DYLAN
I can’t stop shaking as I sit on the bed in the ER, grinding my teeth with the pain while I wait for a doctor to evaluate the burns on my calves and thighs. I don’t have time for this. I need to go back to the apartments and look for any clues that might have been left behind. Though two or three cops have come by to check on me, and a couple are still in the waiting room, they haven’t been able to give me any information about any clues left behind.
I’ve given my story to the police, but I didn’t tell them who I’m sure is behind it. Until I can prove it, they wouldn’t believe me and my story would blow up in my face.
The burns on my legs are minimal compared to the wounds of the woman I got out of the apartment below me. They’ve airlifted her to the burn center. This wouldn’t have happened to her if it weren’t for me. Once again, I’m the survivor who’s barely injured, and someone else is fighting for life.
“Are you kidding me?”
I look up to see Dex in the doorway. “Hey.”
“What happened?” he demands to know. “I saw the fire on the ten o’clock news. Went by there and saw it was your place that was blown out.” He rubs his mouth with his good hand. It’s trembling. “Dude, I thought you were dead.”
“Nope. Not me.”
He looks at my burns, shakes his head. “Seriously, what happened?”
I sigh and try to think. “First my AC was out, so I opened my window. I never open my window. It’s too humid and there’s no screen. I don’t remember the last time I opened it.” I try to move my leg, but I wince in pain.
“Yeah, and?”
“Someone was outside my window, sloshed gas in.”
“You’re on the second floor.”
“Yeah, they must have used a ladder. They probably knocked out my AC so I’d open the window. The sound woke me up. I was just headed for the window to look out when a grenade came flying in.”
“A grenade?” Dex comes toward me. “Man, how did you survive?”
“I got out the door. Didn’t get away completely unscathed. Then the woman below me . . . She was badly burned. I got her out . . .”
Dex turns away for a moment, and I can’t see his face. Finally, he turns back. “So whoever did this was preying on your PTSD. A grenade?”
“Yeah. A literal blast from the past.”
“That’s not even funny.”
“No, it’s not. Sorry.”
He doesn’t hold it against me. “Man, if a grenade came flying at me, I’d have lost it.”
“I did lose it.”
“But you acted, man, just like you did that day in Kandahar. You saved people.”
“One person. And she may not make it.”
“That day you saved more, Dylan. You know you did. You saved me.”
I don’t really want to hear that right now. “I just need to get out of here. How bad do these burns look?”
Dex was a medic in the army, and he treated all kinds of burns. He looks them over. “Bad enough to need dressing. What’s your big hurry? You don’t have anyplace to crash.”
That’s true. Where will I go? “I lost my phone. My computer. The evidence I’d compiled. It’s all blown up.”
“No, it’s not,” he says. “Remember, you have a lot of it in the safe deposit box. I can help you re-create the rest. And you took pictures, right? Aren’t they on the cloud somewhere?”
That’s true. I e-mailed them to Casey. That makes me feel better. I wish I could call her now, but I don’t know her burner phone’s number. I had it programmed into mine, and now it’s collateral damage. I’ll need to e-mail her after I get another phone. She needs to know how desperate Keegan is getting, even if she won’t talk to me.
“You’re coming home with me, man.”
I shake my head. “No, I can’t barge into your place. Your wife, your kids . . . I’ll get a hotel. It’s fine.”
“Do you even have a credit card with you? Any cash?”
I sigh. “No. I was sleeping. My wallet was on the dresser. I’ll have to wait till morning to go to the bank and get another card. And a driver’s license.”
“Then you can’t get any cash out tonight. You have no choice, Pretty Boy. You’re coming with me.”
He’s right. I should be grateful he came. “It may be a while,” I say.
“Lay down, dude,” he insists. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”