Forged by Fire (14 page)

Angel sighed. Her smile faded a bit. “No, not at all. He's been polite and calm for weeks now. He spends a lot of time at the bar down the street and he doesn't even look at me anymore. I think that bad stuff is over. I think he's trying, at least.”

“Well, I still don't trust him. As soon as I graduate from high school, me and you are gettin' out of here!”

“Where will we go?” Angel asked with a little fear. “And what about Mama?”

“Maybe Monique has already left us,” Gerald mused. “But we can live somewhere far away from Jordan Sparks!”

Angel didn't see any way out. She glanced down with resignation. “We're stuck here for a while,” she said quietly.

“Maybe. Hey, how's your dancing?”

She grinned again. “Delicious! We have a spring show coming up. I think I'm gonna get the lead! Will you come see me?”

“Well, I may be busy—there's a rerun of a Frisbee tournament that I may want to catch on TV. ...” She took one of his pillows and popped him on his head. He grabbed the other pillow and they chased each other, screaming and laughing, through the house. They didn't even notice when Jordan's door opened.

“What's all that foolishness!” he yelled.

“Sorry,” said Angel, suddenly quiet.

Amazingly, Jordan smiled. “No problem,” he said. “Just don't wake up the neighbors.

Gerald and Angel looked at each other with disbelief. Jordan closed his door. “Maybe I was right,” said Angel with quiet hope. Gerald said nothing.

Gerald left for the basketball tournament feeling better than he had in a long time. The sky was clear and the air was fresh and chilly. Angel had dance lessons, or he would have taken her with him. But she seemed relaxed and knew to go to Miss Martin's apartment after dance.

Angel got home late in the afternoon, humming with excitement and happiness. She bounced up the stairs, her light steps barely touching them. She knocked on Miss Martin's door, but it was locked and no one answered. Puzzled, but not concerned, Angel went to her own apartment. No one, not even Monique, was home—just the way she liked it. She got a couple of hot dogs out of the refrigerator and put them in a pot on the stove to boil.

Waiting for the hot dogs, she put in a cassette and turned the music up loud. She was dancing the steps of the lead part, practicing the part she
knew
she'd get. She heard only the music, only the beautiful music. She did not hear Jordan enter the room.

She smelled him before she heard him, before she saw him. He had been drinking. Heavily. His eyes were red and glassy. His lips were parted, and his breath reeked with foul, sour fumes. Angel was more surprised than afraid. It had only been a few hours before that Jordan had actually been smiling.

He was smiling once again—but it was the smile of the monster that lived within Jordan Sparks.

Angel, who was starting to feel the danger of the situation, started to back toward the door. She wished she had run out when he'd first walked in, but she had stopped being wary, stopped being afraid. By losing her fear, she had lost her chance.

“Where's Mama?” Angel asked warily.

“She ain't here.” He walked toward her.

“Don't start, Jordan. Please.” Angel was beginning to feel dizzy.

Jordan lurched forward and grabbed her arm. “You think you pretty cute, don't you?”

“No, Jordan, just let me go. Let me fix you something to eat.”

“I ain't hungry. I want some ... some female companionship. I ain't even talked to a woman since your mama run like a fool in front of that car. Come here!” he commanded. “Let's talk.”

Angel, eyes wide with fear, yanked free of his grip and ran screaming toward the door.

“Can't nobody hear you!” Jordan snarled as he moved in front of the door and locked it. “It's just me and you.” He grabbed her again, both arms this time, and dragged her, kicking and screaming, toward her bedroom.

“You can't do this!” she cried. “I'm only thirteen! I'm your daughter! How can you do this to me! NO! STOP!”

“You ain't my daughter,” Jordan sneered as he tried to force her to the bed. “You skinny little weakling! Your mama had lots of boyfriends. You ain't none of mine!”

The months of exercise and dance practice had made Angel a lot stronger than Jordan expected, but he still managed to have her under his power with little difficulty. Weeping and terrified, Angel begged him to leave her alone. When he touched her face, she screamed again. He slapped her. She shuddered with despair.

In the kitchen, the pot of hot dogs, which had long since boiled out of water, was seething and shaking on top
of the wild gas flames. The meat, crisp and split, ignited into a small flame, which found new fuel in the spots of grease upon the stove. Soon the whole stove was covered with hot flames that licked and devoured everything they touched. The apartment had no smoke alarm, so Jordan never even noticed the smoke or the smell.

A
FTER THE TOURNAMENT
, Gerald got off the bus feeling vaguely uneasy. He wished again that he could live someplace where graffiti didn't decorate every empty corner, where trees grew thick enough to get lost in. He glanced toward his building, standing tall and dark against the sky, puffs of thin gray smoke coming from an upstairs window.

Smoke?
Gerald thought. He was running before he was even aware of it. As he rushed up the six flights of stairs, he remembered the taste of smoke in his mouth, the touch of the smoke-filled air in his nose and lungs, and the colors of the bright orange heat. He thought back to that long-ago day behind the couch of his mother's house—the fear, the flames, the sweet, silent peace of a final sleep—and then he thought of Angel. He knew that the smoke was coming from his apartment, he knew that Angel was up there, and he knew that Jordan was with her. He screamed.
“Angelí”

He could hear the sirens faintly in the distance, but his thoughts were only on Angel and the top of the stairs.
When he reached the door, he pounded on it so hard his fists throbbed.

“Angel!”
he shouted.
“Angel!”
He tried the other apartments on the floor, but the doors were either flung open or locked; everyone had either fled the fire or was out. Finding only silence and smoke, Gerald fumbled hastily for his key.

Please don't let me be too late!
he silently prayed.
Where is Jordan?
he wondered as he dropped the key.
And where is Monique? Is Angel in there alone?

Gerald found the key and turned the lock fiercely to the right. When the cool outside air from the hall rushed inside, the flames swelled and raged. Gerald panicked a moment as his memories of flames engulfed him. He wanted to run and hide behind a sofa and wait for Mama to come. . . .

Mama will be here soon
—No—
Mama is downstairs, high again, gone again, gone again. . . .

“NO!”
he said fiercely as he thought of Angel. He glanced toward the kitchen, which the flames were consuming with glee, and headed across the living room toward Angel's bedroom. Flames flickered around the edges of the floor. He knew he only had seconds.
Where is Jordan?
Gerald kept thinking.

He opened Angel's door, expecting to find her huddled under the bed or screaming at the window. Instead, what he saw made him forget the fire, forget the danger, forget the fears of the past. Angel lay on her bed, barely conscious. Jordan was walking slowly toward the foot of her bed. So intent was he that he didn't even notice Gerald.

“Don't you touch her, you perverted bastard!
” Jordan spun around, amazed, and lunged toward Gerald with his fists.

“I shoulda killed you years ago,” Jordan said with quiet ferocity. “You the one that sent me to jail. I ain't forgot that!” The room stank of Jordan's suffocating cologne, stifling smoke, and fear.

“Don't you know the house is on fire, fool?” Gerald said, stepping back two paces.

Jordan seemed to be suddenly aware of the heat, the smell of the flames, and the fire in Gerald's eyes. Ignoring them for the moment, he lunged toward Gerald again and knocked him to the ground. Gerald's head hit the edge of Monique's TV. He saw fire as the pain stunned him for a moment. He didn't even notice the blood from the cut at first.

The TV tottered for a moment, then plunged with a crash to the floor. The heavy iron television stand fell over seconds later, shattering the bedroom window. The cold air that rushed in gave Gerald the fresh breaths he needed, but it also fueled the anger of the flames in the apartment and in Jordan Sparks.

“That's the last time you're ever gonna touch me, or Angel!” Gerald swore through clenched teeth.

He jumped up and swung at Jordan fiercely, but missed. Gerald tried to dart out of the way of Jordan's kick, but he wasn't fast enough. With the steel toe of his cowboy boots, Jordan kicked Gerald squarely on his shin. Gerald screamed in pain. He heard the bone crack. He fell once again.

Angel, coughing and dizzy, struggled to sit up as the smoke began to come in through the open door.

Gerald glanced over at the helpless Angel, eased himself across the floor, and grabbed Jordan's leg. Jordan was stronger, but he was drunk and confused.

Gerald no longer felt fear or pain, only anger over the past—for Aunt Queen's lost hugs and Angel's lost innocence, for Monique's dim weaknesses, Andy's unbearable guilt, and for Rob's fiery destruction. All of that was focused into his final lunge at Jordan. He reached for Jordan's leg and pulled hard.

Jordan stumbled, then fell with a crashing thud to the floor. Stunned only for a moment, he got up, glared at Gerald, saw the growing intensity of the fire, and moved toward the open door. He never even glanced back at Angel, who was conscious and crying.

Gerald struggled to stand as he heard Angel sobbing faintly. He pulled himself up to the bed. Angel, almost hysterical, was sucking in huge gulps of the smoke-filled air. As he reached her, she shuddered, and then lay still.

“Angel!” he yelled. Ignoring the pain in his leg and head, he covered her with a blanket and lifted her gently from the bed. She felt light in his arms—like a spirit, he thought as he shivered in spite of the heat. He could no longer see. He limped through the darkness and smoke, toward the open door.

The room began to spin as the darkness and the flames attacked Gerald. He wanted to hide behind the sofa. He wanted to let the flames take away all the pain forever, but
he remembered Angel, and dragged himself toward the door, which seemed so far away. As he approached the doorway, he could no longer remember which way to go. Dark, thick smoke filled the top of the opening. Gerald coughed and stumbled. A large, hard object blocked the doorway. Gerald fell over it and rolled out of the door into the hall. In spite of his confusion and pain, he still managed to hang on to Angel. On the floor, he discovered the air was just a bit clearer. Gerald wiped his stinging eyes and saw that the stairs were smoky, but not yet on fire. Staying close to the floor, he snaked himself down the first flight of stairs, gently dragging the limp, unconscious body of Angel with him. He stopped at the landing, gasping and heaving, barely able to breathe the thin, clear air near the floor.

He heard thuds. He saw large black rubber boots. He heard voices.

“Hey! Get some oxygen up here! We found them!”

He heard clicks. He had heard that sound before . . . the click of a high heel shoe on a wooden step . . . going away . . . fading into the distance. But these clicks were close, then closer. They were hard and demanding and attached to a voice. Monique's.

“I told you my kids was in here! Hurry up!” she demanded shrilly. “Do something! I think they're dead! Where's Jordan?” Monique screamed hysterically.

“Ma'am, let us do our job. We told you not to follow. Max, get her out of here!”

Gerald grinned weakly just before he passed out. Monique. Just in time this time. Just in time.

A
NGEL'S EYELIDS FLUTTERED
, then her eyes rolled in fear as she thrashed her arms wildly, pulling off the oxygen mask and screaming in terror. The paramedic held her arms gently and spoke softly. “It's gonna be okay. Relax. You swallowed quite a bit of smoke up there.”

“Jordan! No! Fire!” she whispered incoherently. “Oh, Gerald, make it stop! Make it stop! Where's Gerald?” she asked with sudden fear.

“He's right here, right next to you. He saved your life, you know.”

Angel relaxed when she saw him. Gerald, with large bandages on his head and his leg, and an oxygen mask on his face, grinned at her.

“You look like something out of a monster movie,” she croaked. Her voice was raspy from the smoke. “What happened, Gerald?”

“I'm not sure,” Gerald said slowly. “I remember carrying you, and falling, and . . . Monique. Monique's shoes on the steps,” he said, remembering.

Monique peeked her head into the back of the ambulance then. “How's my babies?”

“Ain't no babies here, Mama,” Angel whispered with a weak smile. “I think we gonna be okay.”

Gerald frowned. “Monique, where's Jordan? He left us there to die in the fire. He had Angel... He was trying to ... to ... He tried to kill me!”

Monique's smile faded.

The paramedic and a police officer looked into the back of the ambulance. “Do you feel up to talking, son?”

Gerald nodded. At the word “son” he thought of Rob's dad. He knew Mr. Washington was only a phone call away. That made him feel better—relaxed and safe.

“There was another man in the apartment,” the police officer said. “Was he a relative?”

“He's no relation of mine!” growled Gerald with hatred in his voice. “His name is Jordan Sparks. He claims to be Angel's father, but he's mean and hateful and he's a child molester! There! I said it, Monique! He tried to molest Angel and he's—”