by W. Winters
“Just your friendly neighborhood thug,” he comments with humorous sarcasm.
“Something like that,” I say and cross my arms, watching the fight and trying to hear the punches over the cheers.
“Did you decide what we’re going to do about the potential problem?” I can feel Derrick’s eyes on me, waiting for an answer to his question. I watch blood drip down Jameson’s arm. I watch his jaw clench tighter as he lands blow after blow, the veins in his neck bulging.
Swallowing, I answer Derrick without looking at him. “There’s no sign Mathews knows for sure.”
“Right,” he comments.
“All we can do is be ready if they come for us.” Finally, turning to him I add, “And we can tie up the loose end.”
“Loose end?” he questions but his gaze lights with the answer before I have to say it. “Wright.”
“Wright,” he repeats, although this time he breathes out long and heavy as he does.
“The sooner the better,” I tell him.
“How do you want it done?” he asks, and I tell him I don’t care.
A minute passes and the ref calls the fight, lifting Jameson’s fist into the air. The man looks like he’s barely standing on his own, like he needs that hand to be lifted just so he can stay upright. But he won.
“I thought you said Wright was with the cops?” Derrick’s brow is lined with confusion. We don’t fuck with the cops and they don’t fuck with us.
“He is,” I answer Derrick and lift a shoulder nonchalantly. “I’m tired of being friendly.” I say the joke in a deadpan manner. “Kill Wright. From here on out we don’t trust anyone to stay quiet.”
Derrick huffs a laugh, although it’s tight. “No more Mr. Nice Guy.”
Laura
There are no streetlights on my grandma’s street. They’re something the city never put in. So when I park, I don’t turn off the car yet. I want that bit of illumination from my headlights as I take out my phone and peek at what Cami texted back.
I grin when I see her message about how she still hurts. But it’s a good kind of hurt. I know the feeling. Is every time like this? she wrote in the last text.
Only the good ones, I reply before tossing the phone back into my purse. Taking a quick look around, I turn off the car and palm my keys. I’ve never liked the dark. But I especially don’t like it here anymore.
I catch sight of a black sedan idling a few cars up. It would be hard to miss it. It’s a sleek car and looks expensive; it looks like it doesn’t belong here. The red brake lights come on and the car pulls away a little too fast, making their tires squeal. It’s odd they’d drive away so quickly and because of that, I try to read the license plate, but all I get are the first two numbers. One and seven. I try not to care that I didn’t see the rest of the plate. It’s a habit I have, but this is just a random car.
It sends this weird vibe through me, though. Seeing that car take off… I can’t shake it even though it’s just a car. I don’t know most of the people on this street anymore.
It’s nothing, I tell myself and think about Cami’s text again. But the odd feeling, that little stir of anxiousness, sits like a rock in the pit of my stomach.
All the good feelings from taking the practice entrance exam this morning seem to drain from me as I take the stone stairs up to the porch. I practically aced the test. I can’t believe it. I didn’t actually think I’d do well enough to even consider putting in my application anywhere. I never did well in school, so why would I? A hint of a smile tries to pull my lips up, but then I hear the gentle creak of the rusty porch swing. It lingers in the quiet air like the memories do. Grandma would have been so proud.
This place will always have memories around every corner and in every crevice, even if it’s lifeless. Lacking everything it held when I was a kid. The dark and the quiet are reminders of everything that’s gone. Everything that will never come back.
My eyes are on the ground while I walk, which is why I’m so shocked when I reach up to put the key in the door, only to find it already open.
The wooden frame is splintered. Confusion hits me first. I haven’t even put the key in yet.
Thump.
The lock is still turned; I can see the hunk of metal as the door brushes open with the slight touch of my hand. Gasping, I try to stay calm, but I don’t see how I can as the reality registers.
Thump.
The shoe print on the door is black against the white door. Someone kicked in the door.
“Fuck,” I say and the curse leaves my lips in a whisper.
I’m half a step back, feeling the racing need to run take over when I smell smoke.
And then I see the bright red and orange flames beyond the cracked frame.
It’s on fire. My grandma’s house is on fire. No! God, no!
“Help!” I scream, gripping the keys so hard in my hand it feels like they’ve broken my skin.
My hands are shaking as I fumble in my purse. My keys drop harshly onto the concrete porch. Then something else, maybe my sunglasses; I don’t know and I don’t care.
I just need my phone.
I’m still shaking when I finally find it. Struggling with both hands to grip it and dial 9-1-1, I drop my purse and stand there on weak legs as I stare straight ahead, watching the bright red expand alongside billowing white and gray smoke. The hallway is clear, telling me it’s the kitchen. The kitchen is on fire. The flames are high, almost to the ceiling. It’s too far gone. No, no, please tell me this is a nightmare.
The operator is cool, calm and professional. Whatever he sounds like, I’m the opposite. Tears prick my eyes and my voice cracks as I tell him the address and that my house is on fire. Tell isn’t the right word; maybe scream or cry would be better to describe it. My mind is a whirlwind, my lungs fail me and so does any form of common sense. He’s asking me questions, asking if I’m safe and away from the fire.
He’s going to tell me to step back. To get far away and keep my distance until help comes.
His voice comes through clear from the other end and I’m right.
I’ve never been one to just step back. Even with my blurred vision, I can see the fire is raging. But what if whoever broke in is still in there? What if I could find this bastard?
The phone drops in a swift motion, landing at my feet. A door slams open to my right, Mr. Timms’s house, as I take a step into Grandma’s.
“There’s smoke from the back of your house!” Mr. Timms yells at me. I barely even hear him, although I recognize his ever-harsh tone. I sure as shit don’t respond as I push open the door, feeling the wave of heat surround me instantly. I have to cover my mouth and nose with the crook of my arm.
The vise around my heart tightens as I walk quickly to the living room on the left. My coughing is involuntary as I pull open the coffee table drawer and take out a gun. The metal shines with the flick of flames as I get closer to the kitchen.
There’s no chance whoever started this fire is still here. It’s a raging storm of heat and flames at the back of the house. There’s so much smoke; how long has it been going?
The sirens swarm from outside, but there’s so much damage. Too much.
I can’t even get to the bathroom, or the kitchen sink. My sobs are impossible to contain as I watch the destruction overwhelm this old house where I grew up.
A sound that resonates like the crack of a whip forces me to scream. Mr. Timms yells something from outside. He’s closer now, yelling at me or the fire trucks. He sounds frantic but all I can hear is the sound of my home being burned to the ground as I watch.
I hear a crack, a snap and then a loud bang as the fire seems to grow along the wall like a vine. The pictures slam to the floor, leaving the shattered glass to skitter across the hardwood. I scream, covering my mouth as I stare in disbelief. A younger version of myself seated in my father’s lap is slowly charred, lit aflame, and engulfed.
“The pictures,” I say as my hands shake and I make a move to gather
the ones closest to me and farthest away from the kitchen. Slipping the gun in the waistband at the back of my jeans, I feel the cold metal graze against my skin. With both hands up in the air, the smoke violates my lungs.
The first cough makes me heave in air, but the air is thick with soot and I collapse to the floor. I’m light-headed, taking in quick short pants, but I can breathe at least.
“Laura!” Seth’s voice cuts through it all, like a bright light on the darkest of nights.
My neck cranes back to see him in the doorway. “Laura!” he screams louder as he runs into the house, his arm covering his face.
“Seth!” I scream as loud as I can and crawl to him, keeping my body low on the ground.
He breathes my name so softly when his eyes reach mine, I don’t know how I heard it. Maybe it was the ghost of a memory filling in that actuality.
His movements are effortless as his arm wraps around my waist. I can hear my plea for the pictures at the back of my throat. I even reach for them, but Seth is strong, and the moment is hopeless. I’m so light-headed more than anything. It makes me weak.
I don’t have a single picture of my father. I don’t have any pictures of my grandmother.
They’re all in this house.
The vision blurs in front of me as my skin feels cold and my head light. Outside is brighter than it’s been this late. Everyone’s porch light is on and everyone’s watching. When my ass hits the hood of Seth’s car, parked recklessly in Mr. Timms’s front yard, I see how large the flames have gotten, how the house is completely engulfed. Maybe whoever did it had just been here.
I could have saved it all, if only I’d been here earlier.
Seth’s hands are on me and he’s talking, he’s shaking me, but I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop this trembling.
I’ve never felt like it was all gone until this moment. It may have been empty, but it was still here. It held so much of me. Now what do I have?
My breathing is ragged as Seth pulls me into his hard chest. I feel him stroking my hair as I try to calm myself. Drying my eyes on his shirt, I watch as the hoses are pulled. I can smell the singe of burned wood as the flames rage against the downpour of water.
The firefighters are barking out orders nonstop. So much is going on that I can’t focus; people talking, people looking at me, crowds gathered to watch my childhood home burning to nothing.
“Shhh,” Seth soothes me. I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat. I hear him shush me over everything else.
A paramedic is at our side too soon. I don’t want to go; I don’t want to leave, but Seth makes me.
I have to grab his wrist, holding it too tightly. “Someone broke in,” I tell him, feeling my dry lips crack as I do. I stare into his dark eyes. They widen, a sense of recognition taking over. Carefully slipping my gun to him, hiding it under his jacket, I tell him before the medic returns to take me away, “Someone did this on purpose. Someone burned it all down.” It’s only when I’m in the ambulance with an oxygen mask over my face that I remember the black sedan. One and seven. I want to text Seth, but I don’t have anything. Not my purse. Not my phone.
I refuse to forget. Someone might have seen whoever it was. Whoever it was may have taken everything from me. Whoever it was, is a dead man.
Seth
My skin is ice cold but everything inside of me is on fire. A raging fire hotter and more violent than the one at my back. I can feel the heat, smell the burned wood, and it means nothing. The chaos has everyone’s full attention, but it means nothing to me.
Someone did this.
They tried to hurt her. They tried to send a message.
Mathews is the only one I can think of. But why go after Laura?
The heavy doors to the ambulance close one at a time and the sound of them shutting, removing her from my vision snaps my gaze to the EMT.
“You can’t ride with her, but she’ll be the top priority in the emergency room. We already called it in.”
You must be family. That’s what the guy said to me when they ripped her away.
There are only two things keeping me from chasing down the ambulance and staying on its tail as they take her to the hospital.
The first is that Charlie said she’s okay and that she’ll be all right. It’s just smoke inhalation they’re concerned about. More importantly, he said he’ll stay by her side until I’m there. I’ve known Charlie for years; he works with us on and off the clock. No one’s getting near her room and Roman is already on his way to the hospital.
The second is that Jackson is in plain view when the ambulance leaves.
Dressed in his finest blues, his badge is on clear display and it reflects the light from behind us. It’s waning as the water subdues the fire. I’ll deal with Jackson first, and then I’m not leaving her side.
“Mr. King,” he calls out and I huff in irritation. His footsteps are even and grow louder as he makes his way to me.
“Since when am I Mr. King to you?” I ask him when he stops in front of me, although my voice is lifeless, not hiding a damn thing I’m feeling.
The agony is something I didn’t expect. It fucking hurts. The anger is better. Seeing her on a gurney in the back of an ambulance tears me up inside.
“I did this to her,” I tell him, knowing exactly what I’m doing. I don’t have many friends outside of my crew, but I need Jackson. I need all the help I can get.
Surprise colors his expression before he responds. He clears his throat and glances to his left and then right. “It was arson,” he tells me as if I didn’t know. A fire this large, this fast, there had to be an accelerant. Even if Laura hadn’t told me, it doesn’t take a genius to know.
“I figured as much,” I tell him, looking coldly into his eyes at the thought of someone breaking into Laura’s house.
“There were explosives too, Seth.”
His lowered voice and this knowledge make my blood go cold. “They didn’t go off. Duds I guess, but if they had, it would have blown up most of the block.”
Leaning forward he asks, “You know who did it?”
I shake my head, trying to swallow the overwhelming feelings that make it hard to stand up right now as I say, “But I have suspects.”
He tried to kill her. He tried to kill Laura. I can barely breathe.
Jackson’s eyes read, I told you so, but he’s a friend not to say it out loud and grind the heel of his shoe deeper into the pain and regret.
“I can’t believe he’d go after a woman.” My woman. “Fucking coward,” I spit.
Breathing out, Jackson watches the fire behind me for a moment before telling me, “It’s a good thing you got in there and dragged her out.”
“Yeah,” I answer him in a breath and turn to watch the blaze, but I can’t do it. It almost took her away from me.
All I keep thinking as my muscles tighten to the point where I’m trembling is, Mathews is a dead man. All of his men are dead. Anything he’s ever touched, is dead.
Rage is an adulteress. She comes at my weakest times, like now. Seeing the fire play on the metal of the police car, I imagine what I’ll do to Mathews. It had to be him. He’ll die a slow death. The rat, Wright? He can die slow too. Everyone who had a part. They will all suffer.
“Was she here when it happened?” Jackson asks with a careful tone, like what he’s asking might make me snap. I shake my head no, remembering the little bits I’ve heard from Mr. Timms giving his statement as I held Laura.
“She came home and saw the fire, and ran in.”
Jackson blows out a grunt. “Of course she did.” His comment forces the faintest of laughs from me. She’s safe. She’ll be all right. She’s safe. Just then I get a text from Roman. He’s at the hospital now and ensuring Laura gets a private room.
Good. Stay with her, I tell him but he already knows.
“What are you going to do?” Jackson’s question resonates with me. It’s what I’ve done that’s led to this.
“What do yo
u think?” My answer is spoken darkly. He holds my gaze, taking it in with the seriousness it deserves. “If you have any insight to offer, now’s the time,” I prod when he doesn’t respond.
“If I did, I’d tell you. Are you sure it’s Mathews?” he asks me and a list of names runs through my mind, the many faces I’ve seen who hold nothing but contempt for me.
“No,” I answer truthfully.
Jackson seems to consider something, but he only says, “If I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I appreciate it.”
He nods solemnly and stares past me. The night sky is darker than it was moments ago, and the streets are emptying out. Mr. Timms is seated on his porch, staring between the wreckage and me. My hard gaze doesn’t deter him. The old man knows how this life works.
He knows this happened to her because of me. Everyone knows that.
“She’s going to have to file a report,” Jackson tells me and I nod in agreement.
“I’ll tell her,” I say although he looks anything but reassured.
“Do you have a statement to give?”
“No. I have to get to the hospital. To make sure she’s okay,” I tell him when I hear the sound of tires coming up behind us a little too fast. Both of our hands reach for guns, both of us on edge. Derrick’s car screeches to a halt and Jackson and I both visibly relax when we see him get out and slam his door. It feels like war all over again, because that’s what this is. An act of war.
“You do that.” Jackson’s already walking off, heading over to the fire truck when I call after him, “Thanks.”
We may be on opposite sides of some things, but there’s a loyalty between us that hasn’t faded. Not yet. I imagine one day it will. All that will be left are the ashes of what used to be.
It seems like there’s a lot of that going around.
“Yo.” Derrick is at my side and out of breath before Jackson’s even across the street. It’s so dark now, I know he won’t be able to see how bad it is. Not until morning.