TORCH (16 page)

The interior of the house is glowing through white curtains, and the flames ripple like goldfish against a veiled bowl. It won’t be long before a window blows and a neighbor calls 911. So I head up the driveway, and, clinging to the side of the house, enter the backyard. A small fountain burbles in the darkness, an absurdly happy sound, considering the situation.

The back door is unlocked, but the kitchen inside is completely engulfed in flames. Opening the door, I’m blown back a step by the force of the hot air. The room is filled with dense smoke, yet I find I can see through it to pick out the easiest route, alongside the stove and fridge, away from the bank of blazing cabinets. Holding my sleeve over my nose and mouth, I plunge into the fire, rushing through the kitchen as fast as I can.

In the living room, the only thing seemingly untouched by flame is a steel and glass shelving unit holding a bunch of trophies. Sticking close to the wall, I work my way into the back hall that must lead to the bedrooms.

The door to the first bedroom is closed. Opening it, I find an empty office, with shelves holding more trophies.

The door to the next bedroom is wide open, and the fire is working its way across the carpet to nibble at the bed skirt. Through the smoke, I see a girl curled up on the bed. No, make that a small woman, with strawberry blonde hair:  Ms. Giddon.

With three steps, I cross the burning carpet and shake the gym teacher’s shoulder until her head lolls back on the pillow. She’s unconscious. Leaning over, I slip one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. I try to lift her, but she slides out of my grip and back onto the bed. Digging my fingernails into the loose fabric of her track suit, I try again, and again she slides away.

Next, I grab her by the waist and attempt to heave her over my shoulder. I knew she’d be light, but there’s little weight to her at all, and less substance. She slithers over my shoulder, and it’s only by falling sideways onto the bed myself that I keep her from landing on the burning carpet. It’s like she’s coated in oil.

With the flames now blocking the doorway, I need to think fast. Since I can’t get a grip on the teacher, I rip the quilt off the bed and wrap her in it. Holding the edges closed, I have her trapped.

Hoisting the trussed up teacher over my shoulder, I stagger through the flame barrier, stopping on the other side to pat down the burning quilt with one hand, while trying to keep the bundle off the floor with the other. I’m stronger than I was just weeks ago, when I carried the dog, but this load is so awkward that I start to doubt my ability to get us out alive.

There’s a shout ahead:  Kai. “Where are you?” he calls.

I see him clearly through the smoke, but apparently, he can’t see me. “Over here,” I yell. “Help!”

I feel a cool damp breeze even before he reaches us. He’s drenched, but fully clothed. “What’s that?” he asks, gesturing to the bundled body.

“Ms. Giddon,” I say. “I couldn’t get a grip on her, so I had to wrap her.”

Kai grabs the teacher and the quilt falls away. He tosses Ms. Giddon easily over his shoulder. For a moment, I see two distinct shapes. Then they merge into one silvery blur and seemingly vaporize. All that’s left behind is a pile of wet clothes on the smoldering carpet. I grab the clothes, and follow a column of cool, damp air till I reach the back door.

Outside, I see Kai’s pale form in the yard. He’s standing naked beside the small pond with the fountain I heard gurgling earlier. Sorting out the wet clothes, I toss him his briefs first and then his jeans, and he squirms into them while I avert my eyes.

Then he turns and averts
his
eyes. Looking down, I see that my clothes have mostly burned away. There’s barely enough denim left to hold my jeans together, and my jacket and T-shirt have almost disappeared. Even my bra is in tatters, and the Lycra strap has melted, leaving a welt in my shoulder.
It doesn’t hurt much, and I know it will heal soon enough.

I wish I didn’t feel embarrassed, but I still do. Most girls have some choice in how and when they undress in front of a guy. Yet, here I am in the backyard of a teacher who hates me, nearly naked and blistering. Kai doesn’t seem fazed. He grabs his T-shirt and passes me his jacket, saying, “Put that on.”

As I squirm into the web fabric, there’s a groan. Stepping forward, I see Ms. Giddon in the pond, her head resting on one arm at the side. Then, while I watch, she shimmers, becoming part of the small pool.

“Oh my god, she’s a Flood,” I say.

Kai nods, and the teacher takes shape again, still seemingly unconscious. “Smoke doesn’t hurt us, so I think she’s been drugged. Let’s give her a few minutes.” Hearing the sirens, however, he changes his mind. “We’d better go.”

“We have to dress her,” I say. I don’t like Ms. Giddon, but it seems mean to leave her naked, in her garden pool, when a bunch of male firefighters will be arriving.

“No time,” Kai says, taking a few steps deeper into the yard.

Ms. Giddon is sliding down in the pond. Her mouth is covered and her nose will be soon.

“But she’s under water.”

“It’s just what she needs,” he says.

I watch in fascination as the teacher’s head completely submerges. “You can breathe under water?”

“She can. I can’t. Yet.” He comes back to grab my sleeve and I finally start moving. “But I’m working on it.”

“Wow,” I say. “Just... wow.”

He gives me a little shove and it’s like a jolt from a cattle prod. “Less awe and more running.”

At the back of the yard, Kai quickly scales the fence, stopping at the top to make sure I can do the same. Once we’re over, we slip through another yard and out onto the street. Kai leads me on a wide circle back to my car.

We agree to take different routes, and then meet at the old racetrack, which is about a fifteen minute drive away. After parking behind the empty stables, we walk around the track, moving quickly, although no one is around.

I tell Kai about the recent parent-teacher meeting, and he asks, “Do you think your dad knows Ms. Giddon is a Flood?”

The image of Dad staring fiercely at Ms. Giddon crosses my mind. “Yeah. He seemed to have an instant hate-on for her.”

“What about Bianca’s dad? How did he react?”

I check over my shoulder. “He was really laid back, actually. Just observing. I guess he knew Dad and Ms. Giddon are on opposite sides of the fence.”

“It didn’t bother him?”

“Didn’t seem to. It must be that ‘live and let live in Rosewood’ thing. To be honest, he didn’t seem upset that I kicked his daughter and left a burn. Or even surprised. It was
my
dad who was surprised.”

We complete the quarter-mile route and start a second lap. I tell Kai about my conversation with Dad after the meeting. “He actually told me not to worry.”

Kai laughs. “So you’ll stop worrying?”

“Right. Because after tonight, my dad is going to be the first person that pops into the Chief’s mind.”

“Maybe your dad has a good alibi,” Kai says.

He doesn’t add “this time,” but I know he must be thinking it. I hope Dad had the sense to stay at work tonight, where there are security cameras to prove his truck wasn’t anywhere near Ms. Giddon’s neighborhood.

Not that I think he’s guilty. Even from the overhead perspective in my dream, I’d recognize an identifying behavior from someone I’ve lived with for sixteen years. At least, I think I would. I wish dreams came with rewind and pause functions.

“It’s not my dad,” I tell Kai as we head back to our cars. “He’s not insane, and that’s what he’d have to be, to break into a Flood’s house, drug her and set her house on fire.”

“But what if he thinks that Flood is a threat to his daughter?” Kai asks. “After he’s already lost a son. That might destabilize someone.”

“If Dad cares about protecting me, getting locked up won’t help,” I point out. “And Ms. Giddon isn’t the only threat in town. I think he’s being framed.”

“By Bianca’s dad?” Kai says.

“I don’t know.” We reach our cars and I climb up onto the hood of his Cavalier. “Whoever is behind it must know my dad and Ms. Giddon clashed at the meeting.”

Kai stands in front of me, pondering. “Then this person might suspect you’re a Torch, too.”

My stomach sinks. I hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe. But I doubt anyone in that meeting realized that
I
know what I am. Even my dad.”

“Anyway, we're going to have to be more careful,” Kai says. “If the arsonist realizes someone’s been derailing his plans, we could be in trouble.”

“Well, hopefully we’re a match for him. Together.”

My ability is getting stronger, that much is clear, but I still don’t have much control over it, and I wouldn’t want to face this guy alone.

“If he drugged Ms. Giddon, the guy’s getting more extreme. There’s no telling what he’ll do next.”

“I wonder if she saw him, or even knows him,” I say. “Maybe when she recovers, this will all be over.”

“Hope so,” Kai says. “But in the meantime, we’d better step up our game.”

My vague unease swells. “I don’t like anything about this situation,” I say.

“Nothing?” he asks. I can barely see his face, but I can hear the grin in his voice.

He rests one hand on my shoulder, where the welt left by the burning bra strap has already healed. Even through the damp jacket I’m wearing, I can feel the sting of his touch. I hold out as long as I can before sliding off the car.

“The one thing I like I can’t have,” I say.

I move away, feeling a cool whoosh of air as Kai reaches for me again, and misses.

“
K
now anything about this?” Dad slaps the newspaper on the table and startles me. The milk I’m pouring into my cereal bowl sloshes onto the table as well as the article he’s pointing to. Usually he’s in bed before I get up, and his door was closed, but he’s obviously been lying in wait.

I stare at the sodden newspaper. “Another fire?”

“At your gym teacher’s house,” he says, sliding into a chair across from me.

“Really?” I reach for a serviette and soak up the milk. “Is she okay?”

“She’s recovering. Uncle Rick says she’d been drugged.”

“Drugged? As in, someone tried to kill her?”

Dad taps on the paper with two fingers and then raises them to his face, commanding me to meet his eyes. “Yes, it looks like someone tried to kill Ms. Giddon. And contrary to what some might think, it wasn’t me.”

“Of course not,” I say, pushing the newspaper toward him. “You’ve got proof you were at work, right?”

He pushes the newspaper back. “Yeah.”

“The whole time?”

“Pretty much. Except for a few minutes, when I drove down to The Corral for a burger.”

I sigh. “Dad. They’re going to think it was you.”

“I’m more worried they’ll think it was
you.
”

“Me!”

“I drove past the house on my way back to work just in time to see you pull in. It was three a.m. Where were you?”

I think fast. “I drove past Sirex Ltd. to make sure your truck was in the lot. And it wasn’t.”

“Phoenix,” he says, tapping the paper. “I’m serious. Tell me you had nothing to do with this.”

“I had nothing to do with setting fire to Ms. Giddon’s house. How could you even think that?”

“Because you’ve got a grudge against her. And I know what I was like at your age.”

“You think I’d drug someone and try to kill her?” I stare at him. “Is that what you were like at my age?”

“No, of course not.” The expression on his face looks like relief with a dash of shame thrown in. “But you’ve had a hard year with some major changes.”

Funny, he’s making the same excuses for me that I make for him. “You’ve had an even harder year,” I point out. “And you didn’t exactly hit it off with Ms. Giddon.”

“I’m no fan of Jenny Giddon,” he admits. “But I’ve learned to get along with people like her.”

“
People like her
?”

“People who talk a good line about being open-minded, but close up fast when they feel the least bit insecure. They don’t belong in Rosewood.”

“But they deserve to live, right?”

He nods. “I hope Jenny’s back to lording it over her dojo soon.”

Getting up, he takes a coffee filter out of the cupboard and opens the can of coffee. Once the coffee is dripping, he starts in on the lecture I’ve sensed circling. “Next time I find you've been out in the Jeep after eleven, I'm taking the keys. You know the law.”

I pour myself a coffee before it’s even fully brewed. “Fine.”

He watches while I add cream and sugar to the mug. “Expect spot checks.”

I roll my eyes. “Are we done?”

“For now,” he says, pouring himself a coffee and sipping it black. “Get your brother up. It’s almost time for school.”

Feeling lucky to have escape unscathed, I head out of the kitchen.

“Phoenix,” Dad calls after me, “next weekend, you and I are going to have a long-overdue chat.”

Next weekend, I’m going to spend as much time at Regan’s as possible.