The Haunting of Secrets (12 page)

* * * *

I wake up in a cloud of thick black smoke,
similar to the one I just left. I cough, desperate for air. I roll
over and put my face to the ground, searching for some reprieve
from the cloud that engulfs me. In the distance, I hear a pounding
at the door. I try to yell for help, but I can’t find my voice. My
throat is burning. I crawl to the steps, gasping for air, wondering
how long my body can go without oxygen. I only go a few feet when a
loud crash thunders in the air and the door to the attic gives way.
Through the smoky haze, I can see Logan running towards me. I put
my gloved hand up in a silent plea for him to come and save me.
Within seconds, he reaches me and as delicately as possible, picks
me up and cradles me against him. In the back of my mind, I note
that, although he is cradling me in his arms, he doesn’t hold me
too close. Even in an emergency, Logan is keeping a respectable
distance between us. Again, I get the nagging sensation that it is
more out of fear of the unknown than respect, but I push that
thought aside; I am sick of second guessing every action a person
takes. Logan carries me down the stairs and out to the front lawn.
He gently sets me down next to a seemingly unconscious Mary.

I panic, forgetting my own pain in my throat.
“Mary!” I scream hoarsely, my voice barely above a whisper. “Are
you ok? Wake up! You have to be alright, please!” I plea with her
unconscious form.

Logan gently puts his hand on my shoulder in
an effort to calm me. “It’s going to be ok, Aim,” he says in a calm
voice. “She’s going to be fine. I think she was hit over the head
and inhaled some smoke while she was unconscious. We both were hit
actually,” explains Logan, putting his hand on a tender spot on the
back of his head. He tries to hide his hand, but he isn’t able to
before I see it come away blotched with red. “That’s why she’s
unconscious. I checked her pulse and it’s strong. I called an
ambulance to be sure though.”

Reeling from what he just told me, I collapse
back onto the ground feeling more helpless than ever. No matter
what I do, I can’t seem to keep anyone safe.

“Just after I ran out your bedroom to follow
you, something hit me over the back of my head. Everything
immediately went black. When I came to, smoke was everywhere. I ran
to Mary’s bedroom. When I called her name, she didn’t answer. I
carried her out here and then went back upstairs to find you. I was
lucky I wasn’t unconscious any longer or else I may not have been
able to save any of us,” Logan says his voice scratchy from the
smoke.

As I sit there, digesting what Logan just
told me, my eyes drift back to the house. The whole upstairs is
engulfed in yellow flames. Smoke billows as far up as the tree
line. Strangely, there’s no fire on the bottom floor. It’s all
concentrated on the top level, where Mary and I sleep. Though I
have no idea yet what started the fire, I have a sinking feeling it
wasn’t my curling iron.

“Please tell me what the hell I’ve ever done
to deserve all of this?” I ask, pointing to my burning house. The
fire fighters arrive, and a few run towards Mary and me. To my
right, I see the rest of them run with their hoses toward my house.
I hope that they will be able to contain the damage to just the top
floor. Thanks to the fire, Mary would never know about the broken
window. My worrying about replacing a silly window seems so
pointless as I watch my bedroom being incinerated. I guess I should
feel lucky the flames didn’t take the whole structure, but luck
just doesn’t seem to be part of my vocabulary these days.

I lie back against Logan’s chest, mentally
exhausted, as I watch them take Mary away in the ambulance. I’m
grateful for the comfort he’s offering, yet desperate for something
more. The more time I spend with Logan, the more danger I am in of
losing the battle not to touch him. I long to kiss him; so
desperate for human touch that I am willing to say, ‘to hell with
the consequences’ and just go with my intense feelings. But, I
can’t of course; giving in would mean I would hold all his
memories. I would be privy to his every past thought. And anyone
who has ever been in a relationship knows how dangerous that can
be. There are just some things a girl should never know about the
person she’s dating. There’s no mystery for me, no chance at a
normal life. I am a fool to even entertain the idea; even for the
briefest of moments.

Logan is careful not to hold me too closely.
He puts his arms loosely around me; settling his hands on my lower
stomach. I can tell he is doing his best to stand straight, to hold
me without touching the places where my skin is exposed. As much as
I want to stay in his arms, I have to follow Mary to the hospital.
I have to know that she’s all right. I turn in Logan’s arms to face
him, to tell him that I’m leaving to go be with Mary at the
hospital, but as soon as I turn, I’m distracted by how close his
lips are to mine. His breath smells sweet against my face and his
hazel eyes reflect the same passion I feel. I don’t dare move,
afraid of what may happen if I do. He looks at me intensely,
silently asking for permission. Without knowing if I give it or
not, Logan’s face descends slowly towards mine, he’s going to kiss
me. I should stop it, but I can’t move. I can’t breathe. All I can
do is hope. Beside us, someone coughs. I jump out of Logan’s
embrace like I was caught doing something terrible. My emotions are
a strange mix of regret and relief for the interruption. We turn to
see a police officer and a firefighter standing next to us, an
inquisitive look on their faces.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need you to
come with us, Ms. Richardson, to answer some questions about the
fire. They’re routine. We’ll know more as the investigation
continues, but it’s safe to say this is a case of arson. The smell
of gasoline is overpowering in your bedroom, Ms. Richardson. We can
question you while you wait at the hospital with your mother. And
as for you, young man,” says the officer turning to Logan, “you’ll
have to answer some questions, too. First being how you ended up
here in the middle of the night, at just the right time to save
them,” the officer finishes in a voice heavy with suspicion.

Beside me, I can feel Logan’s panic, knowing
that both of our parents would kill us if they knew we were alone
in my bedroom, in the middle of the night. My mind scrambles,
trying to find a plausible explanation. Since I can’t find one,
escape is the only option. I turn to Logan, making sure my back is
facing the officer and fireman, I mouth ‘
go!’
and start to
cough violently as I fall to the ground. As I had hoped, all rescue
personnel near me rush over to help. I bury my face in the ground
and hack, most of which was not an act, to give Logan the few
precious seconds he needs to get the hell out of here. I count to
thirty and stop coughing. The police officer near me had produced a
bottle of water and I drink hungrily from it. By the time the
rescue workers had ascertained that all was fine with me, Logan was
nowhere to be found. For once, the scales are balanced. I was able
to save my savior.

Chapter
Twenty

~ The Search Continues ~

The constant beeping of the monitor next to
Mary’s hospital bed drowns out all other sounds. It’s almost
hypnotic. For hours now, I have sat in the cushioned seat beside
her hospital bed, content to just sit there and watch her breathe.
Every time I see her chest rise and fall, my heart is reassured
that Mary is alive and getting better, despite the multiple tubes
coming in and out of her. She has an oxygen mask over her face and
wires everywhere monitoring her condition. It’s all surreal.

The nurses come in from time to time to take
Mary’s vitals, but they mostly ignore me; work around me since I
refuse to move from my spot. It has been this way since they
checked me over and found no real damage, other than a bad cough.
Luckily, they can’t see inside my brain or they would never let me
leave. Mary, on the other hand, is in far worse condition. The
doctors determined that she has a concussion and some serious
complications from inhaling smoke while unconscious.

Mary is the only mother I have ever known,
and I refuse to let the actions of a sick bastard take her from me.
If one good thing has come out of the fire, it’s that Mary is safe
now. The killer is only after me. Until we catch him, Mary will
have to stay as far away from me as possible. For right now, she is
safe in this hospital, which means I’ll need to find the killer
before they release her. I can’t know for certain, but I’m guessing
I might have a week at most to do what I want to do. I’ll have to
think of a plan to finish this before then; one that preferably
doesn’t hurt anyone else I love. My plotting is interrupted by a
light knock at the door. I turn to see Dejana and Leah enter the
room.

“Hey, girl. How you holding up?” asks Dejana
solemnly. She is wearing dark colors, clearly an extension of her
mood. Per her usual style, she’s in jeans and nice shirt, but the
outfit is conservative, respectful of the shit storm we currently
find ourselves in. I ponder her question a bit before answering.
Truth is I wish I knew how I was holding up. My lungs still burn
from all the smoke, I get lightheaded very easily since my
experience within the memory, and my adopted mother is sitting in a
hospital bed with a breathing tube. I guess there’s only one answer
to Dejana’s question.

“It’s a good thing I dye my hair black or my
natural blond color mixed with all this soot would make me look
like a Picasso painting,” I say in jest, trying to take away some
of the seriousness of the situation. I smile at her to mellow the
possible sting of my sassy response. Dejana frowns, clearly not at
all impressed with my halfhearted attempt at humor, but accepts the
effort with a nod. My guess is that the fact that I’m not doing
well is written all over my face and torn, ripped clothes. Leah
stands behind her in tight jeans and a low V-neck shirt that shows
way too much of her breasts, but to each her own.

Leah has her arms crossed in front of her,
her posture clearly indicating that she’d rather not be here. I can
tell she’s still uncomfortable around me after seeing my eyes cloud
over yesterday. Can’t say I blame her. But, in my opinion, she
needs to get over it. I was the one who almost died in a fire. I
cross my arms, getting more annoyed with Leah by the moment when
she does something completely unexpected—she wipes a tear away from
her eye. I realize then that I may have misjudged Leah, just as so
many have misjudged me. I may not know her very well, but it’s
obvious that she’s brave or she wouldn’t be here right now. She’d
have cut her losses and run. In a completely uncharacteristic move,
I walk over to her to put my gloved hand on her shoulder. I see
Leah retreat a bit at first, frightened by the prospect of my
touch, but to her credit, she doesn’t flee.

“Thank you for being here, Leah. I know we
dragged you into this, but we still appreciate you staying -- even
after you learned the truth.”

Surprised that I moved to touch her, Leah
seems frozen in place, any words she wanted to say catching in her
throat. Her eyes meet mine and I see the sincerity in them, the
desire to give comfort. One more tear falls from her face before
she looks away and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, ‘No
problem.’

I turn back to Dejana and ask, “Not that I am
not grateful for the company, but why are you two here?”

As if on cue, Leah takes out her computer
from the handbag looped around her shoulder, walks around me, and
goes about setting up the computer onto the small, square table
beside Mary’s hospital bed. Behind us, Dejana is bouncing with
excitement. Something is clearly up and from the look on their
faces, it’s a good thing. It’s about damn time.

“What’s going on you two? Why are you both so
happy? I was almost killed in a fire and Mary is lying in a
hospital bed, remember? What is there to be happy about?”

“You won’t be unhappy for long, girl,”
responds Dejana, her eyes dancing with excitement.

Beside her, Leah has opened the computer and
her hands are flying over the keyboard. Without looking up, she
explains what is on the screen. “Well, I was thinking the other day
about the girls you asked me to look into. I found the girls you
specified parameters for, but the program I created went deeper
than that. Each girl that was chosen by the computer had a
commonality; a tag we could use not to only single out the killer’s
type, but also actually find out who might be his next target.
Dejana gave me every detail she could remember from your memories,
including the portrait of the first girl you saw. Using that
information, I refined the program to target his next possible
victims using those common tags. It incorporated looks, lifestyle,
beliefs, values, behavior; all sorts of other things related to the
type of person each girl was. The program took that information and
extrapolated which of the girls from the list would be his most
likely target. The program narrowed the list down to three.”

I stand there astonished, looking at the
proud faces of Leah and Dejana and have never in my life, felt so
lucky to have friends.

“I can’t believe it. You two did it. Just
when I thought we were spinning our wheels, you come up with this.
I don’t know how you did it, Leah, but damn, I am impressed,” I
say, emotions welling up within me.

Leah brushes me off with her hands, seemingly
uncomfortable with admiration. I don’t mind as I understand the
feeling very well.

She ignores my compliment and continues. “So
here are the names and pictures of the three girls,” she says
pointing to the screen. “Brenda Miller, Erica Collins, and Allyson
Giles. Each girl shares the same coloring as the others, sandy
blonde hair with blue eyes. Each girl is fairly popular and makes
decent grades. Each girl is part of multiple clubs at school and
all are on the academic honor list. For all intents and purposes,
any one of these girls could be next. I say we each take a girl.
Follow her around for the next few weeks and see which one he
takes. If we can catch him in the act, we may have a shot at
stopping him,” finishes Leah, clearly excited about her plan.