Sacrifice

  “Take it easy,” said the nurse. She glanced at the fire marshal and gave him a stern look. “Not too much questioning. He just woke up.”

  Michael expected him to say something to put her in her place, but the marshal just nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Then she was gone, wheeling the little cart beside her.

  Michael stared at the ceiling. His throat felt tight. Maybe it was the fire marshal sitting here waiting to question him, or maybe it was the fact that Jack Faulkner was Hannah’s father, but there was something extra-humiliating about being chained to a hospital bed, waiting for his fate.

  He remembered the weeks after his parents were gone, how it had seemed he couldn’t get through forty-eight hours without a social worker or a police officer or an attorney at his front door. He hadn’t trusted any of them then, and he didn’t trust Marshal Faulkner now. Then, he would have given anything for one of them to step in and tell him everything would be okay, that he could handle it if he’d just be patient with himself and let the right answers come to him.

  Now, he knew it was up to him alone. He could get out of this if he kept the upper hand, if he didn’t let emotion overrun his actions.

  When he was sure his voice wouldn’t crack and his eyes would stay dry, Michael said, “So I’m under arrest?”

  The fire marshal sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Maybe, Mike. I don’t know.”

  That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. Michael turned his head. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’ll uncuff you, but I need you to be really honest with me.”

  “Fine.”

  The marshal unlocked the handcuffs first, and Michael felt his tension drop a few notches, just knowing he wasn’t chained to this bed. The ankle chains were next. Everything rattled against the tile floor where the marshal dropped them.

  Then the man straightened. “Did you start the fire at your house?”

  “No.”

  “Did any of your brothers?”

  “No.”

  “Did you plant a bomb at the Roadhouse?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who shot you?”

  “No.” He remembered the flash of the phone’s camera, seeing the edge of a face and some sandy-colored hair. It wasn’t even his own phone, so he’d never be able to go back to it. A Guide? A cop? He had no idea. Still, it was something to offer.

  “Someone was in the wreckage. He was looking down at me. As soon as I saw him, he was shooting.”

  The fire marshal looked interested at that. “Could you give me a description?”

  “I only saw him for a second. Less than a second.”

  “But it was definitely a man?” Jack pulled out a notepad and a pen.

  Michael thought. He’d assumed man, but really, his memories weren’t even clear enough to confirm that much. “Maybe. I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

  “Race? Hair color? Height? Anything?”

  Michael closed his eyes and tried to remember. All his thoughts would supply was a flash of movement, and then the sound of the gun firing. “Sandy hair. I don’t know.” He opened his eyes. “I don’t know what happened to the second phone I used, but I might have caught him—or her—in one of the pictures.”

  Another quick note on the pad. “Why were you at the restaurant at all?”

  Michael froze. His brain wasn’t organized enough to lie, but he could go with the same story he’d given everyone else. “I was meeting someone about a job.”

  “Your brothers told an officer that, too. You know who didn’t say that? Every single witness from the restaurant that I could question. They said you walked in and picked a fight with Tyler Morgan.”

  Michael fought to keep his voice even. “I didn’t know Tyler would be there. The guy I was meeting never showed up. I thought—”

  He stopped short. He’d almost said, I thought Tyler had set me up.

  But that would lead to more questions.

  “You thought what?”

  Like that one. Michael shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I didn’t know he’d be there. I was supposed to meet someone else.”

  “Okay, give me a name.”

  Michael turned to stare at the ceiling again. “I don’t remember.”

  The fire marshal pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and held it up. “Maybe you should check your text messages.”

  Michael whipped his head around. His vision spun for a moment, and he had to blink.

  His cell phone was hanging in a plastic baggie marked Evidence.

  All he had to do was meet Marshal Falkner’s eyes to know that his text messages had already been reviewed.

  Michael had no idea what to say.

  “You know what we found, don’t you?” said the marshal.

  The pictures. The texts. The threats. “Is that why I was chained to the bed? Because someone else was threatening me?”

  “This is where the really honest part is going to be important, even though you haven’t kept up your end of the bargain.” The fire marshal paused. “I think this is bigger than just your neighborhood and that restaurant. Am I right?”

  Michael had nothing to say. How could he explain? How could he even begin to wrap words around the scope of this?

  Well. It began when I was a teenager, and my parents made this deal . . .

  “This goes beyond the carnival, too, doesn’t it?”

  Michael didn’t say anything.

  “They’re talking about bringing in the FBI,” said the fire marshal. “You can talk to me or you can talk to them. I guarantee they’re not going to give you the benefit of the doubt. You know something. It’s obvious you know something. It’s all over your phone.”

  Michael wished he’d run. This morning, when they’d made the decision to go to Adam’s. He should have just gotten on the highway and started driving.

  They had no proof, right? All they had were text messages he’d received.

  “You mention Calla,” said the fire marshal. “In one of your messages.” He paused, waiting for a reaction. Michael didn’t give him one, though the machine kept beeping out his heart rate, quicker than normal.

  The man leaned against the bed rail. His voice was low, conspiratorial. “I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you that Calla was listed as missing after the fires at the carnival, and her body was never recovered. Want to tell me why you’d think she was sending you text messages claiming responsibility for the fires in your neighborhood?”

  Oh, that’s easy. Because Calla is a psychotic Fire Elemental who wants to start a war between the Elementals and the Guides. Oh, wait, you don’t know about Elementals? Here, let me tell you . . .

  Michael inhaled a long breath and set his jaw.

  Marshal Faulkner held up the phone again. “You were texting Hannah around the same time. Did anyone else have access to your phone?”

  No one had, but Michael was expecting a trap now, so he didn’t answer.

  You were texting Hannah at the same time.

  And Michael thought it had been humiliating sitting here handcuffed to the bed. That had nothing on Hannah’s dad reading their text exchanges. Michael racked his brain and tried to remember if he’d said anything incriminating—or embarrassing. For an instant he felt about fourteen, like he’d been caught in his bedroom with a dirty magazine.

  Then Jack Faulkner said, “Are you putting my daughter in danger?”

  Michael swung his head around. “No.” His voice was rough and he had to clear his throat. “No. Never.” He was trying to keep her out of danger.

  “Someone is.” For the first time, the fire marshal’s voice held an edge. “And you know something about it. Do you understand what kind of position that puts me in?”

  Michael met his eyes and realized he and Jack Faulkner were on opposite sides of the same coin. They both wanted to protect the people closest to them.

  And they both felt powerless to do it.

  “Yes,” said Michael even
ly. “I know exactly what kind of position that puts you in.”

  The fire marshal hit the bed rail and came halfway out of his chair. “Then tell me something!”

  Michael recoiled. The movement was too sudden, and he felt every single one of those stitches pull this time. Stars danced through his vision.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Everything all right in here?”

  The marshal sat back down. He looked at the door, then cursed under his breath.

  Michael glanced over. He recognized the sharply dressed man in the doorway, but he had to blink twice to be sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.

  David Forrest was the father of Gabriel’s girlfriend, Layne. He was also a high-powered criminal defense attorney with a price tag to match. He’d kept Gabriel out of jail when the town had been under attack from an arsonist, and even though he’d offered to waive his fees, Michael had looked up his consultation charges and sent him a check anyway.

  The check had been cashed right away.

  It had hurt the family bank account, but the damage to his self-respect would have taken longer to heal. Michael had never told Gabriel.

  “I’ve spoken with the district attorney,” David said. “I understand no charges are being filed at this time?”

  “Not yet,” said Marshal Faulkner. He didn’t sound happy about it.

  Michael glared at him. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  David’s eyebrows went up. “Did he tell you that you were under arrest?”

  “He said maybe.”

  The fire marshal shrugged and sat back. “Depended on what you told me.”

  David looked back at Michael. “Did he read you your rights?”

  “No.”

  Marshal Falkner picked up the handcuffs he’d removed and dangled them from a finger. “He wasn’t in custody. It was just a conversation.”

  “I think you’re done here,” said David. “Unless we should pursue a complaint of harassment?”

  For the first time, Hannah’s father sounded pissed. “Go ahead.”

  “I want my phone back,” said Michael. “And I want to see my brothers.”

  Marshal Faulkner and David Forrest exchanged glances. In that one look, Michael realized the fire marshal had hidden more than he’d let on.

  “What?” said Michael. His voice did break, and he didn’t care. He was going to crawl out of this bed and find them if he had to. He grabbed hold of the bed rail and pulled himself up. “Where are they? Are they okay?”

  “They’re fine,” said David Forrest. His voice should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. “They’re in the cafeteria. I just saw them.”

  “And they’re okay? What was with the look?” His chest felt like it might cave in again. “What’s going on?”

  Another knock, this one faint, sounded at the door. A young woman stood there, in thick glasses and a plain, shapeless suit, dressed more for function than for fashion. No makeup, hair in a simple ponytail. She carried a clipboard and a folder. “Mr. Merrick?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m from the Department of Family Services,” she said. “I’m here to talk about your brothers.”

  Hannah shuffled the deck of cards and dealt around the table. She’d been playing poker in the hospital cafeteria for three hours, but she’d do it for three more if she had to.

  Once everyone had two cards, Chris and Gabriel threw pretzels on the table to cover the blinds, and then the bet went to Nick.

  Nick didn’t glance at his cards, though he slid them between his fingers, leaving his eyes on Hannah. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

  She gave a meaningful glance at the pile of pretzels beside Nick. It easily dwarfed every other pile at the table, despite the fact that Adam kept eating from the stash. “Are you kidding?” she said, trying to keep the mood light. “My pride is at stake.”

  He ignored her attempted humor, but his voice wasn’t unkind. “We’ll be okay, Hannah. You don’t have to stay.”

  His eyes, normally a bright blue, seemed dull and tired, leaving dark shadows above his cheekbones. His skin was pale, those few freckles on his face standing out as if they’d been drawn on. He looked exhausted. They all did.

  She wondered what she looked like. She’d been here just as long as they had.

  “I know I don’t need to stay,” she said quietly. “I want to.”

  “No one wants to spend twenty-four hours in a hospital.”

  “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet. Are you going to bet or what?”

  Now he did glance at his cards, then slid them toward her. “Fold.”

  She turned expectant eyes to Adam, who tossed two pretzels into the center of the table. Hunter followed suit.

  Chris glanced at his cards, then looked at Hannah. His eyes were as tired as Nick’s, cloaked with some combination of wary suspicion and fear. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to stay?”

  “Because I care about your brother.” She met his anger head-on, but she didn’t take it personally. They were all ready to snap. The past day had been a careful mix of distraction and compassion and brutal honesty.

  They’d been up all night long—and while she’d hoped Michael’s brothers would fall asleep on the hospital couches at some point, they never had. Adult Swim on Cartoon Network had held their attention for a while, in a distracted kind of way, but that had worn off around dawn. They’d downloaded half a dozen new apps on their phones. They’d argued with hospital staff and begged for information on their brother—and later, they’d been surly and guarded with the policeman who’d come to ask them questions about what had happened at the Roadhouse.

  Michael’s brothers and Hunter knew less than she did.

  Out of desperation, she’d tried to call her father, but he hadn’t picked up, and he hadn’t answered her texts.

  Around dawn, she’d found board games stashed in a cabinet in the corner, but they’d glared at her when she’d asked if they’d like to play Uno.

  “What?” Gabriel had said, his tone sharp since it was morning and no one had eaten. “No coloring books?”

  “Actually, there are,” she’d said. “Want to see who can make the most inappropriate picture out of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse?”

  So they’d done that. She hadn’t realized how . . . creative a bunch of teen boys could get. But at least it had cut through some of their tension.

  Sometimes they’d sat in silence, just waiting, their worry permeating the very air. At one point she’d stood, planning to take a walk, wondering if maybe her presence was making them more uncomfortable, adding a layer of pressure to hold it together.

  But they’d all looked up in surprise, full of questions about where she was going and whether she was coming back.

  So she’d stayed.

  Adam had shown up at some point this morning, bringing bags of pastries and a box of coffee that was ten times better than the crap in the hospital cafeteria. He’d spent the day here, too.

  As the day had worn on into afternoon, Hannah’s worry had begun to turn to dread. Michael’s brothers should have heard something by now. Her father still wasn’t answering her calls.

  So she’d found a deck of cards. Poker was the first suggestion that had caught their interest. And held it.

  Chris was still watching her with something like a glare on his face. “Can’t you use some of your connections to find out what’s going on?”

  Hunter kicked him under the table. “Can’t you stop being a dick for five minutes?”

  Chris shoved out of his chair and went after him. Gabriel got a hold of him, but not before pretzels and playing cards scattered everywhere.

  Hunter hadn’t moved from his chair. His expression was full of derision. “Can’t you grow up?”

  Chris’s breathing was too quick. “Fuck you, Hunter. What are you even doing here?”

  Gabriel pushed him back in his chair. “Come on, Chris.”

&nbsp
; “Come on, what? He doesn’t need to be here.”

  “Oh, because you give a crap?” said Hunter. “Sure looked like it when you were roaming the woods the other night.”

  Nick was picking up the fallen pretzels. “Stop,” he said, his voice tired.

  “Forget it.” Chris jerked free of Gabriel’s hold and walked away from the table. “I’m done.”

  They all picked up cards and pretzels in silence for a moment. “Should we go after him?” said Adam.

  “Nah,” said Gabriel. “Chris gets buried in his own thoughts sometimes. Leave him alone.”

  He’s scared, thought Hannah. She knew guys like that, other firefighters who would lash out in anger when they were really scared shitless. But she didn’t want to say it, not in front of his brothers.

  “I’ll go,” she said. “Make sure he doesn’t kill someone between here and wherever he’s going.”

  No one stopped her, so she walked out of the cafeteria and into the main hallway. Since it was a Saturday afternoon, the hospital was crowded with visitors and staff, but she caught sight of Chris’s angry form pushing through the double doors to the outside.

  She hustled to catch him, expecting him to keep walking, but he dropped onto the painted bench just outside the doors and stared at the sky.

  Hannah stopped beside him. November air bit her arms and tried to convince her to go back inside, especially when the clouds released a few droplets to sting her cheeks.

  “Freezing rain,” she said. “Want to come back inside?”

  “No.”

  He wasn’t looking at her, and she didn’t know him well enough to know how far she could push. Crystalline droplets were collecting in his hair and on his jacket, melting where they found his face and hands.

  If she had to put money on it, she’d say he was sitting here trying not to cry.

  “Can I sit down?” she asked.

  He looked away from the sky and met her eyes. “Is my brother dead? Is that why they won’t tell us anything?”

  His voice was so bleak that it caught her by surprise. She sat beside him. “No. He was alive when they pulled him out of the rubble.”

  “Then why can’t we see him?”

  “I don’t know.”