34. Quin
I have no idea how long my parents, O’Hare, and the others plan on being away, but in the back of my head a timer is ticking down.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find the top floor of this building has been converted into accommodation for them all. While not the most appointed or luxurious, each of the bedrooms has its own bathroom and closet, and they all share a common kitchen and living space. I happily ransack each room, desecrating and vandalizing their contents unless I feel they’ll prove valuable to me. It’s here that I find a duffel bag that I use to stuff spare clothing and food items into, as well as a couple of first-aid kits I’ve unearthed.
I take full advantage of my father’s, O’Hare’s, Corbin’s, and L?nnberg’s wardrobes, taking clothes and shoes that will fit me best as well as dispensing their toiletries for my own use. However, I studiously avoid looking at my reflection in the mirrors. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with the changes in my physical appearance right now. It can wait until I’m out of here.
By the time I am done, the duffel has just enough space for me to shove the files, camera, laptop, and drives inside. I wrangle the zipper closed and sling the straps over my shoulders, then gather up the multiple bottles of flammable chemicals I found in the kitchen.
I douse what I can in fluid, then turn on the gas hob and oven, leaving the noxious vapor to fill the living quarters. More accelerant marks my trail down the stairs, puddling and dripping along the floor and walls. It takes me several minutes to go back through to the lab, unplugging the Bunsen burners and toggling the nozzles until I hear the low hiss of escaping gas. Grabbing the spark lighter from the bench, I head back to O’Hare’s office.
I pull some of the files out of the cabinet and scatter the papers across the desk, dousing them all in the remainder of the flammable liquid. Stepping back toward the door, I crumple a single sheet of paper in my fist, and use the spark lighter to set it aflame before tossing it onto the desk.
The whoosh and sudden heat of the flames devouring the sodden papers is a joy to my senses, and I don’t wait around to watch the devastation and destruction caused by my vindictive act of arson.
I head to a room I trashed earlier, one of the few with windows to the outside world. I’d discovered that the frame was loose when I’d come through earlier, and it is now my exit to freedom. I kick at the reinforced pane and the entire piece rotates, providing an opening that is too small for me to crawl through. Another kick has the window falling outward and onto the dirt, still in a single piece. I slip through this larger opening with ease and lope toward the shimmering movement of the Mississippi.
I don’t look back as my entire past literally explodes behind me.
I need to get back to Louisiana.