Chapter Forty-Eight

The door opened, and a man walked into the little room, followed closely by a steely-looking guard.

“Visiting hours are over at four o’clock,” the guard said.

He closed the door and left the two of them alone.

“Hey,” Dame said.

“Hey.”

The man stood there for a moment, while she stayed seated at the metal table. Neither of them said anything. For someone she’d once undressed, Dame had never seen Gus look more naked. He’d lost about fifteen pounds, and his standard-issue jumpsuit hung off his frame, a size too large. His face was pallid, unshaven, and there was a yellow smear on his cheek — the fading memory of an ugly bruise. He seemed to be having difficulty looking at her, and in the light of the fluorescent tube above them, his green eyes were a dull grey.

“I hope this is all right,” Dame said. “My father pulled some strings so we wouldn’t have to talk through Plexiglas.”

Gus sat down across from her but kept his eyes on the table. “To be honest, you’re the last person I was expecting to visit me.”

Dame cleared her throat. “How are you?”

He shrugged.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your mom. I know that job meant a lot to her.”

“Yeah. Well, at least she didn’t have to spend any time in here.” He glanced around the little room.

“I heard Anton Felski took a plea deal,” Dame said. “I guess he rolled over on a lot of high-profile people. He’ll still have to do some pretty serious time, though.”

Gus nodded. “What about … that woman?”

Dame adjusted her new glasses. They still didn’t feel quite right on her face.

“Peggy Beckers is still missing,” she said. “Apparently, no one’s seen her since the Sainte-Marie burned down. I had to meet with the Crown Attorney last week. They’re going to charge her with a bunch of things: extortion, arson, fraud, and —”

“— conspiracy to commit murder.” Gus finally met her eyes. “Look, I want you to know I didn’t have anything to do with —” he looked back down at his hands “— with what they did to you.”

“I know.”

The room was quiet again.

“They charged me with four counts of arson, and one count of involuntary manslaughter, for what happened before. After the trial, they’ll probably send me to Penetanguishene. It’s supposed to be” — he took a deep breath — “a little better there.”

“You’re pleading guilty?”

Gus nodded. “My lawyer thinks he can get me twelve years minus time served. It’s probably the best I can hope for.”

Another silence hung between them, punctuated by the distant sounds of slamming doors and men shouting at each other.

“Why did you do it?” Dame finally asked. “When you were a kid, I mean. Why did you set that first fire?”

Gus kept his eyes fixed on the surface of the table. “It was a few months after my dad died. My mom didn’t really know how to —” He sighed. “She was spending more time with that old hotel than she was with me. I was angry. I didn’t know where to put it all. So, when another one of her meetings ran late, I siphoned some gas from our car.” He cleared his throat. “The place was supposed to be empty. But it wasn’t.”

Gus took a deep breath. “I was reviewing the old police report with my lawyer earlier this month. It said there was a man injured in the fire named David Polara. Was that —?”

“My father.”

“He tried to save that little boy.”

Dame nodded.

“I used to see that boy, you know? Like a ghost. On the street. In crowds. Sometimes, in the middle of fighting a fire, I’d see him in the flames. Like he didn’t want me to forget. Like I ever could.”

Dame could feel tears welling in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Gus sat back in his metal chair. “Did you know, the first time I saved someone’s life, I wasn’t even on duty? I was having a beer with a couple friends, and this woman a few tables away stood up and knocked over a glass. She had her hands around her throat” — he put his own hands to his neck — “so I went over and asked if she was okay. But she couldn’t talk or anything. I yelled at someone to call 911, and my training sort of kicked in. Started doing back blows, then the Heimlich. Popped a piece of chicken out of her like a champagne cork.”

He paused for a moment and smiled at the memory. “She was okay. And for a little while, I felt okay, too. There were high-fives, and drinks, and the owner of the place picked up our tab. It was a good night.

“But then, I woke up the next morning and nothing had changed. And I think I finally understood that what I did could never be undone. I could save a hundred lives, and that little boy would still be dead. I took something out of the world, and there’s nothing I can do to put it back.”

Dame’s fingers touched her stomach. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but she didn’t know how to do it. And she didn’t know if it would make things any better.

“When I set those other fires, I got the blueprints out and combed those places top to bottom. Made sure that no one was —” He took a deep breath. “I figured, if someone had to burn down those buildings, it should be me. That way, no one would get hurt. Guess I messed that up, too.” He looked around the room again. “You know, I always knew I’d wind up in a place like this. One way or another. It’s like some part of me has been in here since I was sixteen.”

They were both quiet.

“But hey,” Gus said. “It’s not all bad. I finally quit smoking.”

Dame smiled, but her eyes betrayed her with a pair of tears. She pushed them off her cheeks.

“Why did you come here?” he asked.

She started to speak, then stopped.

“Did you want me to apologize?” he asked. “I mean, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But we both know there’s nothing I could say that would ever —”

“No. It isn’t that.” Dame felt a flutter of movement in her belly.

“Then what?”

“I think —” There was another little nudge, something she hadn’t felt before. “I think maybe I just want to know what kind of person you really are.”

“I’m not so sure myself.” He tried to smile. “Guess I’ve got twelve years to figure it out. Minus time served.”