Don’t run, don’t run, don’t run, I tell myself even as my feet slam the pavement and my body’s leaning forward, wanting to sprint. I back into the crowd, trying hard not to make eye contact with anyone as I work my way to the outer edge, away from my uncle’s fellow firefighters, away from the cops.
My truck is blocked in by fire apparatus and half-drowned by water from the hoses, so my only hope of escape is on foot. I have no idea where. All I know is that I need to find a safe place to hide.
Just as I think I’m clear, someone grabs my arm. I spin. It’s the stranger, the one who knew about the gun.
The expression on his face, lit by the fire and the police lights, is like he’s praying. Eyes wide, a weird smile. A kid who woke up on Christmas Day to find everything he wished for under the tree.
Except he’s not a kid. He’s old—older than my uncle or my mom, forty at least. Then I realize where I’ve seen that expression before: on King’s clients’ faces.
I jerk away. He reaches for my arm again, his eyes narrowing in anger. His other hand holds a knife. The same knife from the video yesterday.
He takes my hand and twists it back hard, stepping behind me, pulling my thumb with him. The pain is excruciating, lightning blazing up my arm. I have no choice but to lean over before my wrist and elbow break.
The only place I can look is down. And I see his shoes: black leather, tassels with tiny horseshoes.
This is the man who almost killed Janey.
“Who are you? What do you want?” I ask as he propels me forward, down the road, toward a dark-colored car.
He says nothing, only wrenches my thumb harder. I can’t help it. I cry out in agony. He slows, and I can tell he’s looking back, making sure no one heard me. He doesn’t want to get caught.
I take advantage of his split second of distraction and pivot all my weight in the direction that will twist my hand free, getting one foot between his to trip him up and yelling as loud as I can the two words that will get the attention of any firefighter or police officer, “Man down!”
To my surprise it works. He drops his hand and I stumble free, tumbling into the pavement. I block my fall with one palm, push off again, and come up facing him.
His smile hasn’t faded. But the knife has vanished. The hand he raises toward me is empty, just one finger pointing my direction.
“There he is,” he shouts as he backs into the crowd. “He did it! That’s Jesse Alexander. He killed his uncle!”
The crowd whirls almost as one. Cops shove their way through, all eyes on me. Bright lights hit me, pinning me in their glare: TV cameras.
I stand frozen for a heartbeat. Then my instinct for survival kicks in, and I take off, running.
• • •
They forgot about pizza. Miranda and her mom sat in front of the TV, Miranda’s laptop on the coffee table between them, flipping channels, trying to stay updated, while her dad put his uniform back on and went to the scene to see if he could learn anything from the first responders.
“It’s not good,” he reported when he called an hour later. “The house is gone. And they found a body.”
Miranda’s mom reached a hand to grab the phone and take it off speaker but Miranda stopped her. “It’s okay. Tell me everything. I’ll find out sooner or later anyway.”
Her mom nodded but wrapped her arm around Miranda. “Go ahead, George.”
“They think it’s his uncle. He’s a firefighter, so everyone’s pretty upset. Plus…” He trailed off as voices could be heard in the background. There was the sound of a car door slamming; then, it was quiet. “Plus the body was handcuffed. And they found a gun in a ditch in front of the house.”
Miranda stiffened. Jesse said he had a gun. She should have found a way to stop him, to help him. She pounded a fist against her thigh, counting the blows. One two three…not enough…four five six seven eight nine… “They’re sure? I mean, it couldn’t be Jesse? Dead?”
The last word came out choked. Her mom hugged her tighter. Miranda wanted to run and hide, lock herself in her room, lock out the rest of the world, block out her dad’s answer. It took all her strength to stay there, to wait and hope…hope, that nasty four-letter word.
If Jesse died because of her, how could she go on living?
“No,” Dad’s voice made it through the panic spiraling through her brain. “They don’t think the body belongs to your friend.” His words hung there and she knew there was more. “Honey, let me talk to your mom.”
“No.” She grabbed the receiver before her mom could reach it. “No. Tell me everything. Now.”
“I’m on my way home. It can wait.”
“Dad, whatever you have to say, it can’t be worse than what I can imagine. They think Jesse did it, don’t they? They think he killed his uncle?”
There was a long pause. “Yes. He was seen with his uncle at the house before the fire started, then afterward he was spotted running away.”
“Is Jesse there? Did they arrest him?”
“No. But they have his truck. They found, they think…there’s evidence that Jesse is the arsonist who started all those fires these past few months. They have city, county, and state police out searching for him and might soon involve ATF.”
“Because of the arsons?” her mom asked.
“Yes. Honey, if you have a way to reach him, he needs to turn himself in. Because his uncle, he was a hero to these people, one of their family. I don’t need to tell you how dangerous it could be for him.”
“You mean, like shoot to kill or something?” Miranda broke free of her mom’s arms and stood up, clutching the phone to her ear despite the fact that it was still on speaker and her dad’s voice was plenty loud. “No. Dad, no. He didn’t do it. I know he didn’t.”
“Then all the better that he turn himself in before things get worse. I’ll help him any way I can, you know that, but—”
To her surprise, Miranda’s mom took the phone from her and said, “Come home, George. We’ll decide what we do next together.” She arched an eyebrow at Miranda with a look that said she was taking a chance on Miranda doing the right thing. “As a family.”
“I’m on my way.” He hung up.
Miranda’s mom set the phone down. Miranda gave her another hug. “Thanks, Mom. I won’t let you down.”
“It’s not me you need to be worried about. It’s Jesse.”