Angel Fire (25 page)

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What?”

“Well, look at you. You say you walked through flames, yet here you are, not a mark on you. That long hair of yours isn’t burned. There are no scars on your arms or hands. Did you happen to see Frank’s face lately? And that was just a pot of hot coffee.”

I struggled for a way to deflect his reasoning. “But Neil gave you his statement.”

“Oh.” He pressed his lips together. “And like I’m going to believe the man you’re shacking up with will tell the truth.”

I clenched my fists. There was nothing I could do or say to convince Sheriff Burke. His mind was made up and that was all there was to it.

Anger bubbled up inside me, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I could sense something inside me urging me to let it out. This time, I had to focus to keep myself calm and under control.

“I can’t believe this,” I said, echoing my earlier thoughts.

“Believe it. I’m looking into this, and if I find anything that leads me to believe you were behind that fire, I’m going to come down on you like a ton of bricks.”

It was all I could do not to succumb to my frustration and anger. “You’re out of your mind.”

Like most bullies, Sheriff Burke could sense when he had the advantage, and he pressed his: “It’s simple, really. Your aunt and uncle are getting on in years. They can’t run the motel anymore. I’m sure their insurance is paid up, though. I’ll have to check on that.”

My eyes widened at his implication.

He said, “You’re their only living relative. Maybe they asked you to set the fire so they can claim the insurance money, or maybe you thought this up all on your own. Doesn’t make any difference. You burn the motel to the ground, but someone gets hurt and you got spotted. Now you have to point the blame somewhere else.”

Logically, everything he said was a possibility. Suddenly, I realized that not only was the sheriff stonewalling my accusation, but he was building a case against me. I felt like a rat trapped in a cage.

The thermostat on the wall edged up a few degrees.

In a court of law, it would be my word against several witnesses. I had a criminal record. A repeat offender, this time they wouldn’t send me up for negligence, they would send me up for murder one.

Beads of sweat appeared on Sheriff Burke’s forehead. He wiped at it with a handkerchief.

“You bastard,” I cursed. “I didn’t do this. You know it.”

Wisps of steam rose from the half-empty cup of coffee on his desk.

“I don’t know any such thing. You did this once before. Don’t deny it. You killed your father and your mother.”

I closed my eyes. I had to remember the mantra, but I couldn’t. My mind wouldn’t let me.

“And now you’ve killed your aunt. Who else has to die before they put you away for good?”

The effort it took to retain control of myself made me shake.

“My eyes can see,”
I whispered.

“What did you say?”

“I am in control.”

The power dissipated. But I had to strain with the effort to keep it in check.

I took a deep breath and realized there was no point in staying.

The only reason Sheriff Burke hadn’t slapped handcuffs on me yet was that he didn’t have enough evidence to back it up. The more I argued with him, the more incensed he might become. He might decide to throw me in a cell anyway, and if there was any chance for me to clear my name, I couldn’t do it locked away.

I willed myself to shut my mouth, and backed out of the office.

Sheriff Burke said, “Don’t you leave town, little girl. I’ve got my eye on you.”

A self-satisfied smile on his face, Sheriff Burke reached down to grab his coffee cup. It was so hot, though, it burned his fingers, and he jerked his hand away, knocking the scalding coffee over his paperwork.

I could hear his curses from all the way down the hall.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I had no
idea when Neil was going to be finished at the fire hall, and I didn’t want to go back to Beth’s house. She would ask too many questions. Then there was my uncle. I couldn’t face him knowing there was nothing I could do to help him get justice for his wife. Aunt Martha was all he had, and she was the only person in the world who had ever ‘gotten’ him. It was like losing a limb for him; an essential part of who he was.

The more I thought about losing Aunt Martha, the more my own grief consumed me, and the angrier I became. I had always loved and admired her, but in the past week, she had become like a second mother to me.

That damned fire inside me had taken away nearly everyone I loved.

I had to work past my grief somehow. If I didn’t do something about clearing my name soon, Sheriff Burke would pin the fire on me, and Barry would get away with murder.

I didn’t know what to do or where to turn. When I happened to pass by the Finer Diner, I decided to duck in and grab a coffee.

* * *

I sat in a booth by myself and stared out the window. My coffee had long since grown cold. A thousand ideas came and went in my head, but inevitably, my thoughts circled back to how hopeless my situation was.

Two women a few booths over were talking about the fire. I instinctively shrank down so I was hidden, and perked my ears up at the same time.

“It’s a crying shame about what happened to Martha Johnson,” one of them said.

Her friend tsked in agreement. “And that poor Edward; what’s he going to do now that his home is burned down and there’s no one to take care of him?”

The first one lowered her voice a notch, but I could still hear every word. “It’s that Darcy Anderson, I tell you.”

“Who?”

“Their niece. That girl what burned her parents up ten years back, you remember? They sent her up to that women’s prison in Phoenix, but some brilliant paper pusher let her out. I don’t know why they didn’t give her the needle then. Firebugs. Sick in the head. Can’t cure them, you know.”

“Shameful,” her lunch companion agreed.

Ears burning, holding back tears, I stormed out of the diner.

* * *

Sinking closer and closer into despair, I found myself heading back towards Beth’s house. I couldn’t think of any place else to go.

As I neared, I saw an ambulance out front, and immediately broke into a run.

When I got inside, two paramedics had Uncle Edward on a stretcher and were navigating him down the stairs.

Beth, eyes strained and tight from worry, threw her arms around me.

I asked, “What is it? Is he—?”

“No,” she said. “He’s alive, but he’s had a heart attack. The paramedics said there was too much stress.”

As they moved past me, I saw Uncle Edward. His face was drawn, his eyes closed. His breathing was raspy and strained beneath an oxygen mask.

“Is he going to be all right?” I asked.

The paramedic said, “He’s stabilized for now. But we need to get him to the hospital.”

Beth pulled me back to allow the paramedics through.

“Darcy,” she said. “No one can say if he’s going to be all right or not. Listen, let me grab my car keys and John Jr. and we’ll ride to the hospital together. Let the doctors have a look at him.”

But that wasn’t where I wanted to go at that moment. “I’ll meet you there later.”

“Darcy?” she asked, her voice going up.

“I’m not going to let them get away with it.” I marched out of the house and across the lawn towards down town.

“Darcy, don’t!” Beth called, but her words may as well have fallen on deaf ears.

* * *

More enterprising than I would have ever given him credit for, Frank had managed to scrape up enough money over the years to purchase a garage from Sam Ulenko when the old mechanic finally retired. He had renamed it Frank’s Fix-It.

Frank was hunched over an engine, the hood open and a flood light shining on the machinery within. In one hand he held a ratchet and was tightening something in the engine.

He must have heard my footsteps, but didn’t look up from what he was working on when he said, “Should’ve come by earlier. We’re booked solid today. Try again tomorrow.”

I continued walking toward him.

With an annoyed look, Frank popped his head out from under the hood. The side of his face was still pink and raw.

“I told ya to take a hike—” he started to say, and then he saw me. I faced him, my fists clenched at my sides. I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw hurt.

“You really are a crazy bitch,” he said, his voice even. “Coming here alone.” He hefted the wrench in his burnt hand and smiled. He winced and shifted the tool to his other hand.

“What’re you doing here?” he challenged. “Maybe you want to dance?”

He took a step toward me, and though my initial reaction was to flinch, I didn’t break eye contact.

“Troy told me everything,” I said. “I want you to turn yourself in and tell Sheriff Burke everything that happened. I’m sure he’ll take your cooperation into consideration.”

Frank gaped at me for a full ten seconds, and then burst into raucous laughter. “You’ve got to have a screw loose. What makes you think I’ll roll over and squeal like that pig, Troy?”

I tried to keep my voice as calm as possible, to show no fear. “I’ve already made a statement to Sheriff Burke,” I told him, and then added the lie: “And as soon as his deputies get back on duty, they’re going to come over here and arrest you. So you better get ready to make a confession.”

A cloud of uncertainty fell over Frank, and then he grew angry. “You little tattle tale. Can’t keep your damned mouth shut?” He raised the wrench. “Well, I’m just going to have to shut it for you.”

The power flared in me. It felt like a second skin coating my body, filling every pore. The rush of heat was like a furnace from within and I felt a surge of intense elation as I opened myself up to it.

And it
was
a thing, an entity. I could sense it; the more I interacted with it the more I could define it. It was a separate part of me, or the hidden half of me. It was a beast whose hunger was primal and horrible. I was its prison and its jailor.

It wanted me to let it free, but I reined it in. I was its master, and I could do with it as I pleased. I was in control, not it.

I raised my hands and fire sprang from my fingers. I let the flames dance there, and giggled as I felt the power of this thing flow through me.

Frank paused in mid-attack, his eyes wide with fear. I could feel the presence in me growing, bidding me to unleash its full fury on him.

At the lake, it had taken control, but this time I forced my will on it, and focused the elemental energy on the wrench. The metal of the tool glowed red and turned to liquid, covering Frank’s hand.

He screamed and tried to throw the wrench from him, but the molten metal stuck to his skin. I smelled burning flesh as it fused to his hand.

I said, “Tell the truth, Frank, and I’ll make it stop.”

My entire body was vibrating with the effort to control the immense power that flooded through me. I bit my lip as I concentrated, and the metallic burst of blood on my tongue helped center me. I pulled the force back inside me. The fire dancing in my hands dwindled and finally disappeared.

Frank’s eyes were crazed. I don’t know if it was the pain of his liquefied hand, the shock of seeing me shoot flames out of my fingers, or the knowledge that a woman had effectively emasculated him, but I think he was beyond rational thought.

He roared, “I’m going to kill you,” and charged at me.

Without consciously thinking about it, I sidestepped and, without thought, hit him with an instant wave of fire. It knocked him back into the car. His coveralls, smeared with grease and oil, lit up like a bonfire.

“No!” I screamed, when I realized what I had done.

Panicked, Frank ran for a large water basin at the back wall of the garage, but he tripped over one of the electric cords for his compressor and fell headlong into a barrel of waste oil. It soaked him. His entire body immediately turned into a screaming, writhing ball of flame.

To my horror, he somehow got to his feet and staggered toward me. I gasped and backed away. This was not what I had planned when I came here.

“No! No! No!” I yelled to myself, to the power inside me. “I am in control! Stop!”

I tried to gather my wits, to regain control, and use the power to reverse the fire, but I couldn’t think.

Frank only made it a few steps before he collapsed in the center of the garage. Behind him, the waste oil barrels were still burning, and the flames spread to a greasy tarp covering an engine block. A can of primer nearby caught on fire, and soon the entire back of the shop became an inferno.

I backed out of the garage, knowing there was nothing I could do.

Now that I had caged the power once more, I grasped what I had done. I hadn’t wanted this to happen, but once I let the power out, I had reveled in it. Though I had more control than ever before, the rage and fury of it had become a part of me. I had used that combination of its anger and mine on Frank, and now he was dead because of me. No matter what my intentions, people got hurt, people got killed. Everywhere I went, destruction followed.

Chapter Thirty

I walked down
Main Street in a daze. What I’d just done felt like a dream, or a nightmare. I thought I was in control of the power, and though I had been able to summon it and dismiss it at will, I had succumbed to its nature. Fire was a destructive force, and when I had channeled that energy, I couldn’t help but cause destruction.

Was that my purpose in life? I had the ability to destroy anything I chose, or to avenge myself on those who harmed me and mine. Was it time to finally surrender myself to what I was?

When I spotted The Trough, and Barry’s Camaro parked outside, I knew I had to finish this, even if it was the end of me. I had to accept who and what I was. There was no use fighting it.

* * *

Unaware of the horror I had unleashed on Frank, Barry sat at the bar, nursing a beer and picking at a bowl of peanuts while Jack Creel wiped a glass with a dish towel.

Jack spotted me and went still. The smile on his face vanished.