix it for her? How many times did I put it off until later? Now, when it matters, it fucks me. I’m stuck. Trapped.
I have to get out.
I let loose a roar. It rips from the bottom of my stomach to the top of my throat. The energy pours through me, giving new life to my aching muscles and broken bones. The metal door is wedged against a jutting steel rod at a weird angle. I have to push hard enough to bend the rod back so I can slide the door away.
Through the crack between the fallen door and the top of the doorframe, I see Grady throw Kendra into the back of his cop car. He turns to look at me.
I’m shoving on the door, throwing all of my weight against it. Every muscle, every tendon, every vein is flexed to its fullest. My life depends on it. Her
life does. My baby—he needs me to get out of here.
One more try will do it. I can hear the metal groaning. It’s about to give way.
One. More. Try.
I clench and throw my shoulder into it. My hands scrabble at the bottom, lifting up and away. The rod bends, fighting me the whole way, until finally, just as I’m reaching the very last of my strength, it submits. The door is light in my hands now, moving up, moving away, moments away from letting me free.
Then the roof collapses.
Sparks sear my cheeks and hands. I cry out, covering my eyes against the sudden onslaught of heat. The door falls back into place. I hear Grady’s car roar to life.