The Girls I've Been(70)

“Give it to me,” he says, pointing to the box. The gun’s in his belt instead of his hand . . . He’s that assured. “No games.”

“No games,” I agree. And I am perfect then. Perfect in my delivery, in my never-wavering voice. My entire life has led up to this moment, and I am the picture of fearful promise, my mother’s pretty protégé: Don’t blink—smile, and sell it.

He reaches out for the box.

I move forward, like I’m going to give it to him.

Use it.

But at the last second, I drop the box and shoot him.

You had to.





— 54 —


    Transcript: Lee Ann O’Malley + Clear Creek Deputies


August 8, 12:25 p.m.




Deputy Reynolds: I can’t believe you hit me.

O’Malley: Get me out of these cuffs. I swear to God, Jessie . . .

Deputy Reynolds: Stop threatening me. Sheriff Adams already wants to charge you for assaulting a deputy.

O’Malley: Take these cuffs off. Right now. My kids are in that building. It is on fire. Give me the fucking keys!

Deputy Reynolds: The fire department’s on the way. Calm down.

O’Malley: I’m going to kill you.

Deputy Reynolds: Lee, I know you’re upset, but you need to stop it.

O’Malley: I—

[Shouting]

Deputy Reynolds: Shit.

O’Malley: Uncuff me! Someone’s coming out!

Deputy Reynolds: I’m to stay with you. Sheriff’s orders.

O’Malley: Jessie—

[Screaming]

O’Malley: That’s Nora.

[Scuffling]

Deputy Reynolds: Do not make me pull my gun on you!

[Indiscernible yelling]

Deputy Reynolds: Did she just say . . . ?

O’Malley: Jessie! Uncuff me!

[End of transcript]





— 55 —


12:19 p.m. (187 minutes captive)

1 lighter, 3 bottles of vodka, 1 pair of scissors, 2 safe-deposit keys, 1 hunting knife, 1 chemical bomb (detonated), 1 giant fire starter (on fire), the contents of Iris’s purse (also on fire)

Plan #1: Scrapped

Plan #2: On hold

Plan #3: Stab

Plan #4: Get gun. Get Iris and Wes. Get out.

Plan #5: Iris’s plan: Boom!



Third time is not lucky as he drags me down the hall again. I’m dazed, not knocked out but throbbing-hazy, the smoke and the smack to the head not helping. I fight him this time; I’ve got nothing to lose, I’ve got everything to lose. Iris. Where is she? I can’t see her. She went down. He brought her down, somewhere near the door he popped out of like a murderous jack-in-the-box. He’s not bleeding anymore. Red Cap must’ve woken him and patched him up. Stupid, stupid, stupid man.

The fire. It’s spreading. I can hear the crackle crackle roar of it, see the smoke belching out of the bathroom. The paint’s bubbling up the walls, and the heat’s swirling. It’ll reach the hall soon. We need to stop it. Wes is trapped.

I scream his name and hear banging on the wall. Fists hammering on the door and muffled words I can’t make out. I scream to get low. I scream about blocking the crack in the door and all the other fire safety stuff that is nonsense when you’re trapped. He’s trapped. He can’t be trapped. This can’t be it. Not fire. Not like this. Not after everything.

I fight against Duane’s grip on my wrists as he drags me past Red Cap, who’s still a moaning, Drano-burnt mess. He dumps me at the end of the hall, much too close to the fire, and turns back to Red Cap. I struggle to my feet, staggering backward into the pocket of air that’s near to searing.

It’s lickety-split fast, and I saw it coming from the first time I watched them interact, but you can’t steel yourself for seeing it up close. One second, Red Cap’s raw and groaning, and two quick shots later, there’s nothing, because he’s not anything anymore.

I huff out a breath. I need to keep screaming. Wes. Iris. I need—

Oh God, he’s really, really dead. The entire world swoops in the smoke.

“Stay there,” Duane growls. He turns, and the smoke is choking-thick and acrid. My skin pinks up from the heat as the flames crawl closer to the bathroom doorway. I need to get up. No . . . crawl. I need to crawl. Stay low. Get to the table blocking the office Wes is in. Get him. Get Iris. Get out.

Before I can move, Duane’s back, and he’s got Iris slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Did you . . .” The question dies in my throat. I can’t say it. I can’t breathe. No. No. No.

“I just knocked her out.” He laughs. “She makes a good human shield, all these layers.” He flicks the edge of her skirt and petticoat at me through the smoke.

I flush hotter than the fire, fist-curling against the need to hurt him.

“Come on.” He gestures with the gun.

“No. Not without the boy.” Leaving the rest of them behind is monstrous. I don’t care, in that moment. I’ve got Iris in my line of sight. I need Wes, and then I’ll go. I’ll leave them. I left my own mother, after all. Leaving is what I’m built for.

Duane’s eyes dart over my shoulder. The flames must be growing. I plant my feet. I can wait him out. I can play chicken.