The Bone House

by Brian Freeman

  Hilary rolled across the bed and collected the gun. She pointed it at the ceiling and shouted at the two girls, who were entwined on the floor.

  'Stop! Stop it now!'

  Amy scrambled to her feet, pulling Katie with her. She threw Katie against the wall, and Katie landed with a groan, holding up her hands, crying with pain. Amy backed away toward Hilary, who trained the barrel on Katie as the girl bent over with her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath.

  Outside, the sirens soared in volume, seemingly from every direction. Police cars sped toward them down all of the side streets, converging on the house.

  'That's it, Katie,' Hilary told her. 'No more.'

  Amy slid an arm around Hilary's waist and leaned into her, weak and exhausted. She had enough strength to stare at her friend and the wreckage around her. The broken bottles. The blood-stained glass. The body of Gary Jensen, on his back, eyes open, a burnt red hole in his forehead.

  'How could you do this?' Amy whispered.

  The air wheezed in and out of Katie's lungs. The girl squatted and retrieved an unbroken, unopened bottle of gin, which was tipped on the floor at her feet. Hilary gestured at her with the gun.

  'Stop.'

  Katie picked up the bottle and shrugged. 'Go ahead, fire. One little spark will turn all of us into a fish boil.'

  'Put the bottle down,' Hilary repeated.

  Katie rested her head against the wall with her eyes closed. Her face was streaked with blood. Her clothes were torn. She twisted the cap off the bottle, breaking the paper seal, and drank, not caring as gin dripped out the sides of her mouth. When she stopped drinking, she hung on to the bottle by its neck, letting it dangle at her side.

  'I heard them screaming,' Katie said. 'As the fire got them. You never forget.'

  'Turn around, Katie. Start walking. We're leaving the house.'

  'Dad said I should have killed him, too,' Katie said. 'I didn't understand back then. Now I do.'

  Katie splashed gin at her feet and down her jeans and across her bare, bloody arms. She poured it over her head. She soaked the carpet, which was already sodden. Fumes rose in invisible waves around her; billowing into the shut-up room. The smell alone was enough to make Hilary's head swim.

  The girl dug in her pocket and pulled out another cigarette lighter. 'I always have a backup.'

  'Katie, don't do this,' Amy told her.

  Katie's face was blank, like a bone-white, empty page. She didn't even seem to be in the same room with them; she was in a different house, with her dead family. She extended her arm, her thumb poised over the sparkwheel. Hilary aimed the gun at her, but she couldn't risk pulling the trigger. Katie cocked her thumb without looking at them or seeing them. With a sad smile, she spun the wheel and lit the flow of butane with a single, deadly flick.

  A tiny flame popped from the top of the lighter. There was an instant in which the entire room was nothing but that insignificant fire, no greater than the light of a candle. Then the flame found the gathering fumes, and the first fireball erupted, wispy and gaseous, burning itself out in an orange burst. Hilary and Amy leaped back. Katie held the lighter upright, still lit, and she tilted the neck of the gin bottle downward. The liquid streamed through the glass and became a silver waterfall splashing toward the flame.

  'Get down!' Hilary screamed.

  She threw herself and Amy toward the floor just as the alcohol struck the lighter. The flame defied gravity and shot upward in a burst of lightning into the bottle and turned it into a bomb. The heavy glass blew outward in a lethal explosion of needle-sharp shards. Katie's face and torso were instantly shredded. The fire latched on to the fuel on her clothes and skin and turned her into a column of flames. She spun like a dancer, her flesh charring, her body consumed. She screamed like a dying animal, but only until the fire sped down her throat and began eating her from inside out, choking off her voice as her lungs melted.

  Hilary dragged Amy toward the windows on the opposite side of the room. She tore off the curtain rod, and the heavy fabric rippled to the ground. Outside, through the glass, the world glowed with the revolving red lights of police cars driving on to the lawn around them. Inside, the doorway leading out of the bedroom was engulfed in fire and impassable, as Katie's dying body became a pyre. Sparks arced toward the bed, smoldering on the linens.

  Hilary tried to pry open the lock on the window, but it was painted shut and wouldn't move. She looked around the room and saw an antique brass lamp on the nightstand closest to her. She grabbed it with both arms, dragging the cord out of the socket and winding up as if she was holding a baseball bat.

  'Duck!' she shouted at Amy.

  The girl dropped to the floor. Hilary threw the lamp into the window, and it burst with a singing clatter. The lamp disappeared down to the ground below them, leaving jagged knives of glass clinging to the wooden frame. Air rushed in, feeding the fire, which gnawed closer to them as it spread across the bed and climbed the walls. Searing heat burned their faces. Sparks exploded like fireworks to the ceiling and fell inches away at their feet.

  Hilary bunched the fallen curtains around her hands and knocked the remaining fragments from the window. She looked out through the open square, seeing lights and vehicles drawing closer, feeling the cold of the wind and the wet rain tease the heat of the fire, and seeing the waving branches of the nearest maple beckoning to her like a rescuer. The ground was a long distance below them.

  She thrust Amy toward the window. 'Jump! Jump for the tree!'

  'What about you?' Amy shouted as she squeezed her body into the frame.

  'Jump!'

  Amy leaped forward, arms outstretched, and disappeared into the arms of the air. Hilary glanced over her shoulder in time to see the entire room burst like a red ball and surge toward her. She forced her torso through the window opening and wedged her foot on the bottom of the frame. She felt a scorching heat erupt on her back, and she knew she was on fire. She didn't look down.

  Hilary jumped.

  She felt the tree branches stabbing her as they took her into their arms. Her fingers grasped like claws, and she found one thick branch with her hand, only to have it peeled away by gravity as she fell. She clung to another for a split second before her weight dislodged it, and it broke with a crack, sending her downward. Another branch stopped her with a hammering blow to her back, and she ricocheted forward, falling again, her clothes tearing, her skin pummeled with scrapes and punctures.

  She landed hard on her side and rolled through the mud, and when she stopped, she found herself on her back, staring up at the web of branches that had saved her. Fire spat through the broken window overhead like the tongue of a devil. Rain gently poured through the light and cooled her and washed away the blood, and the mud and puddles stamped out the flames that had licked at her back. She tried to move, to pull herself away to a safe distance, but her pummeled muscles refused to budge. All she could do for now was lie on the ground and wait.

  She felt a hand on her cheek. When she turned her head, she saw Amy hovering over her, propped on one elbow. The girl's face was dirty, but her eyes were bright and glassy with tears that streaked down her skin along with the rain.

  'You OK?' Amy asked.

  Hilary gave a weak smile. 'Yeah. You?'

  'I'm all right.'

  Amy sank against Hilary's shoulder and put an arm protectively around her and held on tight. The girl closed her eyes. Hilary did, too. Their chests rose and fell in unison as they breathed. Hilary heard the splash of boots as men drew closer and the comforting shouts of their voices. They talked to her like the angels in Mark's paintings, but she couldn't answer, even as she felt strong arms lifting her and carrying her. All she could do was give herself up to sleep.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  As the ferry drew closer to the mainland, Cab felt the turbulent waters of the Death's Door passage settle into bobbing swells. The stubborn rain soaking the peninsula had broken up over the past three da
ys and drifted east across the lake, leaving blue skies and mild temperatures in its wake. The magic of the view made him finally understand why there were people who would choose to live nowhere else but in this remote, beautiful land.

  Cab's phone rang on his belt. It was Lala calling from Florida. He'd barely spoken to her since she guided him to the body buried on Peter Hoffman's property. They'd only had time for brief conversations as the local police wrapped up their investigations in Green Bay and on Washington Island.

  'So what's the deal, Cab?' Lala said. 'Are the loose ends tied up?'

  'Most of them.'

  'No more dead bodies?'

  'Not today.'

  'That's good. Try to keep it that way, OK? You're making the lieutenant nervous.'

  Cab smiled. 'I will.'

  'I read your report. I guess you found what you were looking for. With the key. At the bottom of that hole.'

  'Yeah, you're right. I did.' He added, 'It's scary what people keep hidden under the ground.'

  'It is.'

  He heard the unspoken questions in her voice. What about you, Cab? What are you hiding?

  'So where do you go next?' Lala went on, with a casualness that sounded false. 'Do I win the bet?'

  'What bet?' he asked, but he knew what she meant.

  'The pool, remember? I figured this was the week that Catch-a-Cab Bolton would head for the horizon. I have a lot of money riding on you.'

  'How much?'

  'Ten whole bucks.'

  'You must have been pretty confident.'

  'No, I was pretty cynical. I'm actually starting to feel bad about that.'

  'Don't.'

  'It sounds like Door County needs a new sheriff,' Lala reminded him. 'Do you want the job?'

  Cab laughed. 'This place is too cold for me. What's it like down there?'

  'What else? Hot. Humid.'

  'That actually sounds nice,' Cab admitted. 'I'll be back home tonight. I guess I owe you ten bucks.'

  'Keep it,' Lala said. 'You've got a surprise waiting for you down here.'

  'What is it?'

  'I got out of your shower this morning, and guess who was waiting for me in the living room of your condo? Your mother.'

  'My mother's in Florida?'

  'Tarla Bolton in the flesh. Actually, I was the one in the flesh. We were both pretty damn surprised to see each other.'

  Cab laughed again. It felt good. 'What did she say?'

  'She said her son has good taste.'

  'Well, that's true.'

  'She also brought enough luggage to completely fill your second bedroom.'

  'She's staying?'

  'Looks that way. She said something about the mountain coming to Mohammed.'

  'I guess I better hurry,' Cab said.

  'I guess. I'll get my stuff out of your bedroom and rinse off your toothbrush.'

  'You're funny. You know, there's no rush, Lala. Is your air conditioning fixed?'

  'No.'

  'So stick around a few days. Take a vacation. I need one too. Besides, my mother is more than any one person can take alone.'

  'I'll think about that,' she said.

  'Hey, do me a favor, OK?' he asked.

  'What?'

  'Take some cash from my nightstand and go get a very, very expensive bottle of red wine. Tonight, you, me, and my mother are going to drink it on the beach.'

  'How often does a girl get a romantic offer like that?' Lala said.

  'I'd like to tell you both a story.'

  'What kind of story?'

  'It's about a girl named Vivian,' Cab said.

  There was a long silence from Lala on the line. 'I'll buy the wine.'

  'Thanks.'

  'Travel safe, Cab.'

  'Bye, Lala.'

  He hung up the phone and felt an odd heaviness in his heart.

  It occurred to Cab that he had never known what homesickness was before, not about people, not about places. He felt restless as the boat nestled against the dock in Northport. He jogged down the steps to the lower deck, climbed into his car, and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel until the deck attendant waved him off the ferry. He was first in line. His Corvette growled with impatience.

  As he drove with a thump on to solid land, he saw a long line of cars in the return line, waiting to head back across the blue waters under the blue skies toward Washington Island. That was how it always was here - people coming and going, heading in opposite directions. The lead car bound for the island, bound for home, belonged to Hilary Bradley. He recognized her, and she recognized him. She waved at him as if he was a friend.

  Cab pulled off to the side of the pier, letting the other cars form a convoy away from the ferry. When there was a gap in the traffic, he ran on his stork-like legs to the car parked in front of the on-ramp to the boat.

  Hilary rolled down the window and leaned out. The warm wind mussed her blond hair. 'Hello, Detective.'

  'Mrs Bradley. How are you?'

  'Better,' she said. 'Much better. So's Amy Leigh.'

  'That's good.'

  'The police in Green Bay treated us well.'

  'My lieutenant and I made some calls to make sure they did.'

  She took off her sunglasses and smiled at him. He could see cuts and bruises lingering on her face, but she still managed to look pretty. Her mood matched the lightness of the weather.

  'Are you heading back to Florida?' she asked.

  'I am.'

  'I'm glad I had a chance to see you before you left. To say thank you for what you did. For going over to the island that night. Without you, I probably would have lost Mark.'

  'I should be thanking you,' Cab told her. 'I feel guilty that it took a schoolteacher and a college girl to expose what really happened on that beach in Naples. I would have felt even worse if either of you had been seriously hurt.'

  'That wasn't your fault.'

  'You probably also owe me an "I told you so" for wrongly suspecting your husband. I'm sorry. I made a mistake.'

  'You don't know him like I do,' Hilary said.

  'Well, I told you before that I hoped you were right - and you were.'

  'I've been wrong many times, but not about Mark. Trusting someone doesn't necessarily make you a fool, Detective.'

  'I'll try to remember that,' Cab said.

  He heard a whistle and saw that the belly of the ferry was empty. One journey was done; the next was in waiting. Hilary Bradley turned on the engine of her car, and he could see in her face the same impatience he felt. To finish the ride. To be home where you belonged with the ones you loved. He envied her for having things in her life he was just beginning to find.

  'I have to go,' she said, extending a hand through the window. He shook it. Her grip was firm, but her skin was soft.

  'Good luck in all things, Mrs Bradley.'

  'Thank you, Detective. The same to you.'

  She drove on to the ferry, and Cab returned to the Corvette. He gunned it and headed south without a backward look at the water and the island. He had a long drive ahead through the small towns of Door County, but it was a perfect day to travel back to reality. He could drive as fast or as slow as he liked on the empty roads. For the first time in a long time, he felt as if there was no one chasing him.

  Even so, he had somewhere to go, and he was anxious to get there.

  Hilary broke through the trees on to Schoolhouse Beach behind their house. Mark was waiting for her. So was Tresa, sitting on a bench beside him, her red hair tied in a ponytail. Sunshine spilled across the expanse of the horseshoe bay and left it flecked with gold. The season was still too early for tourists, and they had the rocky stretch of shoreline all to themselves.

  When the two of them saw her at the crest of the slope, Tresa ran. Mark lingered on the bench by himself, letting the girl go first. Tresa greeted Hilary with a huge smile and threw her arms around her in a hug that seemed impossibly strong for her skinny arms.

  'I'm so glad you're safe,' Tresa whispered. />
  'Me, too.'

  'Mark told me you were coming home today. I really wanted to stay and see you.'

  'I'm glad you did.'

  Tresa leaned in, hugging her as fiercely as before. When she let go, she ducked her head into her neck. 'I'm so sorry about Jen. I mean Katie. I should have done something. I should have told someone about the fire.'

  'You were a kid back then, Tresa,' Hilary said.

  'I still feel like a kid.'

  'You're not.'

  'Mark thinks I am.'

  Hilary didn't answer, and Tresa bit her lip and shoved her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans. 'Well, I'll leave you guys alone.'

  The teenager brushed past her, but Hilary stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. 'Tresa, wait. There's something else.'

  'What is it?'

  'You did a brave thing by coming here that night like you did. You risked your own life. Thank you.'

  'I couldn't let anything happen to Mark,' she said.

  'I know that, and I'm grateful,' Hilary went on, 'but I also have to tell you something. Woman to woman.'

  Tresa hesitated. 'OK.'

  'You can't spend any more time alone with my husband,' Hilary said.

  Tresa's eyes widened. 'What?' I mean, yeah, I - I understand. I'm sorry. He told you what happened, huh?'

  'Of course he did.'

  'I'm really sorry.'

  'Girl crushes don't bother me, Tresa, but you're not a girl anymore.'

  She nodded. 'Sure. You're right.'

  'It doesn't mean we never want to see you again.'

  'No, I get it.' Tresa took a long look over her shoulder at Mark. 'Thanks,' she told Hilary.