Angel Fire, Valmore Daniels [rosie project txt] 📗

I could feel the anger stirring. This was not the kind of personal information I wanted dredged up in front of anyone, least of all Neil, the new fire-chief-in-training. Never mind that I didn’t even know him, first impressions were lasting impressions, and the last thing I wanted was this kind of drama my first week home. I just wanted to put it all in the past and rebuild my life. Some people, however, just couldn’t let go of old wounds.

My heart can beat. Wait. I said that one already. My stomach can digest…

The mix of anger and embarrassment I felt threatened to make me lose control; and that was not something I could afford to do.

My legs can—

“But like the stupid idiot you are,” Barry continued, “you ended up killing your own parents!”

I felt the burning in my hands, but I couldn’t stop it.

I yelled, “I wish it was you in the cemetery, you sick bastard!”

Barry roared in anger. “Bitch!” He lunged at me, hands outstretched.

Reacting without thinking, I grabbed his wrists before his meaty paws could find my throat.

My hands shook with the effort to hold him off, and also from another kind of exertion. A kind of energy swelled inside me. It wanted out.

At first, Barry was so outraged, he didn’t feel anything, but as black smoke began to billow out from between my hands and his arms, Barry’s rage quickly turned to surprise and then fear.

“What the hell?” he yelled.

I could smell his flesh burning.

Barry screamed, and jerked his arms back, but the power inside me had taken control and I could not let go of him.

Control!

I had to regain control! I had to finish the mantra properly.

My heart can beat.

I couldn’t let it out.

My stomach can digest.

But Barry’s shrieking ruined my concentration.

My legs can walk!

No! I had kept it contained for so long, I was not going to falter now.

My body is calm!

I forced myself to focus on my hands, release my fingers.

I AM IN CONTROL!

With excruciating effort, I let go of Barry’s wrists, but it was too late. His sleeves were on fire.

“Aaagh!” he screamed. The look on his face was a cross between rage, shock and panic. Waving his arms around like a startled chicken trying to fly, he only made it worse. Frank threw what was left of his beer on Barry, and it was only then that Barry came to his senses and beat the flames out with his hands.

Staring at his smoldering sleeves, Barry yelled, “You little maniac! What did you do?”

The sneering smiles had disappeared from Troy’s and Frank’s faces. Frank scowled and smashed the bottom of his beer bottle against the counter, sending shards of glass spraying all over.

Frank pointed the shattered bottle at me. “I’m gonna make you cry, you bitch—”

Just then, a torrent of steaming coffee splashed across his face. His shrieks of pain only got louder when he gingerly touched his scalded skin.

Standing in a defensive crouch, Neil brandished the empty coffee pot as a weapon.

“All of you,” he said. “I think it’s time to leave.”

Troy, sporting a look of astonishment, was clearly torn with indecision. A coward at heart, he flicked his eyes back and forth between Neil and his injured friends.

Somehow, I found my voice.

“It’s over, Barry. It has been for a long time. You should never have come here.”

Barry glowered. “Oh, I’ll be back. Just you count on it, bitch.”

Nursing his blistered wrists, he backed out the door, Troy and Frank following in his wake.

Watching my three assailants stagger out of the parking lot and make their way down the street, I became aware that Neil was staring at me. As if realizing only then he still had the empty coffee container in his shaking hand, he placed it on the counter with exaggerated care.

My heart was pounding from the altercation, and I wanted nothing more than to run into the back office, lock the door, and cry. But I didn’t want Neil to see me in that kind of condition, so I forced myself to smile as if I wasn’t on the edge of losing it.

“Thank you. I probably could have handled it myself. But, thank you…”

Neil let out his breath as if he’d been holding it for a very long time.

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” He regarded me with a hesitant expression on his face, and then cleared his throat.

“What?” I asked.

“So,” he said casually. “You got a pack of matches and some lighter fluid behind the counter there?”

I could feel my face flush, and pretended to be interested in a coffee-stained receipt. With a shrug, I stammered out an explanation. “Uh, no. I don’t know how that happened. Maybe he had a cigarette butt in his sleeve or something that just finally ignited.”

Lame.

Neil opened his mouth to say something, but then reconsidered. He gestured to the telephone on the counter.

“You going to call the cops and report him? I can witness.”

“Wouldn’t do any good. Frank was right.”

“Oh?”

“Sheriff Burke is Barry’s father. If I called this in, the sheriff would be more likely to arrest me rather than Barry.”

Neil gave me a puzzled look.

“It’s a long story,” I told him. “I’m just sorry you had to see that. Some welcome to Middleton, huh?”

“Right.” He let out a dry laugh, then looked at me in concern. “Do you want me to hang out a bit, just in case they come back?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Barry’s a classic bully if you ever saw one. If it looks like he’s outgunned, he’ll run. He might come back, but it won’t be tonight.”

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah. You go on, get yourself settled. I’m about to lock up in a few minutes anyway.”

“All right, but I’m a light sleeper. If you need me—”

I waved him off. “I can handle it. But thanks. Hey, listen, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about anything that was said here.”

“You mean about … your parents?”

“It was an accident.” I sighed. “It was a long time ago. I was just a kid.” I squeezed my eyes together to stop the tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s a very personal story, but if you’re going to be moving to Middleton, I’d rather you heard the truth than rumor.” I couldn’t believe how bold I was being. I could feel my face flush a deep scarlet as I said, “Maybe I can buy you a real cup of coffee sometime and tell you about it.”

Neil gave me a wide grin. “No problem. Sounds good.”

He took a step toward the door and turned on his heel. “Who is this Barry character, anyway, other than the sheriff’s son?”

Why did everyone always have to see me at my worst, and why did all my deepest regrets have to be out on display for everyone to gawk at? How could I expect to start my life over if everyone kept dredging up my past?

Reluctantly, I told him: “He’s my ex-husband.”

 

Chapter Eight

I was plagued with dreams of fire and destruction. The nightmare was the same, but this time I could not wake from it.

I tossed and turned, kicked the sheets off me, and moaned. My skin was hot and feverish. I clutched at my chest.

“No!”

There was a sound like logs cracking in a bonfire, and the glass on my nightstand shattered into a thousand pieces, splashing me with cold water. The shock woke me and I jerked to a sitting position.

“It was an accident.” I breathed the words without realizing I said them.

It took me a moment to orient myself, wondering why my sheets were wet, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that someone was knocking impatiently on my door. A sliver of light penetrated through the drawn curtains of my room. A glance at my alarm clock told me it was still quite early in the morning.

The knocking at the door persisted, so I swung my legs out of the bed and fumbled for my jeans and shirt.

“What?” I barked.

The only reply was another demanding thump.

“Fine! I’m coming. Just hold your horses.”

Realizing I had put my shirt on backwards, I twisted it around and slid my arms back through the sleeves. I didn’t bother with socks or shoes, and padded barefoot to the door.

My stomach did a lazy flip-flop when I put one eye to the peep hole and saw Sheriff Burke.

“Shit.”

This was not going to be pleasant. I slapped the deadbolt back, cracked open the door and poked my head out.

“Darcy Anderson,” said Sheriff Burke, puffing his chest out and giving me a stern disapproving eye. He stood in front of his car, hands on hips and feet planted shoulder-width apart. His uniform was one size too small and his hat was one size too big. If I wasn’t so nervous, I would have laughed.

“I need to have a word with you,” he said, and I could hear the venom in his voice.

“Sheriff?” I stepped outside my room, letting the door close behind me. The boards of the walkway were cold on my feet. “What’s this about?”

I knew damned well what it was about, but ten years’ experience with prison guards and their leading questions had taught me that feigning ignorance was the best defense.

“What’s this about?” he parroted. “Well, for starters, how about not coming by the station upon arrival in Middleton to check in? I received a very unpleasant phone call this morning wondering why I hadn’t filed my location report on you yet. I have to find out you’re back in town from some ass-jerk bureaucrat in Phoenix. You know how that made me look? I have half a mind to place you under arrest for parole violation and send you back for another ten years.”

I had to bite my tongue. “Sorry, Sheriff. I guess it sort of slipped my mind.”

“And secondly,” he continued, working himself up into a good rant. “I just spent the last half an hour listening to Frank Simmons tell me how you threw a pot of hot coffee in his face for no good reason.”

“No reason?” I fumed. “Let me tell you—”

He waved a hand to shut me up. “I ain’t interested in your lies. You’re on thin ice as it is. The only reason you’re not in lock-up right now is Frank and that half-wit Troy couldn’t get their stories straight.”

“I didn’t throw any coffee at anyone.”

“I said I don’t care.” He glared at me a moment longer to make sure I wasn’t going to talk back. I pressed my lips together tight.

He pointed toward town. “All I care about is that you march your skinny little butt into my office no later than three o’clock today and fill out those damned location papers, or I swear by all that’s holy you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life behind bars where you belong.”

I took a deep breath. I’d always known I would have to face Barry and his father at some point. If I couldn’t control my emotions now, I never would, and I might as well pack my things and skip town. There would be no chance of rebuilding my life; I would forever be running from my past and myself.

I am in control.

At that moment, someone cleared their throat, and Uncle Edward stepped out of the maintenance room and leveled his not inconsiderable gaze at Sheriff Burke.

“Edward.” Sheriff Burke’s eyes flicked back and forth between my uncle and me.