Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
FLETCHER
I don’t breathe for a full minute.
My mind jumps to an answer that’s impossible.
It’s impossible.
A coincidence at best.
It’s a small town. The probability of Jacks being the common denominator in all three fires doesn’t mean anything.
But when I dig more into each story, I don’t find any answers, because neither did they.
The house fire was labeled an accident, and based on the state Joan and Bob were in at the time, everyone else did exactly what I had—assumed it was them.
The school fire started with a Bunsen burner during lunch. The teacher, Joshua Burgess, was the only person inside. He made it out, but not easily. There was something blocking the door and he ended up jumping from the second-story window and breaking his ankle.
And the car…inconclusive. The kid was also from a foster home, so I’m guessing he didn’t have anyone who cared enough to push for answers.
I’m being ridiculous. Maybe there’s no connection between the three. They happened years apart, and they could all have been freak accidents.
And yet. And yet.
Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something .
It feels just out of reach, like trying to catch smoke with my hands. A detail, a moment. Something from that night that I just can’t remember.
Something that twists incessantly in the pit of my stomach until I feel like I’m going to be sick.
I shove back from the desk and pace into the hall. The house is dark, quiet. I don’t know what I’m doing, what my plan is. I pause outside Jacks’s room where the door is propped open an inch.
I ease it open a few more. I should just ask her about it. We promised we’d be honest with each other, and?—
Her bed is empty.
I backtrack and glance in the bathroom across the hall, then head downstairs. But no—not in the kitchen, the living room, on the deck.
Jacks is gone.
I grab the keys and head for the garage before I realize what I’m doing. If she took off because of our fight and something happens to her, I’ll never be able to forgive myself. I don’t know when she left, but if she’s on foot, she couldn’t have gotten that far. Hopefully it’s too late for her to be able to grab a bus. I try to think of where else she would go, who else she knows around here.
Maybe she went for one of her runs on the beach to blow off steam.
The roads are empty this time of night, and I speed down them, my head whipping back and forth for any trace of her. I’m a few minutes from the water when I see the smoke in the air, billowing up toward the night sky.
Everything stops.
My heart.
My breathing.
I yank the steering wheel in that direction and slam my foot on the pedal.
“No,” I breathe aloud as I get closer and a spark of light in the distance swims into view. It’s far too bright. Too large. And where it’s coming from…that area…
No.
My tires squeal as I round the corner and find Christine’s house up in flames.
My vision blurs as I shove myself out of the car. I blink hard, trying to dispel the memories.
This is not one of my nightmares. I’m awake right now. I’m awake.
The neighbors are gathered on the surrounding lawns, hands held over their mouths.
There’s no fire truck.
“Did someone call 911?” I ask the first person I see—a woman crying in a bathrobe. She nods.
“Are they out? Christine and Casey? Are they out?”
She lets out a little sob and shakes her head.
The man standing beside her tries to grab my arm as I head for the house.
“You can’t go in there?—”
I shove him off and sprint toward the front door.
“You should wait for the fire department?—!”
After finding the spare key under the rock, I try the door, but it won’t open more than an inch. Something’s blocking it.
“Fuck.” I throw my shoulder against it, and it opens an inch more. Smoke and a wave of heat pours out.
“Chris!” I shout through the opening, but she either doesn’t respond or the roar of the fire drowns it out.
This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.
Not them. Not them.
I ram my shoulder into the door again and again, putting my entire weight behind it until each jolt sends a flash of pain through my bones.
Finally, the door gives way.
Parts of the ceiling have caved in. A massive beam is crossed diagonally in front of the door, and I duck under it.
The smoke is already thick, the air unbearably warm.
I don’t have much time.
The upstairs is in even worse shape. It seems the entire attic came down. The floor is utterly covered in debris.
And in the center of the hall—it’s her hair I see first.
“Chris!” I fall to my knees and shove bits of plaster away. She’s utterly buried in it. I dig out her face. Her eyes are closed, and her hairline is saturated with blood.
And she’s so, so still.
“Chris!” I dig her the rest of the way out and pull her toward me. I don’t have time to worry about any other injuries. I have to get her out of here.
But no matter how much digging I do, I don’t find Casey.
I scoop her into my arms. She doesn’t wake up. I don’t think she’s breathing.
I have to get her outside.
But Casey.
I call out for him and stumble over the debris toward his room.
Coughs rack my body, and my vision darkens at the edges. I feel myself getting sluggish.
Chris stirs in my arms.
The relief that tears through me as bright blue eyes look up at me nearly brings me to my knees.
“Casey,” she rasps.
“I’ll find him.”
The house groans around us, and I have less than a second to crouch and try to cover Chris’s body with my own before more of the ceiling rains down on us.
“Fletcher,” she whimpers, and I tighten my arms around her.
But no?—
That’s not Christine’s voice.
I whip my head around.
Casey.
He’s standing in the doorway to the bathroom. I hold one arm out for him, and he rushes in. All the breath leaves my lungs at once as I crush him to my side and close my eyes for a second.
But only a second.
“Can you walk?” I ask Chris. She gives a shaky nod.
The stairs are completely blocked off. Which means the only way out is…
I pull them both into Casey’s room and beeline for the window.
“Chris, you’re going down first, then I’ll hand you Casey?—”
“I can’t,” she says in a small voice.
I kick at the screen until it falls, then poke my head out. My head spins—from vertigo, déjà vu, or the smoke inhalation, I’m not sure. A two-story drop. Nothing to break the fall but grass.
I reach a hand for her. “I need to get you out of this smoke, now .”
“Fletcher, I—” Her eyes are round, wide. Fucking terrified.
Heights.
“Okay. I’ll jump. Then you hand me Casey, then you jump, and I’m going to catch you, okay?”
She shakes her head. “We could?—”
“Chris, we don’t have time. Now.”
I climb over and hang on to the ledge to try to get myself as low as possible before the drop.
I don’t hesitate. I just let go, bend my knees, and pray I don’t break anything.
“Fletch!” Chris calls, her voice shrill. “Are you okay?”
I drop into a crouch. The impact zings up my bones, but it’s not unbearable. I reach my arms up. “Casey.”
Chris disappears from view, then returns with her son in her arms. Tears stream down Casey’s face as he coughs uncontrollably.
“I’m gonna catch you, Case. You’ll be fine. Now, Chris.”
She lets him go.
I grunt as he falls against my chest, and he tucks his face against my neck. “You’re okay,” I murmur before setting him beside me. “Now your mom. Chris!” I call.
She bites her lip and peers at me over the edge.
“Just don’t think about it. Close your eyes and jump. I’ve got you.”
“Fletcher—” Her voice trembles.
The fire rages behind her. I don’t know how much time we have. And every moment she’s in there, she’s breathing in more smoke. I know she’s scared, and I don’t mean for my voice to come out as hard as it does, but I can’t help it. “ Now , Chris. I need you to trust me.”
“Mommy,” Casey wails beside me.
She throws her legs over the edge, closes her eyes, and jumps.
She sobs as I catch her, and I drop to my knees, all of us breathing hard. She’s shaking so badly. I cradle the side of her face with my hand and tuck her against my neck.
“You’re okay, baby,” I breathe. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you both.”
Finally, sirens and flashing lights flood the street.