I fully intended to sit tight, nice and safe under the protection of my six new locks. Until I get a text from Conrad four minutes after Luke leaves.
Walked by Sally’s. She was allowed back in to assess the damage and salvage a few things. Want to help?
Of course! I text back, and in three toots of a horn, the screen door smacks the wood behind me. I walk down the pathway at a high clip, letting the unseasonably warm fall night air infuse my skin.
Sally’s Pub is still there in structure, in spirit even, but parts that were light before are now a charred black. A damp, smoky sensation fills my nostrils. I step carefully over bits and parts all about. I step over the remnants of Sally’s.
A few people are already here, helping Sally. Conrad sweeps up grime and soot into the same dustpan that Luke used when I first met him. Natalie, yes Natalie, takes pictures off the wall, placing them in a pile, I guess to be restored or reframed. Sally is nearby, also taking photos off the wall. As I approach, she stares at the one in her hand. The edge of the frame is black. She wipes some gray stuff off the glass and underneath is a picture of her, arms out, in front of the pub fifteen years ago, when she bought it.
I roll my lips together. “I’m so sorry, Sally.”
She has a tight smile as she shakes her head. “A lot worse could have happened. They say the foundation is still good. I just need to fix up the inside so it doesn’t look like it, well, was burned.”
Natalie coughs strangely. She slides me a look that I think means trouble, but then her shoulders sag and she goes back to removing picture frames.
“Well, you know you’ll have help,” I say.
“Yes, in fact, I hear you know how to paint.” Sally winks. She runs her fingers over some of the yellow wallpaper that curled over.
“I do.” I also run my fingers over the wallpaper.
Feet stomp up the steps outside. The door bursts back and Luke stands under the archway, scanning the room. When he spots me, he frowns, but his eyes move past me, to Natalie. His shoulders sharpen before he walks toward her. Tommy, in his uniform, follows Luke.
My body jolts as Natalie drops the frame in her hands. She cries, rubs her face and gets soot all over her cheeks.
Luke doesn’t take his eyes off her. “Natalie, we need you to come with us.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head, her face red. “I didn’t mean it. It was an accident. I mean, I didn’t...” she says, backing away, toward me. I’m still and confused.
Tommy reads Miranda rights, cuffs out, walking toward her as Luke looks on. “I wasn’t thinking,” she says. “I just thought it would scare people. I figured people would stomp it out, it would just scare them, get them to stop coming to Sally’s.”
Oh, Natalie. My chin drops, mouth hanging open.
She sobs and grabs at the broken glass on the floor.
Luke’s hand is out. “Natalie, put the glass down and stand up.” His voice is steady, strong. He approaches her. Natalie takes a step back, but he’s quick. He grabs her. She swipes at him before I know what’s happening. Red bursts through his sleeve and then his chest. He grits his teeth. Natalie continues crushing the broken glass into him. Over and over as he tries to get a handle on her. I burn inside. I burn at the thought of his hurt. I sprint and lunge for Natalie, pulling her back, away from him. Pulling her back until we both hit the sooty, smoky wall and my breath is almost nonexistent, trapped, and my heartbeat pulses through every cell in my being.
“Quinn,” Luke says, one bloody arm stretched toward me, the other hovered over his gun. I’m about to say I got her, but then I don’t. I don’t got her. Not at all. She’s spun me around in a flash and I’m pinned in front her, one of her hands holding both my wrists against my lower back. Tight. Something big and sharp presses against my throat, liquid drips down my collar bone.
Luke is like lightning. I didn’t even see him pull the gun out, and now all I can see is the circle of metal, the tunnel before me, aimed at me. His stance is wide, his elbows are locked. His intense eyes focus on me. But they’re above the barrel, the bullet.
“Let her go.” There is something deep within his throat I’ve never heard before as his hands stay still around the loaded gun. The gun aimed at me. But it’s in Luke’s hands. It’s okay.
My mouth opens and liquid dances along the rims of my eyes. Finally. I’m not afraid.
Well, of the gun.
“Natalie,” Luke says, the words rough against his throat. “Let her go.”
“Just let me go, Luke,” Natalie says. “I won’t hurt her. You’ll let me go. We all know I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Natalie,” Tommy says, his voice strained. “My sister was in here last night. She could have burned to death because—”
“He killed her, Tommy!” she cries, her screeches skidding into my ear. “He just killed her, he hit her with his car and then he just left. They think they can do anything, get away with anything. They’re ruining this town. I was just trying to scare them, I was just—”
Tommy’s face reddens. “But you can’t—”
“Officer,” Luke says, his voice low, a husky whisper. His gaze is still on me, on Natalie. My breathing is so heavy, my body is so shaky, that my neck brushes against the cut glass. More blood trails down me.
“Natalie,” Luke says, calm. “We can talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Natalie says, her chin jutting over my shoulder. “Either you promise to let me go, forget all this, or your girlfriend will get hurt.”
Luke clicks the safety off. He blinks, but otherwise his face is still.
I close my eyes and try to calm my breathing. I force myself to open them, to stare down the pistol. “Go ahead, hurt me,” I say to Natalie.
“Quinn,” Luke says, sharp.
“Hurt me,” I say, turning to Natalie. “You can’t, not really. Anything you do to me will heal. Unless, of course, you kill me. That’s all you can threaten me with.”
Luke’s chest rises and falls, but his stance stays the same. Natalie’s breath is hot on my neck. I focus on the metal, the gun, and ignore my racing heart. “Do you want to kill me, Natalie?”
The pressure against my throat lightens and her slippery hand falls along my neck, to my shoulder. “No, I’m not like that.”
“I know,” I say. “I know, you aren’t like that.” Eyes still on the gun, I reach to her wet, bloody hand. I take the piece of glass as she collapses to the floor. Luke and Tommy move fast, pulling her up and locking her wrists with metal.
“I’m so sorry, Sally,” she says, face all red and black and blubbery. “Please forgive me.”
Sally closes her eyes. “I forgive you.”
Natalie lowers her head as they pull her away.