The Guardian (26 page)

They look to Seth. He nods, solemn.

One by one the Guardians fade—Joshua is last—until the only one left is Seth.

“Viola,”
Arsen
says, eyes guarded.

“This ends,” she replies firmly. “It ends now.”

Arsen
r
emains still, cemented in place. Viola maneuvers us closer to the stove top. I can feel the cold metal digging into my neck. She squeezes her arm tighter around me, reaching behind her. A crackle, and then a blue flame as the gas
ignites
.

Viola drags me ac
ross the kitchen with super human strength, kicking cabinets open. She stops when she reaches Ernie’s stash of dishtowels. She leans us down. My knees bend, the injured one smarting, and I hover precariously, tilted back.

The knife falls to the ground.

Se
th rushes toward us. I hear the sound of metal clattering across the tile.
Viola growls, furious.
She pulls me back to my feet,
then
throws a stack of the towels on the stove top. In an instant they’ve ignited. The kitchen fills with an unbearable heat.
 

Arsen
grabs Seth from behind.

The flames rising from the burning towels grow larger, brighter. They bounce toward the walls and travel, kindling every combustible item they touch. A thick, dark smoke mounts to the ceiling. Already, Stu is coughing.

Seth
twists away from
Arsen’s
grasp and turns, punching him in the gut, sending him flying across the room.

The lights overhead flicker.
Flames sear my cheeks.

Viola grabs my neck. “You are
not
going to ruin this for me!” she screams.

The room pops, hisses,
and the fluorescent lights overhead blow. The room fills with an eerie, orange glow. Viola’s eyes flash crimson, full of hatred.

Seth and
Arsen
continue to battle as the flames jump from the kitchen to the dining room. Tables and chairs are slowly consume
d. At that moment, I know I have a choice to make. We have minutes, maybe. I might die, but not without fighting.

Smoke burns my lungs. I contort my body, twisting and thrashing until Viola loses her grip. I pull back my elbow and jab her in the chest. Sh
e flies backward, coughing. I run to Seth.

Viola stops me, snarling, throwing me into the cabinets beneath the sink. I tumble to the ground, inches away from where Stu lies, broken and bruised. I roll over and onto my hands and knees. My fingers brush agai
nst cold metal.

The knife.

Heart pounding, I wrap my fingers around the handle and rise to my feet. My body feels light—otherworldly, even.
As if the movements I’m making aren’t my own.

“I am
not
through with you!” she cries, just before vanishing.

I sea
rch, spinning around. But she’s gone.

Above me, pieces of ceiling tile begin to fall, one by one, like tiny comets, tails flaming behind them. Sparks scatter, exploding across the floor as they hit. I cover my nose and mouth with my hand, trying to keep f
rom breathing in the smoke and fumes, but the effort is futile. Sweat drips down my back.

A piece of tile lands on my shoulder, burning through my shirt and searing my skin. I strike it frantically.

We have to get out.

Across the kitchen,
Arsen
grasps Seth by the neck, choking him. His face grows paler.

Instinctively, I lunge for
Arsen
. The rush surprises him, and Seth is free. We fall into the stove, crashing together.
Arsen
reaches out to break his fall, screaming in agony as his hands dive in
to the pile of burning towels.

I back away, untouched. He turns toward me, arms flaming, fire lapping at the edges of his body, face contorted into an evil grimace. I secure my hand tighter, clutching the knife.

“His stomach!”
Seth shouts.

“What?”

“Aim f
or his stomach!”

My arm lifts as
Arsen
approaches, swinging, and, in a second, I’ve punctured his abdomen.

His glassy blue eyes grow wider, pupils dilating, a mixture of shock and confusion enveloping his features. I let go of the handle and he stumbles f
orward, falling to his knees. Blood pours from the wound, cascading down his legs and onto the floor. It puddles around him.

“We have to go!” Seth grabs my arm, dragging me out of the kitchen, fire raining around us.

We’re halfway through the dining room,
weaving between the fiery tables, before I pull back.

“Stu!”
My voice is a scream, yet it barely registers above the din, the cracking and hissing of the flames. “He’s still in there!”

“No! It’s too late!” His eyes widen, sharp and insistent.

I wrench my
arm in an effort to wrestle myself away from his grip. I hyperventilate on the acrid smoke, heart pounding. “We can’t! I have to go back!”

With one final tug, I’m free.

I don’t hear what Seth calls out to me. I only turn, and, in a burst of irrationality
, stumble-run back to the kitchen.

The fire rumbles, roaring, like we’re trapped in the middle of a tornado. “Stu, can you hear me?” I cry. “We have to get out!”

Stu doesn’t utter a sound. He doesn’t move. Not even a flinch. Tears sting my dry eyes.

I bend
down and shake him, pushing vigorously.
Nothing.

“Stu, come on!” I beg. “Please!” My throat burns as I take in another lungful of smoke, coughing. I grab his arms and pull his body across the floor, revealing a pool of blood.
 

A portion of the ceiling cr
ashes to the floor, a torrent of sparks exploding, scattering. I shield my eyes.

In the next moment, strong arms grab me from behind, wrapping tightly around me, pulling me back by the waist. They haul me away from Stu and the kitchen.

“No!” I scream. I c
all out to Stu, who remains motionless, trapped in the ocean of fire.

I spin around, dragged by Seth as he tears through the smoke and flames. Panic trembles in my stomach as the entire world blurs and spirals in suspended motion.

Seth pushes through the g
lass door and we escape into the cool, night air. A crowd already gathers in the parking lot. Sirens wail in the distance. I collapse in a heap on the damp grass.
Skin burning.
Sweat pouring off my body.
Coughing.
Sputtering.
Chest heaving.
Desperate for f
resh air.

As my body slowly slips away from the adrenaline-induced shock, the pain intensifies. My knee throbs.
My shoulder stings.
My throat and neck ache. My arms and clothes are black with soot and ash.

Inside, something explodes. Sparks and flames bur
st to the sky, a sickening display of almost-beautiful yellow and red and orange fireworks. The ceiling caves. Windows rupture, shattering one by one, propelling shards of glass into the parking lot. There are screams. The crowd jumps back. Slate-colored s
moke rolls out of the windows and ascends, disappearing into the black sky.

Seth moves closer as I sob, smearing away my salty, gray tears with his thumbs, and I let him hold me as we watch Ernie’s burn.

T
HIRTY

I wake up in a strange room.
In a strange bed.
It isn’t quite midnight. A stack of prescription bottles waits for me on the nightstand.

I sit up, shoving the scratchy hotel blankets off my legs.
My head pounds.
My knee, wrapped tightly in an Ace Bandage, aches as I stand and walk ca
refully across the room. I push back the curtain that hides the window. Outside, the moon rises above the sea. The white light reflects on the waves below, each one sparkling like hundreds of tiny diamonds.

I unlock the sliding glass door and pull it back
, stepping onto the balcony. The salty ocean breeze warms my skin and tousles my hair. I sweep the strands away from my face then fold my arms across my chest, hugging myself tightly.

I breathe deeply and close my eyes. I see it all over again.
The right
side of the building collapsing, crashing, caving in.
By the time the firefighters arrived there was no saving the diner.
 
Instead, they worked into the night to keep the flames from spreading. I tried not to think about Stu inside: broken, burning.
Gone.
Hopefully someplace better.

The ambulance drove me to the hospital, and the night shift doctors and nurses examined me and took x-rays. I showered. They dressed the burn on my shoulder.
Wrapped my knee.
Sent me home at four in the morning with an arsenal
of prescriptions.
But not my real home.

Home is no longer safe.

The cops came around between all of this, asking a variety of probing questions.

As far as they know, I am the only survivor. My story is the only story.

I confirmed that Stu and
Arsen
were
arguing when I arrived. I made no mention of Viola or the others.
Arsen
was responsible for all of my wounds—he attacked me, angry, but I don’t know why. I lied when I said that he started the fire with the towels. In my version of the story, I’m not even
the one who stabbed
Arsen
. I barely escaped before the kitchen ceiling caved. Stu and
Arsen
never made it out.

The story sounded so much cleaner this way.
Easier.
There was a fight. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stu was trying to defend us—a
hero.
The fact that our house was broken into on the same night?
Destroyed?
Pure coincidence.

Is there anyone out there who is angry with me? Who might want to hurt me?

I force
Arsen’s
terrifying blue eyes out of my mind.

I don’t think so.

But I know the
truth, and that truth will haunt me forever.

I slip on my flip flops and grab the hotel key positioned on top of the TV. Outside, the halls are empty. I ride the elevator to the lobby. The night clerk greets me with a smile I’m unable to return.

In a few
moments I’m passing the in-ground pool, lights glimmering underwater, the blue-green reflection a stark contrast to the blackened sky. I walk the weather-beaten wooden planks over the dune and descend the steps that lead to the beach. I kick my sandals of
f my feet and step onto the cool sand.

It’s low tide. The waves sweep quietly to shore, then return to sea.

Though it’s late, there are a few people scattered about: friends, couples walking together. A bonfire burns further down the beach. I shiver and
turn away, pushing the images of the flaming restaurant out of my mind. I sit down in the sand near the water’s edge. I can almost feel
Arsen’s
fingers wrapping around my neck.
Pressing.
Squeezing.
I swallow hard.

“It’s over. You don’t have to be afraid an
ymore.”

I don’t need to turn around to know who the voice belongs to. I am not afraid. I’ve traveled to Hell and back. Nothing will frighten me again.

“Is it really?” I ask, as he lowers himself to the sand beside me. “Is it ever really over?”

Seth doesn
’t answer.

Stars twinkle overhead, punctuating the black shroud of midnight. We remain quiet, motionless, concentrating on the sea and its ebb.

“I might not have to worry about
Arsen
, no, but there are others,” I reason.

He grimaces, eyes narrow and seri
ous. “I should’ve never left you,” he says, voice full of melancholy and shame, saturated with the desire to take back a million wrong decisions. “I won’t do it again.
Ever.”

I focus on the rumble of waves, the white foam rushing to shore, the glittering s
tream of caps reflecting the moonlight.

“I’m part of this now,” I say, voice strangled.

He emits a low, deep sigh . . . he who tried so hard to keep me from this. “I know.”

I rest my head on his shoulder and breathe in a piece of Heaven. He winds his arm
tightly around my waist, brushes his fingers through my tangled hair. Traces of smoke linger on my skin. Somewhere down the beach, someone laughs.