Everything hurt and he was tired and his stomach kept churning. He could have walked up the stairs and kicked the door in, could have killed them half a dozen times already, and he wanted to get it over with, but there were people in the store. Cars in the lot. He'd pushed his own car forward with the engine off to a spot beneath a tree at the rear of the store, out of sight from passing cars. He wanted to aim the Glock and pull the trigger, wanted to watch them die, but he also wanted to lie down and go to sleep because he'd never been more tired in his life and when he woke up he wanted to find Erin beside him and think to himself that she had never left him.
Later, he spotted her profile at the window, saw her smiling as she turned away and knew she was thinking about the gray-haired man. Thinking about sex and the Bible says Those who gave themselves over to fornication and strange flesh are set forth for an example and suffering the vengeance of eternal fire.
He was an angel of the Lord. Erin had sinned and the Bible says She shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of holy angels.
In the Bible there was always fire because it purified and condemned, and he understood that. Fire was powerful, the weapon of angels. He finished the bottle of vodka and kicked it under the bushes. A car pulled up to the gasoline pumps and a man stepped out. He slid his credit card in and began to pump gas. The sign near the pump informed people it was illegal to smoke, because gasoline was flammable. Inside the store, there was lighter fluid for use with charcoal. He remembered the man in line ahead of him earlier, holding a can of it.
Fire.
Alex shifted and adjusted his hands on the wheel, trying to get comfortable. Joyce and her daughter were in the backseat and hadn't stopped talking from the moment they'd gotten in the car.
The clock on the dashboard showed it was getting late. The kids were either in bed or soon would be, which sounded good right now. On the drive back, he'd had a bottle of water, but he was still thirsty and debated whether to stop again. He was sure that neither Joyce nor her daughter would mind, but he didn't want to stop. He just wanted to get home.
As he drove, he felt his mind drifting. He thought about Josh and Kristen, about Katie, and he sifted through memories of Carly. He tried to imagine what Carly would say about Katie and whether Carly would have wanted him to give the letter to her. He remembered the day he'd seen Katie helping Kristen with her doll, and recalled how beautiful she had looked on the night she'd made him dinner. The knowledge that she was at his house waiting for him made him want to floor the accelerator.
On the other side of the highway, distant pinpricks of light appeared at the horizon, slowly separating and growing larger, forming headlamps of oncoming cars. They grew brighter until they flashed past. In the rearview mirror, red lights receded into the distance.
Heat lightning crackled to the south, making the sky blink like a slide show. Off to the right was a farmhouse, lights on downstairs. He passed a truck with Virginia plates and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the fatigue he felt. He passed the sign indicating the number of miles to Wilmington and sighed. He still had a ways to go.
Katie's eyelids fluttered as she dreamed, her subconscious working overtime. Bits and pieces, fragments, trying to connect with each other.
The dream ended, and a few minutes later she tucked her knees up and shifted onto her side, almost waking. Her breathing began to slow again.
At ten o'clock the lot was nearly empty. It was just before closing time, and Kevin walked around to the front of the store, squinting at the light coming through the front door. He pushed the door open and heard a bell jingle. At the register was a man in an apron. Kevin vaguely recognized him, but couldn't place him. He was wearing a white apron, the name ROGER stenciled on the right.
Kevin walked past the register, trying not to slur his words. "I ran out of gas up the road."
"Gas cans are along the far wall," Roger answered without looking up. When he finally did, he blinked. "You okay?"
"Just tired," Kevin said from the aisle, trying not to draw attention to himself but knowing the man was watching. The Glock was in his waistband and all Roger had to do was mind his own business. At the far wall, Kevin saw three five-gallon plastic cans and reached for two of them. He brought them to the register and put money on the counter.
"I'll pay after I fill 'em," he said.
Outside, he pumped the gas into the can, watching the numbers roll past. He filled the second and went back inside. Roger was staring at him, hesitating to make change.
"That's a lot of gas to carry."
"Erin needs it."
"Who's Erin?"
Kevin blinked. "Can I buy the damn gas or not?"
"You sure you're okay to drive?"
"I've been sick," Kevin muttered. "Puking all day."
He wasn't sure whether Roger believed him, but after a moment, Roger took the money and made change. Kevin had left the cans near the gas pumps and went to pick them up. It was like lifting cans of lead. He strained, his stomach churning, pulsating pain between his ears. He started up the road, leaving behind the lights of the store.
In the darkness, he set the cans down in the tall grass just off the road. After that, he circled back behind the store. Waiting for Roger to close up, waiting for the lights to go out. Waiting for everyone to fall asleep upstairs. He retrieved another bottle of vodka from the car and took a sip.
In Wilmington, Alex began to perk up, knowing he was getting close. It wouldn't be long now, maybe half an hour before he reached Southport. It would take another few minutes to drop off Joyce and her daughter, but then he would be home.
He wondered if he would find Katie waiting up for him in the living room or whether, as she'd teased, he would find her in his bed.
It was the kind of thing that Carly used to say. They might have been talking about the business or whether her parents were enjoying Florida, when out of the blue, she'd announce that she was bored and ask him whether he wanted to go to the bedroom and fool around.
He stared at the clock. A quarter after ten and Katie was waiting. On the side of the road, Alex saw half a dozen deer frozen on the grass, their eyes reflecting the headlights, glowing like something unnatural. Haunted.
Kevin watched the fluorescent lights above the gas pumps flicker off. Lights in the store went out next. From his hidden vantage point, he watched Roger locking the door. He tugged on it, making sure it was secure, before turning away. He walked to a brown pickup truck parked on the far side of the gravel lot and got in.
The engine started with a whine and squeak. A loose fan belt. Roger revved the engine, turned on the headlights, then put the truck in gear. He turned onto the main road, heading toward downtown.
Kevin waited five minutes, making sure Roger wouldn't turn around and come back. The road in front of the store was quiet now, no cars or trucks coming from either direction. He jogged over to the bushes, where he'd hidden the cans. Checked the road again, and then carried one of them to the back of the store. He did the same with the second can, setting them next to a couple of metal garbage cans filled with rotting food. The stench was overwhelming.
Upstairs, the TV continued to bathe one of the windows in blue light. There were no other lights and he knew they were naked. He felt the rage well up inside him. Now, he thought. It was time. When he reached for the gas cans, he saw four of them. He closed one eye and it was back to two. He stumbled as he took a step and jerked forward, off balance, swaying as he tried to grab the corner of the wall to keep from falling. He missed and fell, landing hard, his head hitting the gravel. Sparks and stars, shooting pains. It was hard to breathe. Tried to stand up and fell again. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the stars.
He wasn't drunk because he never got drunk, but something was wrong. Twinkling lights were whirling round and round, caught in an accelerating tornado. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the spinning got worse. He rolled to his side and vomited onto the gravel. Someone must have slipped
him drugs because he'd barely had anything to drink all day and he'd never been sick like this.
He reached out blindly for the garbage can. He grabbed the lid and tried to use it for balance, but he pulled too hard. The lid clattered off and a bag of garbage spilled out, making an unholy racket.
Upstairs, Katie flinched at the sound of something crashing. She was lost in her dream, and it took a moment for her eyes to flutter open. Groggy, she listened but wasn't sure why, wasn't sure whether she'd dreamed the sound or not. But there was nothing.
She leaned back, giving way to sleep again, and the dream picked up from where it left off. She was at the carnival, on the Ferris wheel, but it was no longer Kristen sitting beside her.
It was Jo.
Kevin was finally able to struggle to his feet and stay upright. He couldn't figure out what was happening to him, why he couldn't keep his balance. He concentrated on catching his breath, in and out, in and out. He spotted the cans of gas and stepped toward them, almost falling again.
But he didn't fall. He lifted a can, then staggered toward the stairs at the back of the house. He reached out for the railing and missed it, then tried again. Got it. He lugged the can of gas up the stairs, toward the door, a Sherpa in the Himalayas. He finally reached the landing at the top, panting, and bent over to remove the cap. His head filled with blood, making him swoon, but he used the gas can to keep from falling. It took awhile before he could get the cap off because it kept slipping between his fingers.
Once open, he picked up the can and doused the landing, splashing its contents against the door. With every heave, the can got lighter, gas spilling out in arcs, drenching the wall. Getting easier now. He splashed left and right, trying to coat either side of the building. He started back down the stairs, splashing left and right. The fumes made him sick but he kept going.
There wasn't much gas left in the can when he reached the bottom and he rested at ground level. He was breathing hard and the fumes were making him feel sick again but he began moving again, with purpose now. Determination. He tossed the empty can aside and reached for the other. He couldn't douse the upper reaches of the walls, but he did what he could. He splashed one side and then circled around the back to the other side. Above him, the window still flickered with light from the television but all was quiet.
He drained the can on the other side of the building and had nothing left for the front. He scanned the road; no cars were coming from either direction. Upstairs, Erin and the gray-haired man were naked and laughing at him and Erin ran away and he almost found her in Philadelphia but back then she was calling herself Erica, not Erin, and now she pretended her name was Katie.
He stood in front of the store, thinking about the windows. Maybe they were alarmed and maybe not. He didn't care. He needed lighter fluid, motor oil, turpentine, anything that would burn. But once he broke the window, he wouldn't have much time.
He shattered the window with his elbow but heard no alarm. Pulling out pieces of glass, he barely felt his fingers getting cut and beginning to bleed. More chunks, the window coming apart in sections. He thought the opening was big enough for him to climb inside, but his arm caught on a jagged shard, deep. He pulled, tearing flesh. But he couldn't stop now. Blood flowed from his arm, dripping and mingling with the cuts on his fingers.
The coolers along the back wall were still illuminated and he walked the aisles, wondering idly if Cheerios would burn, if Twinkies would burn. DVDs. He located the charcoal and the lighter fluid--only two cans, not much. Not enough. He blinked, looking around for something else. He spotted the grill in the rear of the store.
Natural gas. Propane.
He approached the grill area, lifted the divider, and stood facing the grill itself. He turned a burner on, then another. There had to be a valve somewhere, but he didn't know where to find it and he didn't have time because someone might be coming and Coffey and Ramirez were talking about him, laughing and asking whether he'd had the crab cakes in Provincetown.
Roger's apron hung on a rack and he tossed it onto the flame. He opened the can of lighter fluid he was holding and sprayed it on the walls of the grill. The can was slippery with blood and he wondered where the blood had come from. He hopped up onto the counter and squirted some lighter fluid on the ceiling and got down again. He ran a trail of fluid along the front of the store, noticing that the apron had begun to burn in earnest. He emptied the can and tossed it aside. Opening the second can, he squirted more fluid at the ceiling. The flames from the apron began leaping toward the walls and the ceiling. He went to the register and searched for a lighter and found a bunch of them in a plastic bin, near the cigarettes. He squirted lighter fluid on the register and on the little table behind him. The can was empty now, too, and he stumbled toward the window he'd broken earlier. He climbed out, stepping on broken glass, hearing it crack and pop. Standing by the side of the house, he flicked the lighter and held it against the gas-soaked wall, watching as the wood caught fire. At the back of the house, he touched the flame to the stairs and the flames rose quickly, shooting up to the door and spreading to the roof. Next came the far side.
Fire blossomed everywhere, the exterior rippling with flame, and Erin was a sinner and her lover was a sinner and the Bible says They will suffer the punishment of eternal destruction.
He stood back, watching the fire start to consume the building, wiping his face, leaving trails of blood. In the glowing orange light, he looked like a monster.
In her dream, Jo wasn't smiling as she sat beside Katie on the Ferris wheel. She seemed to be searching the crowd below, a frown of concentration on her face.
There, she said, pointing. Over there. Do you see him?
What are you doing here? Where's Kristen?
She's sleeping. But you have to remember, now.
Katie looked but there were so many people, so much movement. Where? she asked. I don't see anything.
He's here, Jo said.
Who?
You know.
In her dream, the Ferris wheel lurched to a stop. The sound was loud, like the shattering of glass, and it seemed to signal a change. The carnival's colors began to fade, the scene below dissolving into cloud banks that hadn't been there a moment before. As if the world were slowly being erased, and then everything suddenly dimmed. She was surrounded by impenetrable darkness, broken only by an odd flickering at the periphery of her vision, and the sound of someone talking.
Katie heard Jo's voice again, almost a whisper.
Can you smell it?
Katie sniffed, still lost in the haze. Her eyes fluttered open, stinging for some reason as she tried to clear her sight. The television was still on and she realized she must have fallen asleep. The dream was already fading away but she heard Jo's words clearly in her head.
Can you smell it?
Katie took a deep breath as she pushed herself to a sitting position and immediately started coughing. It took only an instant to realize that the room was filled with smoke. She bolted off the couch.
Smoke meant fire, and now she could see the flames outside the window, dancing and twisting orange. The door was on fire, smoke billowing from the kitchen in thick clouds. She heard roaring, a sound like a train, heard cracks and pops and splintering, her mind taking it in at once.
Oh, my God. The kids.
She ran toward the hallway, panicked at the sight of heavy smoke billowing from both rooms. Josh's room was closest and she rushed in, waving her arms against the stinging black fog.
She reached the bed and grabbed Josh's arm, dragging him up.
"Josh! Get up! The house is on fire! We've got to get out!"
He was about to whine, but she pulled him up, cutting him off. "C'mon!" she screamed. He immediately began to cough, doubled over as she dragged him out. The hallway was an impenetrable wall of smoke, but she rushed forward nonetheless, pulling Josh behind her. Groping, she found the doorjamb to Kristen's room across the hall.
It wasn't as bad as Josh
's room, but she could feel the enormous heat building behind them. Josh continued to cough and wail, struggling to keep up, and she knew better than to let go. She raced to Kristen's bedside and shook her, pulling her out of bed with her other hand.
The roaring of the fire was so loud, she could barely hear the sound of her own voice. Half-carrying, half-dragging the kids back out into the hallway, she saw an orange glow, barely visible through the smoke, where the entrance to the hallway was. The wall crawled with fire, flames on the ceiling, moving toward them. She didn't have time to think, only had time to react. She turned and pushed the kids back down the hallway toward the master bedroom, where the smoke was less thick.
She rushed into the room, flicking on the light. Still working. Alex's bed stood against one wall, a chest of drawers against another. Straight ahead was a rocking chair and windows, thankfully untouched as yet by fire. She slammed the door behind her.
Racked by coughing spasms, she stumbled forward, dragging Josh and Kristen. Both of them were wailing between hoarse bouts of coughing. She tried to free herself to raise the bedroom window, but Kristen and Josh clung to her.
"I need to open the window!" she screamed, shaking herself free. "This is the only way out!" In their panic, they didn't understand, but Katie didn't have time to explain. Frantically, she tore at the old-fashioned window lock and tried to heave the heavy pane up. It wouldn't budge. Peering closer, Katie realized that the frame had been painted shut, probably years ago. She didn't know what to do, but the sight of the two children staring at her in terror cleared her head. She looked around, frantic, finally seizing the rocking chair.
It was heavy, but somehow she lifted it above her shoulder and heaved it at the window with all her might. It cracked but didn't break. She tried again, sobbing through a last burst of adrenaline and fear, and this time the rocking chair went flying out, crashing onto the overhang below. Moving fast, Katie raced to the bed and tore off the comforter. She bundled it around Josh and Kristen and began pushing them toward the window.