Chapter 18
Rachel
Ishouldn’t have opened the account.
That’s what I keep telling myself as I scroll through video after video, comment after comment, all of them about me.
“You never should have opened a social media account,” Jake said this morning when he caught me on my phone at six a.m.
“Forgive me for being curious after the second fire happened,” I shot back.
Sophie mentioned it yesterday when she came to pick up Tommy, and tried to be casual about it. “Hey, uh, Rachel? People are posting about the library fire. Just thought you should know.”
I lasted five hours before downloading the app and creating a private account.
I wish I hadn’t.
The video is everywhere. Someone filmed the library evacuation. Me stumbling out with Tommy in my arms, both of us covered in soot. The caption reads: “Millbrook Fire Girl Strikes Again, what are the odds?”
The comments section is a nightmare.
She’s definitely cursed.
Two fires in two weeks? That’s not a coincidence
Does anyone else think she’s doing this for attention?
Insurance scammer vibes
Someone check this lady’s background
That poor kid. CPS needs to get involved
A knock on my bedroom door makes me jump.
“Rachel?” Jake’s voice. “You okay in there?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not true.” The door opens, and he leans against the frame. “You’ve been doomscrolling for three hours.”
“I’m not doomscrolling. I’m… staying informed.”
“You’re torturing yourself.” He crosses the room and sits on the edge of my bed. “What are they saying?”
“The usual. Jinx. Attention seeker. Arsonist. Take your pick.” I pull my knees up to my chest. “Derek’s probably collecting screenshots as we speak. More evidence for his custody case.”
“Derek’s an idiot. No judge is going to take Tommy away because you happened to be near some fires.”
“Marco questioned me today. At the scene. In front of everyone.” I press my forehead against my knees. “He asked if there was any connection between the two fires. If anyone’s following me. If someone might want to hurt me.”
Jake’s quiet for a moment. “What did you tell him?”
“That I don’t know. Because I don’t.” I lift my head. “I went to work. The building burned. I went to get Tommy’s book. The building burned. I’m not doing anything except existing, and somehow that’s enough to make me the internet’s favorite disaster meme.”
“People are idiots.”
“People are right to be suspicious. Two fires, Jake. Same woman at both. That’s not normal.”
“It’s also not your fault.”
“Tell that to the comment section.”
My phone buzzes again. Another notification. Another share. Another stranger with opinions about my life.
Jake picks it up before I can. “I’m confiscating this. You’re done reading comments tonight.”
“Jake—”
“Nope. You’ve hit your daily limit of strangers calling you cursed.” He stands up, pocketing my phone. “Come downstairs. I made dinner. You need to eat something that isn’t anxiety.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t care. You’re eating anyway.” He heads toward the door. “Five minutes. If you’re not downstairs, I’m sending Tommy up here, and you know he’ll guilt-trip you into coming down.”
He’s not wrong. Tommy’s gotten outstanding at the sad eyes routine.
I drag myself off the bed and follow Jake downstairs.
Tommy is at the kitchen table with his dragon book, reading out loud to Rex the dinosaur. He looks up when I walk in and beams.
“Mama! Uncle Jake made spaghetti!”
“I see that.” I ruffle his hair and sit down beside him. “How was your day, baby?”
“Good! Mrs. Cott let me do my show-and-tell early because of the fire. Everyone thought my dragon book was cool.” He turns the page. “And Marcus’s mom called to make sure we’re okay. And Sophie texted Uncle Jake. And—”
“The whole town knows,” Jake finishes, setting plates in front of us. “Welcome to Millbrook Falls, where your business is everyone’s business.”
“Great.” I pick up my fork without any real intention of eating. “Can’t wait for tomorrow’s gossip cycle.”
We eat in relative silence. Tommy chatters about school, dragons, and whether firefighters have pet dalmatians. Jake tries to keep the conversation light, steering clear of anything fire related.
I push spaghetti around my plate and try not to think about the internet comments still multiplying without me there to read them.
My phone—currently in Jake’s pocket—buzzes.
“That’s the fifth call in ten minutes,” Jake says, checking the screen. “It’s Dorothy Williams.”
Dorothy.
The thought hits me like ice water.
Dorothy was supposed to be at the library today. She told me at lunch on Sunday. Tuesday afternoon, reading to kids in the children’s section.
But she wasn’t there when the fire started. I didn’t see her in the crowd during the evacuation. Didn’t see her talking to paramedics or giving statements to the police.
She wasn’t there.
Just like she wasn’t at the café when it burned.
Dorothy left the café minutes before the fire started. I watched her walk down the steps, watched her drive away in her old sedan.
And today, she was supposed to be at the library, but didn’t show up.
Two fires. Dorothy was supposed to be at both. But she wasn’t.
She left early. Or didn’t come at all.
And I was there. Both times. In her place.
My fork clatters against my plate.
“Rachel?” Jake’s voice sounds far away. “You okay?”
“I need to call Dorothy back.”
“Now? We’re eating—”
“Now.” I hold out my hand. “Please.”
He hands me my phone without arguing, probably because my face must look as panicked as I feel.
I step out onto the back porch and call Dorothy’s number.
She answers on the second ring. “Rachel! Oh, thank God. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
“Dorothy, are you okay? I didn’t see you at the library today.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I meant to call the library, but my phone died, and I’ve been at the doctor’s office all afternoon.” Her voice is apologetic. “I woke up with a terrible headache this morning and decided to stay home. Didn’t want to risk it if I was coming down with something.”
“You weren’t there.”
“No, dear. Why? Did something happen?”
“Dorothy, there was a fire at the library today. A bad one. The staff room had smoke damage throughout the building.”
She gasps. “Oh my God. Rachel, are you okay? Was anyone hurt?”
“Everyone got out. Tommy and I were there getting his book when it started.” My voice sounds strange in my own ears. Distant.
“You were there?” Her voice shakes. “You were at another fire?”
“Yeah.” I lean against the porch railing. “Dorothy… you were supposed to be at the café the night it burned. You left right before the fire started. And today, you were supposed to be at the library, but you weren’t there either.”
The silence on the other end stretches too long.
“Dorothy?”
“That’s… that’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it?” Her voice sounds uncertain now. “My goodness. I hadn’t even thought about that.”
“Two fires. Both places you were supposed to be.”
“But I wasn’t there. You were.” She pauses. “Rachel, are you sure you’re okay? This must be so frightening for you.”
“I’m fine. Just trying to make sense of it all.”
“Well, there’s nothing to make sense of, dear. Just terrible timing and bad luck.” But she doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “My grandson stopped by this afternoon, actually. Ryan. He’d heard about the library fire on the news and wanted to check on me.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“He seemed upset when I told him I’d called in sick this morning. Said he thought I’d be at the library.” She laughs, but it sounds forced. “I told him I’m an old woman who’s allowed to change her plans. He was relieved I wasn’t there, of course.”
Ryan thought she’d be at the library.
I file that information away without quite knowing why it feels important.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I say.
“I’m glad you’re okay, too, sweetheart. And Tommy.” Her voice warms. “You’ve had such a terrible few weeks. Please take care of yourself. And Rachel? Maybe stay home for a while. Just to be safe.”
She’s trying to make it sound like a joke, but I hear the worry underneath.
“I will. You too, Dorothy.”
“I will, dear. Talk soon.”
She hangs up, and I stand on the porch staring at my phone.
Two fires.
Dorothy was supposed to be at both.
I was at both instead.
It’s probably nothing, just a coincidence. Just bad luck piled on top of more bad luck.
But my gut says otherwise.
My gut says something’s wrong, and I just don’t know what yet.