Never Let You Go(109)

A perfect target.

Jared’s behind her, pulling her arm, yelling something I can’t hear, the shot still ringing in my head. His mouth is open, panicked, his face terrified. I sprawl forward, hook my finger onto the bottom of the door, and slam it shut. More shots. Hitting the closed door.

I scramble into the laundry room on my hands and knees, searching. The box of cleaning supplies is on the shelf. I dump it on the floor, grab at the lemon polish, the spray bottle of cleaner. The door crashes open. He hits me from behind, knocking me onto the floor.

I flip around, kick up hard with my heel, connect between his legs. He doubles over and crashes into the washing machine. The gun hits the floor and spins behind the laundry tub, out of reach. I spray the cleaner wildly, coating Marcus’s body and head. He screams, claws at his eyes.

I shove past him and sprint toward the front door. The living room is ablaze. Heat hits me, almost pushes me backward. I drop to the floor, slide like a snake. Hands, knees.

He’s gripping my shirt, pulling me back. I grab one of the table legs, still holding the spray with my other hand. He’s trying to wrestle the bottle free, bending my fingers backward. The door is open. Fresh air. There’s a roar behind me as flames greedily suck on the oxygen.

He’s too strong. I can’t hold on. My fingers loosen. But then, a large shape moving past me. Angus, leaping through air, snarling and barking. Marcus lets go, yells out something.

I twist my body around while fumbling with the nozzle on the bottle. Angus has Marcus’s leg in his mouth and is growling and biting him. The couch beside them is engulfed in flames.

I get to my feet, arm over my mouth, stumble toward them.

Aim, don’t think. Hold breath.

I press down hard, blast the spray into Marcus’s face, his torso. It ignites in the air. He falls against the couch, and the fire devours him, the cleaning fluid acting as an accelerant. Burning hair, flesh. His body twists, a dark shape, an arm clawing. I hear screaming.

I drop the bottle, stumbled backward, fall to my knees. Heat scorches my skin, sears my lungs. I can’t breathe. Smoke and flames everywhere. Angus is barking and tugging on me. I crawl to the door, but I can’t see anymore. Then there are hands.

“Mom. Mom!”

Someone is picking me up, dragging me, urging me to stay awake, and the air is sweet and the rain is coming down. I turn my face up to it, gasping for breath. My throat burns. Ash washes into my eyes, down my face, mixes with tears. I don’t hear the screaming anymore.





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX


AUGUST 2017



I carry the box up the stairs, my shoes tapping on the hardwood, and navigate the maze of boxes stacked in the center of the living room. The late August sun is warm as it spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows, covering everything with a sheen of gold. The furniture is mismatched, mostly secondhand items, but it goes together in an interesting, if eclectic, way and suits the loft-style apartment, which is the converted top floor of an old department store.

When Sophie, Delaney, and I first toured the place a couple of months ago, we stood by the windows, admiring the city view and pointing out buildings and landmarks we recognized. I’d watched Sophie’s face in the reflection, looking for a hint of joy, excitement, anything, but I couldn’t tell how she was feeling. Then Sophie and Delaney wandered around, poking into the bedrooms, opening closets, cupboards. Finally Sophie stopped in the living room and stared at the sun splashing across the wall. She turned and looked at me. “I want to live here.”

It wasn’t a smile. But it was something.

She’s already hung some paintings on the wall and propped a large canvas with abstract flowers on the mantel. She’s making it a home. Her first one without me. I feel a pang, but quickly shove it away. This is her time. I never had my own place, never went to university. Sometimes I feel like I was never young. I’m glad Sophie’s following a different path.

I set the box on the kitchen counter. “How’s it coming?”

Sophie stands up from the fridge, a sponge in hand, and twists her face into a disgusted expression. “I think someone was creating a science experiment in there.” She’s wearing a pink bandanna over her own hair, which she’s dyed back to a light honey, almost her natural shade. It makes her look even more like Andrew, but the thought doesn’t sting anymore, doesn’t bring with it the memory of fear. It’s just Sophie. Not Andrew, not anyone but my lovely daughter.

“You sure you don’t want help?”

“Thanks, Mom, but you’ve done enough already.” She notices the box and peeks inside. I’ve stuffed it with organic bread, trail mix, several types of vegetarian soup, canned spaghetti sauce, and various kinds of pasta. She gives me a look. “You know I can buy food, right?”

“I wanted to get you a few more basics.”

“Basics? I don’t think we even have enough cupboards for all this. You already filled most of them yesterday.”

I give her a sheepish smile. “What can I say? I’m your mother. I don’t want you living on french fries. Jared will probably eat most it anyway.”

“True.” She glances at her watch. “He’s coming over tonight.”

“Is he all moved into his place?”

“Yeah. It looks really good.” Jared found a house downtown and is sharing it with a few friends. Even though I’m no longer concerned that Jared is anything like Andrew, I still worried that he and Sophie might get a place together. I wanted Sophie to have the freedom to enjoy her first year of school. I was relieved when she told me they were getting separate places.