of the others we’d already repaired. I tore off my ragged cardigan and wrapped a fist in the cloth. My face instinctively turned away as my arm smashed the glass.
Smoke rushed outside as fresh air streamed in. I gasped for oxygen, feeling new energy with the momentary gust. But behind me, flames snuck through the gap beneath the door and spread up its panels, engulfing the corner of the room. I grabbed at Portia and nudged her toward the window. Her body seemed to move in slow motion as she lifted herself onto the sash. With a push of her toes, she was outside. Now it was Celia’s turn, but the lump beneath the tarp didn’t budge. I wrapped my arms around her bulk and tried lifting her through the window, but my arms were made more of jelly than sinew.
Lying on my back, I worked my feet underneath her chest and hoisted her headfirst toward the sash, using the same kind of airplane ride my mother used to give.
My legs were ready to give out when Celia jerked forward as someone pulled her swaddled body through the window to safety.
The fire had spread to the floor nearby. Above me, only choking black smoke. I tried to breathe, but my chest wouldn’t move. I closed my eyes and focused on the pinpricks of light that danced behind my lids. Soon the dots formed a face-a crinkly-eyed, laughing Brad. As blistering heat pressed against my skin, sadness swept through me. I’d never see that happy face in this world again. The dots moved and a light took shape. I relaxed, knowing that the pain to come would be fleeting. In a moment I’d be through the veil, meeting my maker, dancing for Jesus. The world spun beneath me, hurtling through the blackness of space, and I felt every revolution. Blood rushed through my ears, a steady
I was alive. I’d made it through. Somehow I hadn’t died in the fire.
A figure sat in a corner of the room. “Welcome back, Ms. Amble.” A man approached me.
Detective Larson wasn’t exactly the first person I’d wanted to see after my brush with death. But stuck in a hospital bed, I didn’t have much say in the matter.
I peered at him through lazy lids and let the oxygen mask do its thing. He’d obviously figured out my identity and was about to hammer the fact into my smokedamaged brain.
His lumbering form towered over the bed. “Lucky for you I put the pieces together in time. If I hadn’t ordered personal protection for you when I did, you’d probably be taking up space at Del Gloria Mausoleum instead of Del Gloria Memorial.” He chuckled like he’d just told a funny joke.
“See,” he continued, taking advantage of the fact I had a muzzle on, “in this day and age of computers, the human mind is still the smartest kid on the block. Computers can match faces and fingerprints, determine DNA, and look up criminal records. But it takes a real live person to noodle through the information and come up with four.”
His body shifted and his voice sped up. “Back in the fall, I had a good laugh when I read the report on the rooftop heroine and her stolen ladder. Never thought another thing about it. But when I saw the same girl at the scene of a murder, I couldn’t help but wonder, why her? What made Alisha Braddock the common denominator between the two crimes?”
The detective’s voice droned on like background music to my heart monitor.
“If this was LA, I’d have never linked the two events. But here in Del Gloria, we pride ourselves on being The Town Crime Forgot.”
He chuckled again, this time almost dousing me with a stray spitball. I cringed, shrinking deeper into my pillow. “So I did my detective thing. Fed the computer your picture, your name, and whatever else I could come up with, made a few phone calls, checked a few sources, called in a couple favors, made some hypotheses. And last night, I ordered personal protection on a woman named Patricia Louise Amble. The officers tracked you to the same block. But instead of a missing ladder, they found a raging inferno.” He shook his head in awe. “I gotta hand it to you, kid, whatever guardian angels you got looking out for you, they’re doing a pretty good job.”
I thought of Portia and her single-mindedness in saving Celia and getting us out of the building.
“How’s Celia? Is Portia alright?” My mouth spoke the words, but only a muffled sound made it through the mask.
His eyes watered. “Ms. Romero will be fine after a few surgeries.” He choked and looked to one side. “They’re not sure about Ms. Long. Her health was fragile as it was. She might not pull through.”
A deep moan filtered through my mask. I squeezed my eyes closed and felt a stream of tears burn down my cheeks.
“It’s like this.” Detective Larson leaned toward me. “I’m the captain of the Good Ship Del Gloria. When a Jonah sneaks on board, I find him and throw him into the sea before any more of my passengers get hurt.”
I should have known better than to stay here. What made me think I could escape a well-oiled drug machine? The day I got involved with Candice LeJeune was the day I signed my own death warrant-along with Jane’s and maybe even Celia’s.
Detective Larson was right. I was a Jonah in this town. I could wait for the cops to throw me overboard, or I could jump ship myself. Either way, the sharks were circling.
“We’ve got an idea who’s behind the bombs,” Detective Larson was saying over the beep of the monitor. “Your classmate Simon Scroll seems to have skipped town. I’m guessing it was his job to make sure you never left Del Gloria alive. And as far as he’s concerned, he succeeded.” “What do you mean?” I asked, my words barely legible through the mask covering my mouth.
“Mr. Scroll has been employed by Professor Braddock as your bodyguard.”
I groaned. Simon was so useless… I would get him for a bodyguard.
The detective continued. “We think he got a better offer from someone else to make sure you turned up dead. We’re hoping to get the feds to step in this time with a little more sophisticated version of witness protection now that there’s proof your life is on the line. Professor Braddock had good intentions, but it’s obvious you need another fresh start.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. My throat hurt from trying not to cry. I didn’t want another fresh start. I didn’t want any of this to be happening. If I couldn’t stay here in Del Gloria, then I wanted to go home to Port Silvan. I didn’t want another name, another town, another life. I just wanted to be Tish Amble again, whatever that entailed.
But something in the back of my mind warned that if I ever remembered what it was I’d forgotten, I might not be so excited to get back to my old life.
I told that something to shut up.
20
I was released from the hospital with nothing worse than an irritating cough, curling eyebrows, and a section of singed hair, which Maize agreed to shape into a spunky layered style.
“You are so lucky to be alive,” she said while I holed up at her apartment a day later.
I watched more and more hair drop to the ground as she snipped and talked, snipped and talked. “I think that’s enough off the ends,” I told her before I ended up bald. “It looks really good just like that.”
“Sure. Whatever.” She put the scissors down and picked up a yo-yo, performing a bevy of tricks as she kept her hands occupied. “So you’re taking off for a while?”
“Yeah. I hate to abandon Celia and Portia at a time like this, but I really have to check into things back home.” “Do what you have to. We’ll keep plugging away at things until you get back. Probably won’t get very far without someone telling us what to do and how to do it, but we’ll give it a shot-”
I touched her arm, interrupting her nervous prattling. “You guys will do great.”
“Listen,” Maize said, “if there’s anything you need while you’re on vacation, just call Koby. The guy’s a magician when it comes to getting flights out of thin air.
He can probably hook you up with a ride home. I know you have to take the bus there since you don’t have any
