Behind the Fire: A Dark Thriller (6 page)

After closing the door on her neighbor, though, she instead made her way to the bedroom. Fatigue dogged every step she took and once in the room she fell into the bed, without bothering to take off her clothes.

The whole ride home she’d anticipated the comfort of taking the first step into the house and arriving back into normal. Now she was here, nothing felt right. Her stomach still churned, and the grittiness in her eyes and the ache in her shoulders only reminded her this had not been a normal night.

She needed to be left alone. Bobby could sleep on the couch tonight. She wanted to be with her own thoughts. She didn’t want him telling her what to think or what to believe because she didn’t really understand any of it. That he seemed to think he knew exactly what was going on worried her the most.

Call it woman’s intuition, but something told her a difficult road lay ahead, and they were a long way from the end of it, prayer or no prayer.

Chapter 6

Emily faced the prosecutor, her stare matching his. He circled like a shark preparing to attack at full speed. He looked back at the spectators, then over at the jury, exuding confidence with every movement.

After telling only a small part of the story, she could see by the look on his face he didn’t believe her. When she first described the
black things,
she’d caught him rolling his eyes.

A murmur arose from the courtroom when she’d finished. At that moment the spectators, jury, attorneys, and even the judge seemed to lean forward, breathing as one, a collective sample of humanity sensing an imminent contest between Emily and this man.

She figured the prosecutor expected to employ clever cross-examination to get at the truth. What he didn’t realize was she
was
telling the truth.

Emily felt tempted to look toward Bobby, to meet his eyes, assure him it would all be okay. He’d probably mouth to her to stop. Then her resolve might evaporate, and she didn’t want that.

Bobby had begun this, but she would finish it. Now
she
would defend them. He’d spent six months out there on his own fighting those things, risking his life and sanity for them, for everyone. The least she could do was fight this last round in the remaining time they had. She would make them understand how much they owed Bobby. They wanted to brand him a criminal.

He was a hero.

“So,” said Smarty Pants as he turned toward the jury, and looked up and down the two tiers of their supposed peers. “You ask us to believe your husband was fighting off some sort of creature from hell who had decided to invade mankind from the outskirts of our humble town? Is that right, Mrs. Jessup?”

Heat rose in Emily’s chest. “I didn’t say it was from hell, did I? All I said was it was a face, and
maybe
it came from hell.”

“Not creatures from hell then. Merely a face!”

Again he turned to the jurors. He seemed to have only one response to her answers: a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Of course, he
had
all the answers even before he asked the questions.

He didn’t understand anything. He was too damn busy casting them as crazy or evil or whatever they were today according to the newspapers.

Emily lifted her chin in an attempt to hide her feelings, but she couldn’t help spitting her words at him, “Whether they’re from hell or not doesn’t make an iota of difference.”

“Oh and why is that, Mrs. Jessup?”

His tone made her blood boil.

“Wherever they come from isn’t important. It’s where they’re going that’s the problem … the very
big
problem.”

Chapter 7

“We have a problem,” said Emily.

She hadn’t spoken to Bobby since the night before when she’d bolted into the house, her head pounding and her throat so tight it felt as though she was sucking air through a straw.

She’d grabbed Bobby’s pillow and a blanket from the closet and thrown them into the hall, locking the bedroom door. He’d tried the door once and called her name through the crack, but she didn’t answer. Then he left, and she was alone, feeling as though she now teetered on the edge of a nightmare.

She needed to think, to cry and, most of all, she needed time to piece together how the man of whom she’d been so certain, and the father of her children had become somebody she didn’t know.

When had reality left the building? While she was ensuring the kids were bathed and fed and loved until he arrived home each night from work? In the meantime, he’d been enjoying his new pastime.

A slide show of the past few months ran through her mind. She studied it, running it back and forth, looking for any clue to understanding this.

The bed felt too big without Bobby. She tossed and turned, pushing down the tears welling up each time the image of Bobby staring into the fire played again. She willed sleep to take her, if only to rest her racing mind for a few hours. The last time she looked the bedside clock glowed 4.33.

Then it was seven in the morning and Timothy was at the door begging for breakfast and asking why the door was locked. Peace was hers for a few short seconds as she slipped on her dressing gown and slippers, before the nightmare and decisions needing to be made began their tug again.

Bobby was at the kitchen counter buttering toast. Emily walked in carrying two-year-old Casey perched on her hip. Casey’s little head snuggled warmly into Emily’s shoulder.

Her precious little kindergartener, Timothy, dropped his hand from her grasp the minute he saw his father. He ran toward Bobby, crying, “Dadddeee.”

Bobby picked up the boy and half threw him, squealing, into the air before setting him down on the counter and handing him a piece of toast.

Everything looked and felt so normal.

Emily held her tongue until the children wolfed down their breakfast and moved to the lounge where the clatter of played-with-toys drifted into the kitchen. On a regular day, she would stand, coffee cup in hand, counting her blessings as she listened to their joyful sounds.

They were good kids and that’s what killed her. They deserved a good family with a father who would be there to cheer them on at baseball games, cook the Sunday barbecue, and teach them to be good human beings. They didn’t need some maniac who lied to his wife and set vehicles on fire and whatever else he had done or was planning to do.

Finally she turned to Bobby. He gave her his puppy-dog eyes. Normally that look would melt her anger and flush the annoyance from her voice. It was a rare time when she could resist.

Now those same eyes seemed hollow, sunken and dark. Deep lines she hadn’t noticed before crisscrossed beneath them. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then the wrinkles surrounding them must be the roadmap of all the soul had endured.

Bobby seemed to have aged overnight.

She stared at him, hands on her hips, rolling her lips between her teeth—a nervous twitch of hers she’d been trying to quit. How to begin this conversation?

Words weren’t necessary. They’d lived together long enough to decipher each other’s moods and thoughts.

Bobby held up his palms toward her. “Em, before you start—I can explain.”

“Really, Bobby? Really? What could possibly explain last night?”

At the thought of the past evening, Emily’s hands began to shake. She pressed them down on the cool kitchen bench to stop the tremors. So far, just one sentence had left his mouth and she was already losing it.

“You have to listen to me, Em. Don’t judge. Just listen. I wouldn’t be running around setting all these fires if I didn’t have good reason? You know me, Em. You
know
me.”

He took a step toward her. Now it was her turn to put up her hands. They still shook.

“Bobby Jessup, did you say, ‘
all
these fires’? Are you telling me there’s been more than this one? What the hell are you thinking? You’ll get yourself or someone else killed.”

In that moment, he grabbed her and, before she could stop him, had cupped her face between his hands. Something in his eyes stopped her from pushing him away. She bunched her fists and held her arms rigid and flattened against her sides. She wanted to stay angry with him.

“Em, listen to me. It’s not about whether or not I’m killed or even in danger. This is for you and the kids and, well, everyone. If I didn’t do this and continue to do this, then my death is the least of our worries.”

She didn’t want to look at him. He was trying to make sense out of something illogical, and she wanted no part of it.

Then she saw something in his eyes that stopped her. An emotion he rarely wore. The last time had been when Timothy was in hospital sick with whooping cough, with tubes feeding out of him and into beeping monitors.

His eyes held fear.

She felt her anger melting even as she struggled to hold on to it, not wanting to give in so easily. Standing this close watching tears form in the corner of his eyes, made it impossible though.

She hesitated for a moment before giving up and folding herself into his arms. Seeing him attempt to control his fear and emotion evaporated her outrage. Suddenly she just wanted him to know they were in this together, that they would get help, and find answers.

Their embrace felt strange, like a first hug, uncomfortable and fraught with too much needing to be said and asked. She pulled back, still keeping her arms wrapped around his waist, and looked up into his eyes.

“We can get you help, Bobby. I won’t tell the police. Something’s wrong. We need to get it fixed. Understand?”

She cupped her hands over his, pulling them gently away from her body before leading him to the kitchen table. They sat there for a minute blanketed in a thick silence.

Her heart ached as he wiped away the tears that had rolled down his face and now clung to his chin.

“Em, I can’t lose you. Please believe I’m not crazy. You saw it last night. I know you did. If I
am
crazy, how could you see it, too?”

“I don’t know what I saw, but—”

“Wait, Em.”

He leaned across the table, taking her hands in his. His palms felt warm, and she sensed desperation in the pressure of his grasp.

“You have to listen to me. I am
still
your Bobby. I’ve never lied to you before this, but I was afraid if I told you, you’d react just like this. I’m sorry. Em, those things, if I don’t stop them, they’ll get through. If they get through, well, what happens next is not pretty.”

Maybe it was his eyes or the knowledge these hands holding hers were the same hands that had rubbed her aching neck, or held her hand, or had moved over her body with love and pleasure all these years, but she stopped and opened her heart to his story.

By the time he’d finished she understood everything. Maybe she didn’t
believe
everything he said, but she understood.

Now her eyes held the same thing she had seen in his.

Fear.

Chapter 8

At Kelly’s Truck Rentals it was a normal, warm to almost-uncomfortable day—not a time for lives to be changed or worlds to be threatened. Just a day where trucks were driven in and trucks were driven out by an assortment of folks renting or returning, before departing to continue with their lives. Some talked, some were silent, some were as bad-tempered as a hungry mule, but all of them came and went without Bobby giving them a second thought once they exited the gate.