Angel Fire, Valmore Daniels [rosie project txt] 📗

conclusions.”

I stared at him, stunned, my mouth open and working, but my voice was lost to me.

Shrugging, he said, “I can show you the report if you like.”

* * *

No matter how many times I read those typed words, no revelations were forthcoming. The report was basically what Neil had said: inconclusive.

We were in the filing room in the basement of the fire hall. A lonely overhead light in a metal cover threw a pale yellow glow over us.

“This doesn’t help me,” I told Neil.

He shrugged. “What were you looking for? If there was an electrical problem in the wiring, or if a hot coal from a fireplace jumped onto the carpet, or any of a hundred other reasons were the cause, we would have found it. I know I’m being indelicate, but if the jury believed it was an accident, they would have let you off. Do you believe it was an accident?”

“It was an accident!” I said it louder than I had intended.

Neil put his hands up. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, smiling. “So … you think it might be something paranormal?”

“I’m not crazy! I’m not!” I knew I sounded defensive, but it was a sore point.

“I never said you were,” said Neil. “You were the one who brought it up. Obviously you were thinking it.”

I peered at him and put my hands on my hips. “All right, so I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.” He nodded.

“Why aren’t you dismissing this as the ravings of a madwoman? Anyone else would think I was off my rocker.”

“Well, since we’re baring our souls here,” said Neil, “there have been some things I’ve seen in my life that were beyond explanation. Let’s just say I don’t disbelieve.”

I blinked at him several times. “Really? You’re not just playing? I promise you I won’t appreciate the joke.”

I stared into his eyes, searching for a hint that his words were anything less than genuine. As far as I could tell, he was being honest.

“I wouldn’t tease you,” he said. “Not for something like this. There might be a rational explanation for these kinds of powers, but until someone proves one way or another that these things can or can’t exist, I’ll reserve judgment.”

I relaxed and dropped my hands to my sides. “You sound like my father.”

“Must have been a great guy.” Neil smiled.

“He was.” I nodded as I remembered him. “I loved him. And I loved my mother. I didn’t kill them. I would give anything to have them back. But—”

Neil gently prodded: “But?”

“It was an accident.” I took a deep breath and faced him squarely. “But I think I did start that fire.”

“With your mind?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t have any other explanation.”

He looked away for a moment, as if weighing the information. “All right. Let’s say I believe you.”

He didn’t sound like he was mocking me, or stringing me along to make fun of me later. As a matter of fact, he sounded like he was seriously considering the possibility. I could barely breathe. First my aunt, and now Neil. It was surreal that I wasn’t the only person in the universe who believed that this was possible.

“What do you think you have?” asked Neil.

Barely able to contain my excitement, I wondered if this was what it was like for a parishioner to confess to a priest and unburden their sins.

“I think I have this telepyrosis, as you called it. I don’t know if it’s a gift or—my great-grandmother thought it was a curse. A way of punishing us for some ancient sin. I’m not sure I believe that. But I do know that any time the power comes out, people get hurt or—”

I leaned against the filing cabinet. “I stayed up all night last night talking to my aunt. She told me that this ability was passed down in my family from one generation to the next, only sometimes it skips a generation. This ability is what came out that night with Barry at the motel, and last night at The Trough. It’s what happened the night my parents were killed, and it’s happened a few other times since.”

I didn’t realize that, during my speech, I had grabbed both his hands as if that act would reinforce my words and make him believe me. I so wanted him to believe me.

I looked into his eyes, searching for a hint of what he was thinking. The anticipation was unbearable.

To me, it seemed as if he were coming to some kind of conclusion, but was hesitant to lock it down.

“Can you…?” he started to say, then ran out of words. I saw him struggle. Finally, he asked, “Can you make it happen whenever you want?”

My elation faded. “No. That’s the problem. I can’t control it at all. It controls me.”

Neil made the connection. “Those words you spoke at the bar.”

“My mantra. It’s supposed to calm me down, distract me or something. A friend of mine taught that to me.”

“And does it work?”

“Most of the time. But lately, it’s been getting more difficult to stop it from happening. This power overcomes me when I’m extremely angry, or if I feel my life is in danger. And it just, I don’t know, replaces me. I literally see red.” Then I laughed. “You probably think I’m nuts. I tell you I have a superhuman power, but I can’t prove it. I’d think I was nuts. I almost can’t believe that you believe me.”

“Well…” he began. “Other than making you angry to find out the truth, I guess I just have to trust my instincts. As I said before, I’ve seen some fairly inexplicable things in my time.”

“Really?”

Neil seemed to become uncomfortable with the question, and gestured at the report I had dropped on the top of the filing cabinet. “So, was that what you wanted to research? Were you hoping to find something in there that would tell you where this is coming from?”

“Yeah, and maybe a way to control it. My aunt said my great-grandmother had this ability—or curse, or whatever you want to call it; but she was somehow able to control it and hide it from everyone.”

“How did your aunt know, then?”

“Apparently, my great-grandmother Beatrice kept a secret journal.”

“A journal?” Neil asked, and something in the way he asked piqued my interest.

“Yeah.”

He snatched up the report and flipped through a few of the pages. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and turned the folder around for me to see. When I shook my head, he pointed.

At the bottom of the report, Chief Hrzinski had written:

As instructed, will keep personal effects in lockup until case is inactive.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means there’s a possibility what you’re looking for is right here in this building—in the lockup.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a key ring. “Let’s go see if anything is still there.”

 

Chapter Seventeen

The fire hall had a caged storage room where they kept evidence gathered from various investigations. Neil explained that the police were usually required to keep evidence as long as a case was open, and in arson-related investigations the fire department had a similar policy. Although I was out on parole, my case was technically still active until I’d fully served my sentence.

Neil unlocked the cage and we both went inside the storage area and started our search.

“Here it is,” he said when he found a carton with my name on it.

We ripped it open and I saw the journal for the first time. It was bound with a leather cover and a small lock—the strap was busted off. A pattern of flowers was etched on the face in gold relief, and stamped in the center was the word ‘Journal’ in fancy lettering. My excitement got the better of me, and I plucked it out of the box and started to flip through the pages. My heart beat fast and my breathing came in such a rush, I could barely get out my words.

“This is fantastic! I can’t believe it didn’t burn up.”

I started to walk out of the room with the journal, but Neil stopped me. “Darcy, I’m sorry. That’s still official evidence. We can’t remove it from this room.”

“Oh.” My disappointment was crushing. “Well, can I read it here?”

“Sure, but you’ll have to have someone with you when you do. It’s the rules. But I have to get back upstairs, soon. Sorry,” he repeated.

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s no problem. Listen, I have to get home now anyway. My aunt’s going to be furious with me for making a scene at church this morning. Can I come back later?”

Neil checked his watch. “Yeah. I’ve still got that paperwork to do. It’s going to take me a couple hours. Maybe we could grab some dinner? We could come back here afterwards.”

I looked at him to see if I could tell from his body language if he was asking for a date, but he waited for my answer with that calm smile of his. “Dinner?” I echoed. “Sounds great. Here, let me put this back and we can get out of here.”

When Neil turned around and headed for the door, I mimed putting the journal back in the carton. Then, using my body to block his line of sight, I slipped the journal under my arm inside of Neil’s jacket, which I still wore. I wasn’t proud of it, but I couldn’t wait to read the journal. I had to know what my great-grandmother wrote.

We exited the basement and, before I left the fire hall, I said, “Thank you again, Neil. It means more to me than you can guess. I’m glad you listened and glad you didn’t automatically think I was a lunatic.”

“Not at all. I’ll see you at the motel later?”

“Yes.” On impulse, I leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. Before either of us could succumb to any additional awkwardness, I asked, “Can I keep the jacket for the walk home?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

I left him there, both of us smiling.

* * *

I couldn’t walk back home fast enough. Aunt Martha was going to be livid with me, and I quickened my pace.

When I got two blocks down, an odd thought occurred to me. I was so preoccupied with the discovery of the journal, and with Neil asking me to dinner, that I hadn’t wondered at how easily he had believed my story. I’m sure if someone told me what I told him, I would think they were off their rocker.

Perhaps I subconsciously wanted Neil to believe me so badly that when he did, it felt natural. Now two people in the world shared my secret with me. That I didn’t have to bear this burden entirely alone gave me something I didn’t have yesterday after the incident with Barry at The Trough: it gave me a sense of belonging, a sense that there might still be a place for me in the world.

I made a note to follow up on that thought later at dinner. As I got near the motel, my thoughts turned to more pressing issues: What had my great-grandmother written in her journal? There were a few things missing from the puzzle of my power: the why of it, and the how of it. I hoped the journal might shed some light on the mystery.

I had never met Great-Grandmother Beatrice. My mother had a few photographs hung in frames on the stair wall, old dusty sepia renditions