Corrupt - Douglas Penelope - Страница 47
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“Yo, turn it up!” Will shouted. “That’s her. Monster.”
He flashed me a smile as Skillet’s Monster filled the car, pumping through my veins.
Will started singing, then slid out of his seat, and I shook with laughter as he straddled me, giving me a lap dance to the music.
“To the warehouse,” he commanded, holding out his fist. “Let’s get fucked up.”
Present
I GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL, racing down the dark highway as I held the phone to my ear.
“Mom, where the hell are you?” I burst out, my heart thundering in my chest.
The line kept ringing and ringing, and even though I’d called her several times since I got the call about the house, she still wasn’t answering.
I’d even tried our housekeeper, but I couldn’t reach anyone.
Goddammit, why hadn’t I gotten the satellite number from Michael the other night? I’d just grabbed Alex and begged her to take me home, even though I’d had to drive because she’d had too much to drink.
Turning the wheel to the right, I curved around the bend, hitting End on the call and throwing my phone onto the passenger seat.
“Please,” I breathed out, my face cracking as I held back the tears.
Please let it be okay.
The fire trucks got there in time. They had to have.
Ferguson had called me over an hour ago, telling me that my parents’ house was on fire and that he’d called the fire department. They were already there, but he couldn’t get a hold of my mother or our housekeeper, both of whom were supposed to be out of town.
I didn’t hesitate. I jumped in the car and left the city, speeding down the highway. Finally, after an hour of driving, I’d entered the dark, quiet roads of Thunder Bay.
It was after ten at night, after all.
Coming up on the left, I spotted the community entrance and pushed down on my horn, blaring it again and again and again.
Ferguson opened the gate, and I raced through, not even slowing down to talk. My headlights fell across the black road as I winded through the spacious forest, spotting gates and homes, lanterns and driveways melting into the landscape.
Passing the Crist house, I didn’t even spare a glance. I raced right past, clicking the remote for my own gate as it came up half a mile down the road.
Jerking the steering wheel to the left, I charged into the driveway and immediately slammed on the breaks.
Turning off the car, I jumped out, gasping as my chest shook.
“No, no, no…” I stared through blurry eyes up at the house.
Black soot spilled over the window frames, and I could see the curtains in the upstairs’ windows hanging in shreds.
The front door was gone, the roof was black, and the foliage surrounding the house was burnt up. The house stood dark and beaten as the smell of fire filled the air and black smoke drifted up from a few remaining embers.
I couldn’t make out anything from the inside, but it looked gutted.
Shooting my hands into my hair, tears spilled over as my face broke. I sobbed, struggling for breath as I broke out in a run, racing up to the house.
“Mom!”
But someone’s arms engulfed me, holding me back.
“Let me go!” I struggled and fought, twisting my body away from them.
“You can’t go in there!” he shouted.
Michael.
But I didn’t care. I broke through his hold, shoving his hands away and bolting into the house.
“Rika!”
I raced into the house, barely taking in the black floors, carpets, and walls. I rounded the bannister, feeling the grains of soot under my palm as I grabbed it for support.
“Miss!” a man yelled, and I briefly noticed firefighters walking about.
I ignored them and leapt up the stairs, the floor boards under the soaked carpet shaking with my weight and warning me with its creaking, but I didn’t fucking care.
The whole goddamn house could fall on me.
“Mom!”
But wait…she’s not here. She’s away, remember? Relief flooded me as I reached the second floor landing. She’s not here.
I dived into my bedroom, the pungent stench of the smoke filling my lungs as I went straight for my walk-in closet. I fell to my knees, coughing, as I rummaged in the corner for a box.
Water dripped on my back from the doused clothes hanging above me. The fire had been in here, too. Please, no.
I flipped off the top of a box and dug in, my hand wrapping around another hard wooden box, this one smaller. I pulled it out.
Water immediately spilled out of its corner.
My heart broke. No.
Wrapping my arms around it, I hugged it to my chest and hunched over, sobbing. It was ruined.
“Stand up.”
I heard Michael’s voice behind me, but I didn’t want to move.
“Rika,” he urged again.
I raised my head again, trying to force in deep breaths, but all of a sudden dizziness wracked though me, and I couldn’t breathe. The air was too thick.
I should’ve taken the box with me. It was stupid to leave it here. I thought I was trying to be strong, letting the past go and leaving it behind. I should never have left without it.
I opened my eyes, barely seeing anything through the blur.
Why was Michael here? He’d been here when I got here, which meant he’d found out about the fire before I had.
Slowly, all the control I’d fought to assume over my life was getting taken away from me. Being duped into living at Delcour, finding Will and Damon in my class, the constant threat of his friends hanging over my head, and then there was Michael. I had no control around him.
And now my house?
A weight sat on my chest, and I drew in hard, shallow breaths as I looked up at him. “Where is my mother? Why can’t I reach her?”
Holding his eyes, I started coughing again, the air like poison every time I tried to take a breath.
“We need to get out of here.” He reached down and pulled me up, knowing that the smoke was getting to me. “We’ll come back tomorrow after the fire department’s assessed the damage and made sure it’s safe. We’ll stay at my parents’ house tonight.”
A lump stretched my throat, but I didn’t even have the energy to swallow it down. I squeezed the box to my chest, wanting to sink away.
I didn’t fight as we left the room. I didn’t fight when he put me in his car or when I saw him pass his parents’ house and take me into town.
I couldn’t fight him tonight.
“ARE THOSE THE MATCHES YOU TOLD ME ABOUT?” he asked, gesturing with his chin to the box on the table. “The ones your father collected from his trips?”
I dropped my eyes, seeing the damp wood of the cigar box and nodded. I was still too deflated to say anything.
After we’d left the firefighters to keep working at the house, he hadn’t taken us back to his parents’ place. He’d driven into town and stopped at Sticks, and even though I didn’t want to see anybody, I welcomed a drink.
I followed him in, and thankfully, he hid us in a booth and ordered us a couple of beers. The waitress gave me a quick glance, knowing I wasn’t twenty-one, but she wouldn’t argue with him.
No one ever did.
The bar was nearly empty, probably because it was a school night, as well as the college kids having all left town to go back to school by now. A few older patrons sat at the bar, some people played pool, and others loitered around, drinking, talking, and eating.
Slowly easing back into the chair, I touched the box with shaky hands and flipped the clasp on the front, lifting the lid.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I looked away.
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