Set the Night on Fire

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  She let the man lead her to another official. He was dressed differently from the others. White collar. Heavy jacket. The fire chief.

  “Where’s my father? And my brother?”

  The fire chief ran his tongue around his lips. It was a subtle move, but it was enough. The band of pain around her head tightened. Something jerked her arm. “What?”

  One of the men squeezed her elbow. “Who was inside when you left?”

  She couldn’t answer. Saying their names would seal their doom.

  “Miss, do you understand what I’m saying?” She nodded. “Who was in the house?”

  “My father … and my brother.”

  Firemen hurried back and forth, looking like Michelin men. One stood in front of the house barking orders into a megaphone. Everywhere she looked were grim faces. She wanted to start over. Turn back the clock. If she raced back to the coffee shop, found Annie, and started chatting again, it would all disappear.

  “Where were they?” the chief repeated. “Bedrooms? Kitchen?”

  “My … my brother was in his bedroom when I left.”

  “Where is it?”

  Lila pointed to the second floor window. Flames were now licking the glass of his windows.

  “And your father?”

  “He was in his study. On the first floor. Near the … living room.”

  An even grimmer look came over the fire chief. He turned around and quietly spoke into a shoulder lapel. She couldn’t hear the words.

  An ambulance arrived. Two paramedics got out and conferred with the fire chief. They went to the back of the van, opened the rear doors, and pulled out two gurneys. Four firemen carried them to the front door and waited.

  Lila started to rock back and forth.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a call went out that the fire was under control. The firemen near the front door slipped masks on their faces, picked up the gurneys, and went inside. Five minutes later there was a commotion at the front door, and two firemen emerged with a gurney. A large plastic bag, curled up, lay on top. Something was inside the bag, curled in a fetal position.

  Dear God, don’t let it be Daddy. But God wasn’t listening.

  The firemen carried the gurney to the ambulance. One of the paramedics looped a stethoscope around his neck, bent down, and unzipped the bag. Seconds later, he shook his head and zipped it back up. A few minutes later, two other firemen came out with a second bag. She held her breath as the paramedic repeated the procedure. With the same results.

  A black van, which somehow skirted the trucks and police cruisers, pulled into the driveway. The words “Cook County Medical Examiner” were stenciled on its side. Two men got out and joined the paramedics near the ambulance. Lila saw them gesture and nod.

  A flake of snow swirled down in front of Lila. Then another. She couldn’t feel them. Or hear the hum of equipment, the shouting of firefighters. The only sound in her ears was the pumping of her heart. Loud. Accusatory. In her haste to prove she was the responsible child, the child who fixed things and made them right, she’d screwed it all up.

  SIX

  Lila sat in her father’s office in the middle of January, staring out at the night. Hilliard and Associates occupied a suite of offices on the thirty-fifth floor of the Chase building in downtown Chicago. She’d spent most of the afternoon going through her father’s will with his lawyer, and now she was here to pick up his and Danny’s personal effects.

  Her father had started the firm when she and Danny were babies living at Gramum’s. It began as a management consulting firm, but her father had a sixth sense about business and the ones that would be successful. Genial and persuasive, he also had a knack for making connections and attracting capital. Within five years his management consulting practice had evolved into financing new ventures.

  At the beginning, he’d taken ownership percentages in lieu of fees. It paid off. The business expanded rapidly, and Casey Hilliard grew wealthy. He bought the house in Winnetka and moved everyone, including Gramum, into it. Though the business bore his name, it eventually became a partnership and was a highly successful venture capital firm for early-stage entrepreneurs, seeding companies all over the globe. Only recently, anticipating his retirement, had he begun to wean himself from his work.

  It was after eight now. Lila had started sorting through Danny’s cubicle, one of a dozen running down the center of the floor. Her twin had objected to his humble trappings, of course, but her father had been adamant that Danny start at the bottom, just like everyone else.

  “Lila didn’t,” Danny had whined one night when they were together for dinner.

  “Stop comparing yourself to your sister,” their father admonished him. “You two are different.”

  “Much to your embarrassment,” Danny fired back.

  Their father shook his head and patiently explained that people rose to their zeniths at different points in their lives. Lila was a rising star, but Danny would outshine everyone, once he settled down.

  Judging from the absence of personal items and decorations, though, Danny hadn’t settled down. He probably considered the job a way-station, a temporary breather between gigs. Lila wasn’t altogether unsympathetic—the cramped space reminded her of a horse’s stall in a barn.

  The receptionist had thoughtfully supplied several cardboard boxes, and Lila packed his things: a brush, dental floss, a few pens, and a number of issues of Entrepreneur Daily. She found a Blackberry in his desk drawer, but when she tried to turn it on, nothing happened.

  Story of Danny’s life.

  She moved into her father’s office. His shelves held an eclectic assortment of books, including The World is Flat, Freakonomics, and a complete set of Shakespeare’s plays. A silver golf ball inscribed by someone Lila didn’t know sat on a shelf next to a cloisonné bowl that held paper clips and rubber bands. Lila smiled at that—she had the same thing on her desk at Peabody Stern. One wall was devoted to framed photos: her father shaking hands with Arab sheiks, Bill Clinton, Colin Powell, even Donald Trump. She carefully wrapped them before putting them in a box.

  On the bottom shelf was a grouping of framed photos of Danny and Lila: as babies in matching sailor suits, eight years old, fifteen, then separate photos of them as adults. Lila’s was a posed portrait taken when she joined Peabody Stern. She was wearing a navy business suit and white blouse, her smile cautious. The shot of Danny, taken in happier times, showed him on the deck of a sailboat. He was hoisting the sail and grinning broadly at the camera. He looked like he was attacking life and swallowing it whole. That was Danny. He was either in love with life or ready to throw it back in your face. She couldn’t recall smiling that broadly—ever. Work. Discipline. Responsibility. That was her mantra. But for what? So she could plan funerals for the people she loved? Pack their personal effects in cardboard boxes?

  She watched the twinkling lights of a distant plane slowly arc across the night sky, then glide behind a tall building. Columns of white steam, silent and indifferent, rose from the buildings. The smoke from the fire at home had been brown.

  She turned back to the desk. A file drawer on the right needed to be emptied. She dumped the manila folders into a box. There would be time to weed out client files and return them later. No one at the firm was applying any pressure, but she sensed they might if she took too long. Like her, they had a future to contemplate—without Casey Hilliard at the helm.

  She gazed at her father’s computer. The fire had destroyed his laptop; with luck he’d backed everything up here. She’d have to determine which of his files were personal—it might affect the disposition of the estate. She was just booting up the machine when someone knocked at the door.

  “Come in,” she called out.

  A man about her own age peeked around. Sandy hair swept low across his forehead, dark brown eyes, an athletic build. He looked vaguely familiar.

  “Hi.” He entered, extending his hand. “I’m Brian Kinnear. I worked with your father. I
… I’m so sorry.”

  Lila wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. He probably had no idea what it was like to lose a father. Or a brother. Still, he took the time to make the gesture. “Thank you.”

  “You’re here late,” he said.

  “What time is it?”

  “After nine.”

  “I didn’t realize … I should go.” She massaged her temples. “How about you? Do you always work the night shift?”

  “My team has a presentation tomorrow.” He shrugged slightly as if apologizing for the fact that life goes on.

  She waited.

  “Your … your father was my mentor. He taught me everything. I just wanted to say again how sorry I am.”

  Their eyes met. His expression was sad but kind. Now she remembered him. He’d been at the memorial service. Carrying a white handkerchief, which he stuffed into his pocket when he went through the receiving line.

  He motioned toward the boxes. “It’s going okay?”

  All except one was filled. “I still have to download his personal files from the computer.” She peered at the monitor and moved the mouse to the My Computer icon.

  “What will you do with them?”

  She looked over. Another decision to make. She’d been making so many: the memorial service—although Aunt Valerie had helped; what to do with the house; how long to stay in Chicago. She didn’t know if she could handle another, even one as simple as where to store her father’s files. But Brian had a question on his face.

  She sighed. “Burn them to a disc, I guess. Or email them to myself.” She went back to the computer. There was a disc drive on the tower. She opened one desk drawer, then another. No CDs. She flipped up her palms. “Any idea where he kept blank CDs?”

  “Why don’t I get you some from my office?”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  While he went in search of discs, she sat down and moved the mouse to her father’s Internet browser. Might as well check her email. A second later, the Hilliard and Associates website popped up. It was the home page on his browser.

  She leaned an elbow on the desk. It was a well-designed site, streamlined and graphically pleasing. They’d preserved as much white space as possible, and the font, in burgundy, was subdued but professional. The H&A logo sat inside in a box at the top with a graphic that looked like a Celtic knot. She’d always meant to ask him why he included it in the logo. With its overlapping knots and braids that seemed to lead nowhere, it was, at the very least, unusual. Now, she’d never have the chance.

  A list of partners scrolled down the left side of the page, with links to their bios and areas of expertise. The other pages on the website were listed across the bottom of the page. The middle had only two lines of copy, a quotation:

  Small opportunities are often the beginning of great enterprises. Demosthenes (384 BC–322 BC)

  She remembered when her father emailed her a link to the beta version of the site. He’d searched for the quotation for weeks, he claimed. When she said she liked it, he sounded pleased. And proud. Like a kid.

  Brian came back with the CDs and handed them to Lila.

  “I guess you’ll be taking Dad’s name off the website.”

  “There’s no hurry,” he answered quickly, but the way he said it made her think the partners had already discussed it. “Our webmaster’s in India anyway.”

  “India?”

  He nodded.

  Lila frowned. “You couldn’t find someone closer?” There were probably a dozen web designers in the Chase building alone.

  “Your father wanted it that way. Lots of companies take advantage of offshore companies for customer service and web design. The cost savings are significant.”

  “Of course.” She paused. “Dad was always in the vanguard.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  Lila took the CDs, fed them into the drive, and started clicking on various icons.

  “So what are you going to do … when all this is over?” Brian asked.

  “I don’t know.” Lila started to transfer a folder to the CD. “I took a leave of absence from Peabody Stern.” The truth was, with the proceeds of her father’s estate, she probably wouldn’t need to work. But she hadn’t quit her job. That would require another set of decisions, which she wasn’t capable of making yet.

  “You know, if you’re interested, you could join us here.”

  She looked up. He nodded as though to reinforce the offer.

  “Come on. I’m not on your level. Not by a long shot.” He looked down quickly. She gazed at him. “They put you up to this, didn’t they?”

  His ears and neck turned crimson.

  “Please tell your partners I’m grateful. But I don’t need their … your pity.”

  “That’s not it. If you have half the skill your father does … did, we could use you.”

  She leaned back and crossed her arms.

  “I didn’t mean to imply … you know, I’m really screwing this up.” He hung his head so ruefully Lila almost smiled.

  “Okay. You get a pass for first-timer’s nerves.”

  “Poor play preparation. You will think about it, though?”

  This time she did smile. “I will. And, Brian … thanks.”

  SEVEN

  It was nearly ten by the time Lila finished transferring her father’s files. She dropped the CDs into one of the boxes, wondering how she was going to get the boxes home. Fortunately, Brian came back and told her the mail room would ship them wherever she wanted.

  She hesitated. “I’m staying at Danny’s condo in Evanston.”

  “We’ll have them sent there. Now don’t worry about anything more tonight. Just go home and relax.”

  “Thanks, Brian. You’ve been a big help.”

  She shrugged into her coat and took the elevator to the lobby. As it descended, she realized she was famished. She recalled some vending machines in the cafeteria one floor below. She went down, bought a package of Oreos, and shoved it into her pocket. Outside, she put on her gloves, braided her scarf around her neck and headed east to the parking garage.

  There was no snow, but a bitter wind threatened to scrape the skin off her face. She picked up her pace, glad she wouldn’t have to take the El or a train back to Evanston. She pulled out the cookies and slid one in her mouth. The sensation of dissolving chocolate and sugar made her realize she couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. A bowl of cereal this morning?

  She walked briskly, planning the route back to Danny’s condo. Lake Shore Drive to Sheridan or maybe Ridge. She was trying to estimate how long it would take when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted movement across the street. A figure was walking on the opposite sidewalk. A man. Tall. Dark pants, sneakers, what looked like a bulky parka. A wool hat pulled low on his forehead. Walking in the same direction as she.

  An uneasy feeling came over her. There weren’t any other pedestrians on the street, and traffic was thin. Despite its pretensions as a sophisticated American city, Chicago was essentially a day town, bustling from dawn to dusk. Once night fell, especially in winter, a dark quality descended, rendering the Loop unfamiliar and ominous.

  She looked straight ahead, refusing to glance at the figure. What was it about the refusal to make eye contact with a predator? Did anyone really think pretending not to see danger would make it disappear? Maybe it was a primitive instinct, like rabbits that freeze, hoping the fox won’t notice them.

  When she reached the corner of State and Madison, she stole a glance across the street. The man was matching her pace. Her heart started to race. A friend once told Lila she should carry hair spray in her bag to use as a weapon. She’d laughed it off, but now she thought back to the other things her friend said. Never surrender your wallet. Throw it on the ground as far away as possible, then run like hell. If you had to defend yourself, use your elbow. It was the strongest part of your body.

  She started to trot up State. She heard the clatter of the El as it rattled arou
nd the Loop. Light spilled from the windows of stores closed for the night. No one would mug her in such a well-lit area, would they? Maybe he wasn’t following her. Maybe it was just her imagination.

  The thud of footfalls made her twist around. The man was crossing over to her side of the street. She went rigid. She was in the middle of the block. There was no alley to duck into. No store to lose herself in.

  Then an idea occurred to her. The Palmer House, a grand old Chicago hotel, was around the corner on Monroe. People would be there. A doorman. She sprinted up the sidewalk, trying to run on her toes. The footsteps behind her accelerated too, but she kept going. Icy air whipped at her. Her heart pounded. She raced the last few yards and barreled around the corner.

  Relief flooded through her. Two taxis were idling on Monroe a few feet from the hotel entrance. A canopy of lights under the awning threw bright illumination on the sidewalk. A uniformed doorman was helping an elderly couple out of one of the cabs. As Lila ran past them, the woman threw up her arm.

  The doorman spun around. “Hey. What’s going on?”

  Lila was struggling for breath, and all she could do was point behind her. She threw herself against the revolving door. Thankfully, the stalker was too far away to slide inside behind her. Meanwhile, the doorman hurried through a stationery door and waited for her on the other side.

  “What’s the problem, miss?” He said crossly.

  “Call … call the police!” Lila gasped. “A man is following me. Right behind. Please. I’m afraid!”

  The doorman rushed back outside past the elderly couple, who hadn’t moved since they exited the taxi. Rabbits, Lila thought. She watched the doorman raise his whistle to his mouth peering in one direction, then the other. Then he looked again. Finally he came back inside, shaking his head. “There’s no one out there, miss. No one at all.”

  EIGHT

  Lila burrowed under the covers in her brother’s bedroom, unable to sleep. She flinched every time the building creaked or the refrigerator motor kicked on. Her eyes raked the darkness, alert to stray noises and movements. She kept the cordless next to the bed, just in case, although calling 911 wouldn’t help. If someone broke in, they’d have plenty of time to do what they wanted before the police showed up. Any sense of control the phone gave her was illusory at best.