Fire and Bones (Temperance Brennan #23)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

F OGGY B OTTOM

W ASHINGTON , DC

Her nose prickled.

Her throat itched.

She coughed.

Old buildings are musty , she told herself, groggy with sleep.

But why the acrid smell? And what was that bitter taste on her tongue?

Had her instincts been correct? Should she have fled upon seeing the nightmare warren of jerry-rigged rooms? The windowless space her fifty bucks had secured?

She opened her eyes.

To total darkness.

Dust. It’s only dust .

Not convinced of that explanation, her hypothalamus ordered up a precautionary round of adrenaline.

Her olfactory lobe IDed the pillow, dank and mildewed from decades spent cushioning the heads of down-in-the-heels travelers. She raised up from it. Slid her phone from beneath it.

The screen came to life, illuminating her hand and the frayed ribbon bordering the ratty polyester blanket. The cast-off glow revealed little else of her surroundings.

Swinging her legs over the side of the mattress, she sat up, scrolled left, and tapped the flashlight app. Sent the plucky little beam looping around her.

Shadows bounced from the room’s sparse furnishings in a jumble of cascading angles and shapes. A bureau held level with an ancient keyboard jammed under one corner. A rusty brass floor lamp. A wheeled metal clothing rack holding four hangers.

Nothing alarming.

Until the narrow white shaft landed on the door.

Black smoke was oozing through the gap where the bottom failed to meet the floor. Beyond the gap, orange-and-yellow light danced fitfully.

Flames?

Barely breathing, she tiptoe ran across the carpet and placed a palm on one panel.

The wood felt warm.

She touched the knob.

Hot!

Using the hem of her tee, she turned the handle and inched open a peephole. Flames twisted around the bed and curled the drapes at the window in the adjacent room.

Her breath froze.

She slammed the door.

Ohgodohgodohgod!

She listened. Heard no alarm. No sirens.

What to do!? What to do!?

She called out.

“Help! Please! I’m in here!”

Nothing.

She yelled again and again until her throat screamed.

Catching her breath, she strained for any sign of another human being.

Heard no voice. No movement.

Make a run for it? Somehow that seemed wrong. There were flames just beyond her door. She had no idea of the safest route out of the building.

Heart hammering, she retrieved her mobile and jabbed at digits with one trembling finger. Missed. Tried again.

A woman answered on the first ring.

Nine one one. What’s your emergency?

The building I’m in is on fire!

Ma’am. Please stay calm.

Oh, God!

Give me your location.

I don’t know the address. It’s a rented room.

Okay. I’ve alerted the fire department. A team will arrive shortly.

I’m going to die!

No. You’re not. I’ll stay on the line with you. Do you understand?

Yes.

She coughed.

Ma’am, are you injured?

It’s getting hard to breathe.

Does the room have a fire escape?

No!

Her eyes felt like smoldering embers. Tears ran down her cheeks.

A window?

No!

A door?

Yes! It feels hot!

Do not open the door. Can you wet a towel or pillowcase and place it over your face?

There’s no water in here.

Choking black smoke was slowly filling the room. She coughed until her belly ached and she tasted blood in her mouth.

What’s your name?

What?

What’s your name?

Skylar.

Skylar, I want you to keep low and move away from the door.

Did the woman sound angry? At her? Was this predicament her fault?

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen .

Her gut heaved. She gagged.

Skylar. Move away from the door .

Nausea and terror were taking their toll. She could barely hear. Barely think.

Skylar! Move back!

The barked command made her flinch. And spurred her into action.

Covering her mouth with one shaky hand, she crawled into the narrow space between the bureau and a back corner of the room. Pressed her shoulders to one wall. Shot forward upon feeling the heat through the thin cotton.

Arm-wrapping her drawn-up legs, she gulped a series of shallow breaths. Leaned sideways to vomit. Swallowed to wash the bitter bile from her mouth.

Where was the 911 woman? Had she been abandoned? Left alone to die?

Where was her phone? Had she dropped it when the woman’s shout caused her to jump? Had she really had a mobile? Or only imagined one?

The blaze sizzled and popped on the far side of the door, barely visible through the thick dark smoke. Her ears took in the sounds, detached now, incurious.

Beyond her tiny room, something went whoosh . Flames sent tentacles licking through the cracks around the jamb, painting her body in swimmy amber tones. She watched the plastic sign hanging from the knob twist, blacken, and melt. Shh! Quiet! it ordered.

She thought hypnotically: I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

The mantra calmed her some. Or maybe her brain was succumbing to the lack of oxygen.

Images skittered through her mind. Her dog, Peaky. Her sister, Mellie. The bridal dress she’d worn less than a year earlier.

Had he found her?

She lowered her lids.

Black dots swirled behind them.

She rested her forehead on her upraised knees.

The room began to recede.

The dots congealed into solid black.