Angel Fire (3 page)

I launched myself to my feet. Rage washed over me like hot lava. I felt trapped.

“It was an accident,” I said. “It was an accident!”

I balled my hands into fists by my sides.

Uncle Edward scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, so you keep saying. But those jurors didn’t have a doubt in their minds, and you know what? I don’t either.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My last living blood relation hated me and thought I had murdered my own mother and father. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. I wanted to scream at Uncle Edward, but I bit down hard on my tongue instead.

Uncle Edward took a step toward me, and I tensed.

A faint wisp of smoke curled out from between my clenched fingers. I could feel the heat swelling inside like the first spark of a dark, deadly furnace.

“Edward!” Aunt Martha half gasped, half screamed.

“It’s true. Tell me I’m wrong,” Uncle Edward demanded. “Oh, you may not have meant to kill them, but you certainly meant to kill someone. Tell me I’m wrong!”

I tried not to pay attention to him, tried to block out all external sensation. I closed my eyes in concentration.

My eyes can see.

My tongue can taste.

My mouth can smile.

Uncle Edward’s eyes narrowed like a hawk spotting a field mouse.

“You’re the one who started the fire.”

His fingers curled like talons.

My lungs can breathe.

My heart can beat.

I willed myself to sit back down. I clenched my fists as the wisps of smoke grew fainter.

“You burned your own parents alive.”

My stomach can digest.

Aunt Martha finally found her voice. “Edward! That is truly enough!”

My legs can walk.

“Yes,” he said, taking a single step back, “it is.” And with that he stalked out of the room.

My body is calm.

Aunt Martha got out of her chair and came over to me. With tears in her eyes, she wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

“It’s all right, honey. I’m going to take care of you now. You’ll see. We’re family, you know. Good or bad. Right or wrong. We’re all we’ve got.”

Pain lanced down my fingers, and I forced my hands to open. Flecks of black ash fell from my palms.

If Aunt Martha heard my next words, she gave no indication; she simply held me tight as I completed my mantra:

I am in control.

Chapter Five

My house burned
out of control.

Like a panicked hive of ants, firefighters rushed to and from the building, trying to contain the damage. Half a dozen hoses fired heavy streams of water at the blaze, but they were no match for the inferno. It was a lost cause. Their efforts were in vain.

My face was streaked with soot and tears, and I barely comprehended what was going on. My parents were still trapped inside the house.

And I knew, as certainly as I knew my name, it was all my fault.

“Mom! Dad!”

* * *

…My cries echoed in my thoughts long after I woke from the nightmare.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror in my panties and a white T-shirt. Steam from the shower fogged the mirror and blurred my reflection. Absently, I wiped my hand across its surface to wipe away the condensation. Haunted eyes stared back at me as a tear slowly wound its way down my cheek.

I hated myself.

That close!
I had come
that
close to losing control again yesterday. Why couldn’t I control myself? I had done so well the last few years; now I was slipping.

I stared at the palms of my hands. Not a mark on them. They appeared innocent and harmless, but they were filled with fiery hatred and destruction.

I drew my hand across my cheek, wiping away the tears.

Then I slapped the mirror. “What’s wrong with you?”

What was this affliction inside of me? Why did I have it? How could I get rid of it? If not for the mantra—my salvation—I would have absolutely no control over when and where it would strike.

I thrust a hand behind the shower curtain to test the temperature of the water, and then reached down to pull my T-shirt off when I heard a loud knock at the door. I turned the shower off and grabbed a bathrobe.

“Just a minute!” I called out as I wrapped the belt around my waist and tied it in a quick knot. I opened the door and smiled.

“Oh, hello, Aunt Martha.”

My aunt did not look me in the eye. I could tell she was more than a little embarrassed.

I stepped out onto the wooden boardwalk and waited patiently until she screwed up enough courage to tell me what was on her mind.

“I, uh, want to apologize for your uncle,” Aunt Martha began. “He’s a cranky ass, you know. Doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“I’ve heard worse.” With a little effort, I kept my voice nonchalant.

“Maybe, but not from family. He shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

Uncle Edward and I had never been close. Even as a child, he would treat me with cold indifference when I came over to visit—a sharp contrast to Aunt Martha’s welcoming arms and lovingly baked treats. I didn’t know if he didn’t like kids, or just me.

I guessed the past decade’s events had turned his apathy toward me into hatred.

Maybe there was more to it than that, judging by Aunt Martha’s words.

“Taken what out on me?” I asked.

“Well…”

I put a hand on her shoulder. She was trembling. “What is it, Aunt Martha?”

Wringing her hands, she mumbled, “I don’t mean to put this on you, because it’s not your fault. How could you know? You just got here.”

I spoke in a soft voice. “Tell me.”

A furtive glance in the direction of the office seemed to ease her nervousness. There was no one listening in to her confession.

“Well, for a couple years after … your ordeal … business got real slow. Some folks stayed away because they didn’t understand; some were angry; some just didn’t know what to say. On top of that, the economy hasn’t been what it used to be. Fewer travelers. With that new interweb thing people just talk on their computers rather than meet face to face. What is this world coming to? I mean—”

“And?” I prompted to get her back on track.

“We had to get an extension on the loan, and then we had to lay off all our staff just to make ends meet.”

I put my hand on my heart. “I was wondering why it was just you two here. Why didn’t you say anything? I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t,” she said. “It’s been a rough ride, but it’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault, really. Oh, this isn’t your problem. I should have just kept my big trap shut. It’s just—”

“Just what?”

Aunt Martha sighed. “Well, Edward and I aren’t getting younger.”

“You’re not so—”

She put up a hand to stop me.

“We are. But that’s not what I wanted to say. Things have started to pick up again. We’re finally shifting back to normal. Who knows, we might even have a little left over this year.”

“That’s great, Aunt Martha.” I furrowed my brow, wondering how long it would take her to make her way completely around the bush before she finally came to the point.

“Well, working long hours seven days a week is taking its toll. And … well … we’re getting tired. Running a motel is a lot of work for two old fogies like us.”

She needed to take another deep breath before she looked me in the eye.

“We’ve been talking about selling,” she said finally.

“Oh?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, wasn’t sure I had the right to feel one way or another about it. For as long as I could remember, the Lazy Z had been like a mainstay for our family. Although only related by marriage, my mother and Aunt Martha were closer than most sisters were, and when I was young they wouldn’t go more than a day without visiting, so I was always over here. I think I spent more time playing in the parking lot and the field behind the motel than I did in my own backyard.

“But the market is still soft right now. We’d lose our shirts. We just can’t sell this year; maybe not even next year. In the meantime, let’s just say we probably wouldn’t want to hire the sort of person who would take the salary we could afford to pay. Rock and a hard place. The Lazy Z has been in the family for fifty years. Edward is taking it as a personal failure that we’re faced with this.”

“Is there anything I can do? Anything?”

Aunt Martha wrung her hands again, as if expecting the worst. “Yes, there is.”

I nodded once, firmly. “Name it.”

“Stay on. Work the motel. Like I said, we can’t pay you much. Oh, Lord, I feel like I’m taking advantage of you for this.”

I had so many conflicting thoughts at that point; I didn’t know what to say first.

“That’s what I wanted in the first place: To stay here and help out. But Uncle Edward said—”

Aunt Martha waved her hand. “Edward is as stubborn as an ass. He needs to get over himself. Life’s too short. He knows deep in his heart it was an accident, what happened to his sister and Robert. He’s just being ornery. Can you forgive him?”

“Forgive him? Of course, Aunt Martha. And I would love to stay and help out.”

She threw her arms around me and gave me a noisy kiss on the cheek. “You won’t regret this, Darcy.”

For the first time that day, I felt my heart swell with hope. Leave it to Aunt Martha to make the person responsible for the deaths of her in-laws welcome in her home.

“I’m just glad I can help.”

“Edward’s in the office,” she said. “I told him to apologize to you, though if you get a grunt out of him you’re doing better than I am.”

I shook my head. “I really don’t need an apology, but I’ll go see him right away.”

“Listen,” she said. “I want you to feel at home here. I know the room isn’t much, but it’s yours for as long as you like.”

“That’s far too generous. You have to let me pay my own way.”

She waved her hand. “Pish-posh. I’m just so happy you’re back.”

Aunt Martha beamed a wide smile at me and I suddenly felt much better about myself. She hugged me again, and I didn’t want her to ever let go.

“Me too, Aunt Martha. Me too.”

Chapter Six

Uncle Edward and
my mother could have passed as twins, though nearly five years separated them. Both were tall and spare, almost willowy. They had narrow jaws, high cheekbones and slightly protruding chins. Both were fair complexioned, but that’s where the similarity ended.

Eleanor Johnson—Ellie to her friends and family—was a free spirit. She refused to cut her hair, and by the time she was an adult, her flaxen locks hung down to her hips. She would occasionally wear it in a braid, but her preferred style was to leave it loose. Uncle Edward had never changed his hairstyle from the day he left the military; as far back as I could remember, he had always sported a crew cut which he would get trimmed at least once every two weeks.

Eleanor explored art and literature; she loved crafts and antiques. At any given point in her life, she had at least one adopted pet—a stray cat, a wounded bird, a lost dog; and once she even brought home a lost bear cub (which apparently caused quite a stir in the Johnson household that day).

Uncle Edward went straight into business courses in Flagstaff and, once he returned to Middleton, gradually ensconced himself in the day to day operations of the Lazy Z, assuming as much responsibility as his father would dole out until the day my grandfather had his second heart attack and decided it was time to retire.

My mother never wanted anything to do with running a business, and was more than happy to let her brother take over the Lazy Z. When Uncle Edward and Ellie were old enough, Uncle Edward got the motel and my mother got the large family house for their inheritance. My grandparents relocated to a cabin on the edge of some property they owned outside town, where they lived out their remaining days.

My mother loved to tell me about how my father had changed her life. When it came to marriage, she would never have tied the knot—she was such a wild spirit—if she hadn’t met her soul mate in my father the summer after high school graduation.

She was waitressing in Fresno while staying at her great aunt’s when she met Robert Anderson on a hike with her cousins. A biologist, he was monitoring migratory patterns of the native bird population for the University of Sacramento, and the two of them hit it off famously. By the end of that summer, Ellie had come back home to Middleton freshly engaged. Robert transferred to Northern Arizona University, and I arrived a little under a year later.

My mother told me once she never thought her brother would ever get married, not because Uncle Edward didn’t want to, but more because of his naturally abrasive personality. None of the local girls wanted anything to do with him, except for one. It took someone like Aunt Martha to see past the gruff exterior and spot the loyal, hardworking, and devoted person beneath. Rumor had it that she had proposed to
him
—something of a scandal back in those days.

Unfortunately, marriage never softened Uncle Edward, and even his own family had difficulty spending more than a few hours at a time with him.

Growing up, I can’t say I had ever held more than a one-sentence conversation with him; but now, standing outside the front office of the Lazy Z in the morning sun, my hair still wet against my back from my morning shower, he had my undivided attention.

I walked a step behind Uncle Edward, who frequently pointed his finger like a gun while taking me through the orientation—as if I had never spent thousands of days at the motel.

His voice dripped with impatience. “Right there’s the electrical room, in case you need to throw a breaker back on. Dumb-ass power company out here. Everything goes dead in a storm, and we get interruptions even on a clear day.”

Reaching out, he rattled the door knob, and glanced at me pointedly.

“Always make sure it’s locked. Check it twenty times a day if you have to. Every time you walk by, check it. Don’t want some punk kid sneaking in there to smoke dope.”

“Got it.” I nodded affirmatively.

Uncle Edward shuffled down to the next room. He paused and made a show of producing a key from a retractable karabiner hooked to his belt loop. Jiggling the knob to prove to me it was locked, he proceeded to unlock it and threw open the door.