Chapter Forty-Three
FORTY-THREE
The sky glows with the pink tinge of impending sunrise, streaming in through the glass ceiling as though last night never happened.
I watch numbly as a host of police officers, firefighters and paramedics bustle around the Heywood Gallery.
The air smells of smoke and something else that I don’t want to think about but that might be trapped in my nostrils forever.
“Will you let someone look at that hand now, please?” Izzy appears beside me, fussing with the gray blanket wrapped round my shoulders.
I huddle further into the plastic folding chair that one of the attending paramedics conjured up from a storage cupboard. I’m not allowed to wash my bloody feet until they’ve been processed for evidence, so instead I sit here, refusing to take my eyes off the sheet-covered mound in the foyer.
“Has Noah been seen to?” I ask, not answering Izzy’s question.
“He was checked over a bit ago and they took him to the hospital in an ambulance because he’s lost so much blood. He should be there now.”
I finally look up at her. “How was he?”
“I’m not sure.” Izzy sighs and grabs a second folding chair, gesturing for me to share the blanket. I open it with my good hand and let her scootch close to me. “He told me to fuck off.”
I wince, my attention back on the body. “I guess you can’t really blame him. We did leave him with her.”
“Knocked him out and locked him in. I know.” She shudders. “I still can’t believe it was Scarlett this whole time. She seemed…harmless.”
“I know. I can’t believe it took me so long to realize.”
“Don’t do that,” Izzy warns me. She directs my attention to the green outside. “Look who showed up.”
“Is that Ford?” I ask, noticing a disheveled blond boy in pajama bottoms and a gray hoody. He rakes a hand through his usually coiffed hair and stares up at the gallery.
“Yep. He saw the fire from his room and ran over here. He’s fuming, something about you destroying his grandfather’s legacy?”
“Clifford Heywood,” I breathe, remembering the name from the first article I read. “That’s who he was painting. His grandad used to own The Four.”
“Well, good luck quizzing him about it after this. He’s furious.”
“God, how many lives have I ruined this week?” I try to put my head in my hands, and wince. Izzy gives me a look and waves for the attention of a passing paramedic.
“You do know Noah is only alive because of you.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m thinking of the three people who aren’t.
Izzy changes the subject. “You think they’ll cancel the course now?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” I say, “but probably. I wouldn’t be able to do the writing class now anyway.”
I unfold my hand gingerly so the paramedic can finally treat it, and she takes hold of it in gentle purple-gloved hands. Her magnetic name badge says Emma, and her eyes widen as she turns my palm face up.
“This looks pretty sore.” She smiles apologetically, then looks at Izzy when I don’t respond. “Is she in shock?”
“No, she’s just making sure Scarlett doesn’t hurt anybody else,” Izzy says, pointing at the sheet.
“You don’t have to worry about that anymore.
The body is being moved soon,” the paramedic says.
Her Irish accent is calm and soothing, but when I look at her face, I see she’s not that much older than us—in her early twenties at most. I wonder what kinds of things she’s seen in this job.
I start to ask what will happen to Scarlett when two more paramedics walk into the gallery, wheeling a gurney between them.
“Right on time.” Emma smiles, offering her other hand to me.
“Let’s get you onto the ambulance so I can get this treated.
Hopefully it won’t scar too badly if we act now. ”
“Okay,” I say numbly, getting to my feet.
I don’t move, though; instead I watch the paramedics crouch down and remove the sheet from Scarlett’s body, allowing a wave of burning flesh and hair to escape. Izzy and Emma avert their eyes as one of the paramedics unfolds a body bag and lays it on the floor.
“Come on, Fliss,” Izzy urges, taking hold of my elbow.
I tear my eyes from the scene and start to walk with her, surprised at how wobbly my knees are. I falter and suddenly can’t think of anything better than sleeping for a week, until a male voice fills the foyer.
“Call in to Blackwood Hospital, emergency response incoming! We have a pulse!”
Emma looks at us and hesitates before dropping my arm and racing over to the other paramedics, speaking urgently into her radio as she does.
I grab on to Izzy as we watch the scene unfold with horror, getting swept to the side as several more people descend on Scarlett’s body, including two more paramedics with a crash cart and bodyboard.
Chaos breaks out as the uniformed officers stationed outside rush back in, everyone either shouting instructions or talking into radios as a swarm of people work around what is left of Scarlett.
“Patient is intubated and breathing. We need to move her to the ambulance now.”
Izzy breathes sharply as Scarlett is lifted onto the board and carried past us.
The skin I can see is red and puckered, the remnants of her beautiful hair now just charred clumps that are stuck to her head.
I cover my nose and mouth as my stomach heaves, but I can’t keep it in.
I turn around and vomit onto the floor as she’s carried out of the building, my body convulsing so much it drives me to my knees.
“Did that really just happen?” I ask, blinking back tears. “How the hell did she survive that?”
“I don’t know,” Izzy says, her voice hoarse as she helps me up.
We huddle back under the blanket, forgotten in the chaos, until a group of firefighters emerge from the front stairwell.
“Are you two being looked after?” a firefighter asks, approaching us. I don’t answer her, instead looking at the painting in her hands. It’s the first of The Four, and though the edges are charred, it looks like the frame protected most of it.
“They’re okay? The paintings?”
“Just about. Someone who works here is on his way to inspect the damage, so we’re bringing them down.”
“How many?”
“Four. This one and three others like it.”
“Not five? There were five missing from the gallery. There should be one of a man too.” Then I remember I never saw the fifth portrait when I was upstairs. It wasn’t on display.
“No, we were pretty thorough, but there is quite a bit of fire damage to that room. If there was another one up there, it’s gone. I’m sorry.”
Scarlett must have brought it up there, but maybe she hid it in the shadows.
She was probably going to take it with her when she left, a souvenir of her dangerous obsession.
Well, I hope it burned. I’m glad The Four survived and he didn’t.
Those women deserve to have their stories told instead of him, and I am going to do it for them.
The next time they are hung in a gallery, I vow, they will have their names beside them.
I watch the firefighters place the rest of The Four against the welcome desk and wait until everyone is busy before I go over to them. Izzy trails behind, watching me. I don’t mind if she hears.
“Lorenna. Frances. Nicole. Grace,” I whisper to each of them. From this angle, their faces look strangely peaceful. Maybe it’s the early-morning light. “I know who you are, and once I share my research, so will everyone else. I promise.”
I turn to Izzy and link her with my good arm.
“I need some fresh air,” I say. We walk toward the open door, and I’m relishing the thought of sunlight on my face when a tall man bursts into the building.
“Oh my god, what the hell happened here?” he says, looking around at the carnage.
I shrink back as I wait for him to spot us.
He’s going to be devastated. He fixes his eyes on me, and I brace myself for the interrogation, but instead his face crumples in relief.
“Fliss? They said you were here. I can’t tell you how sick with worry I’ve been…
You’re okay?” He looks at Izzy. “You’re both okay? ”
I drop Izzy’s arm as tears roll down my face and I run toward him, throwing myself at him in a tight hug.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, letting him fuss over me before I let go. He looks around the gallery again, and his hand flies to his mouth as he spots The Four. I give him a smile that’s definitely more of a grimace. “So, the good news is, I didn’t burn the house down…”