Chapter 50
With Kelly in my arms, I sprint down the driveway toward her neighbor’s house. Casper flies down the street like a bat out of hell, with Thor in the passenger seat. They arrived less than two minutes after me. My driving was a bit more reckless than theirs on my way over.
They see Kelly in my arms and slow, so I signal them to keep going. An incinerated body in a burned-down house is going to raise some suspicions, so Thor needs to be as far away as possible from this.
I run to the neighbor’s across the street and climb the porch. I don’t bother pounding on the door, just walk right in. Her elderly neighbor, Herb, startles with wide eyes. He and Clyde were friends.
“Where’s your shower?” I shout.
He shoots an arm out. “H-hallway, right side,” he stutters. “Son, is that gasoline?”
I dash toward the bathroom, and after setting her in the bathtub, I drop to my knees and tear off her soaked clothes as quickly as I can.
“Watch her eyes!” he shouts behind me. “Don’t let it get in her eyes!”
She squints, wrinkling up her nose and sealing her lips closed as I carefully stretch the neck of the shirt to avoid her face and slip off her head. Then I peel off the wet pants and underwear that stick to her skin, and finally my own shirt that absorbed gasoline while carrying her out of there.
The old man enters the doorway. “Give me the clothes,” he says, reaching for them shakily while turning his head away from Kelly.
I plop the soggy pile of pants and shirts into his arms, and he disappears.
Kelly flinches when the initial cold shower spray hits her skin. “Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart.” I instruct, gripping the shower head attachment and rinsing her face off, giving her intermissions to breathe in between.
The water mixes with the cut on her hand and circles around the drain with a light reddish-brown hue.
“I’m gonna throw up,” she says, leaning forward on her knees, bracing one palm on the bottom of the tub and gripping the side of the basin with the other.
I gather her hair in my fist to keep it out of the way and gently brush my thumb over her white knuckles. Her weak body heaves up the liquid contents of her stomach. It looks like red wine but has the same smell as the gasoline fumes that have already eaten up the air in this small bathroom.
The memory of Kelly thrashing around while Piper clumsily tried to pour gasoline down her throat tenses every muscle in my body, filling me with unbridled rage. If Kelly didn’t need me right now, I’d be racing into the inferno to take care of her myself.
“It burns,” she sobs, her voice raw.
“How much did you swallow?”
She shakes her head. “Only a little bit.” Her body heaves again, but nothing comes up.
“Can you bring us a glass of water?” I shout to Herb.
He returns with a large cup. “I’m not looking!” he announces, holding it out for me to take, and I pass it to Kelly. “Keep rinsing your mouth out,” I tell her.
She nods.
Herb shuffles behind me, crossing the bathroom like a man on a combat mission, and shoves open the windowsill. Fresh air streams in. Thank God. I glance up at a shirtless Herb. His entire back is a collage of aged, once-vibrant tattoos.
“Where’s the monster that did this?” he demands. He peers out the window, turning his head left to right as if he’s going to find the suspect and kill them with his bare hands. I like Herb.
“They’re still in the house,” I reply with a flat voice, turning back to Kelly.
He quietly stares out the window, no doubt watching as Kelly’s house is devoured by flames.
The crash of windows shattering across the street is barely audible over the running water.
Herb slowly hobbles while turning around.
“Hot water and soap,” he says. “You’re gonna need to rinse her skin for a while to make sure you get it all.
I’ll see if I can find my phone to call 911. ”
I pull my cell from my pocket and hold it out for him to use.
“No, no,” he mutters, giving me a firm look. “I’ll find mine. Shouldn’t take me too long to remember where I put it.”
“Appreciate it, Herb,” I say, giving him a nod.
“There’s fresh towels in the cabinet,” he calls, exiting the room. The air in here is finally smelling less like gasoline fumes—now it has a different smell. The acrid, bitter aroma of smoke and burning plastic.
“Look at me,” I whisper, lifting her chin to check her eyes for signs of redness, and as soon as her gaze finds mine, I want to break down. She looks at me so trusting, even though the whole reason she’s injured is because of me. I clear my throat, clearing away the emotion. “Your eyes look good.”
“Very kind of you to hand out compliments when I’m this . . . unpolished,” she says, her voice raspy.
“You fought for your life today; if you think that makes you less beautiful you’re out of your goddamn mind,” I mutter. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t start.”
Kelly is quiet while I work, still rinsing her mouth out.
Her cut hand is sealed around the plastic cup when she brings it to her lips, but the water circling the drain is that same reddish-pink color.
I rotate her body to find the source, then notice the slash on her back.
What the fuck is this? It’s about five inches long and thankfully not any deeper than it already is considering yellow subcutaneous tissue is peeking out.
I whip out my phone and dial 911. Had I known about the giant gash on her back, I’d have done it sooner.
“Where is your emergency?” the dispatcher answers.
Luckily, I spotted the number on my way up the porch steps in preparation.
“What’s going on, sir?” they ask.
“We need medical services. My wife was attacked, she’s injured. She has a large cut on her back and hand, she has possible chemical burns from gasoline, and has ingested some—I’m unsure how much. She has marks around her wrists as well.”
I’m assured people are on the way. The dispatcher attempts to get me to answer a few more questions. I politely explain that tending to my wife’s injuries is more important and I’ll give my statement when the cops arrive.
“Oh, and the house across the street is on fire,” I say before ending the call.
My wife’s injuries.
Kelly shivers, so I turn up the temperature of the water. Her shivering quickly intensifies to shaking.
She’s coming down from the adrenaline.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I mutter, brushing some of the hair from her face, and squeeze the back of her neck three times, telling her those three words I desperately want to confess.
I should have told her sooner, it’s just one more way I let her down.
But I don’t want the first time she hears it to be when she’s groggy from sedatives and shaking.
Instead, I say three other words. “I’ve got you. ”
But do I? I didn’t have her when she was drugged or when the zip ties were digging into her wrists. I didn’t even have her when she was being stalked. When I had the opportunity to protect her. I was too busy looking at the wrong people, not paying attention to the signs.
“Kelly, I need you to listen to me carefully,” I demand. “I tripped on that extension cord.”
She glances up at me, shaking her head.
“I tripped,” I insist.
It was my past that caught up with her, and she was forced to save herself. I hate that. It never should have gone this far. Maybe if I had gone to the cops in the first place, things would be different, but I was selfish. This is one thing I can do for her.
I can’t stop seeing her thrashing in that chair, fighting for her life while she was waiting for me to show up and be a shield.
Kelly nods, her teeth clacking loudly. She hisses while she moves into a sitting position, then leans against the side of the tub wall, tucking her knees into her chest. “I-if-f I have t-to go to the h-hospital,” she says, “you’re driving. We’re not wasting our wedding money on an ambulance ride.”