“Korbin did it,” she said, shaking her head frantically. “Peter was with Korbin that day, and Korbin left him. He abandoned him. And my husband died.”
“It was an accident, Amanda.”
She ignored this, her voice sounding desperately far away, in another world. “I want him to hurt, Peyton. I want him to hurt like I hurt. Korbin was the easiest target because he acts so goddamn nice. He couldn’t tell me to fuck off even if he wanted to. But he’s so in love with you, and it made me sick.”
“Have you been starting the fires?” I asked. “Are you the arsonist, Amanda?”
She said nothing to this. I’d expected she wouldn’t, but I had to keep her talking, just to buy time.
“Korbin and I didn’t start with our fairy tale,” I told her softly. “It took a lot of heartaches before we could even be together.”
“Then why are you here?” she yelled. “Why did you come back and see him? I know you moved here from Denver, but why? It would have been so much easier without you here.”
“I was here for my mom.” The tremble in my voice was clear, but I no longer cared. At this point, all I had any interest in was staying alive. “My mom, Susan, remember? The nice woman you poisoned.”
Amanda flinched as if I’d slapped her, crazy eyes wide and remorseful.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said softly. “About your mother.”
“Did you do it, Amanda?” I asked. I could see the humanity in her eyes, just a flash of it, and for a moment, I was sure that it might get through to her. She might just forfeit and lower the gun. But she didn’t. “She’s a good woman, my mother,” I continued, hoping to keep her mind on anything else but Korbin or me. “She’s always been my best friend.”
The gun trembled in Amanda’s grip, and she closed her eyes, just for a split second, as if reconsidering these actions. I swallowed, praying silently to God that I’d be spared today. Count on fate to show me unconditional happiness before being killed in my fiancé’s living room.
“Amanda,” I said. “Put the gun down.”
“No.”
I sighed, primarily out of irritation as my arms and hands continued to burn. “Listen,” I said, feeling my patience wear thin. “This is fucking ridiculous, okay? I’m not some hostage negotiator, and you’re not some goddamn Unabomber. So please, spare me the drama and put down the fucking gun.”
My forward approach seemed to catch Amanda briefly off guard. Her hand wavered a bit, lowering a few inches from where it had been pinned on my head. I took another step forward until we were mere feet apart. All I could think about now was disarming her because negotiating didn’t seem to be working as well as I’d hoped.
A second later, Amanda opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to say something, and then she closed it again. I said nothing, hoping that if I allowed her to go on, she would.
“I—I didn’t come here for Korbin,” she said. Although the gun still pointed at my chest, her voice was meek. Frightened. “I came here for the whole department. I wanted revenge. I wanted revenge on those who had wronged me. He just—he got caught in the middle.”
“I understand,” I said quietly, but now Amanda wasn’t really looking at me. Her gaze seemed far away like her body was here, but her mind was elsewhere again. That’s when I knew it could get even more dangerous.
“I just wanted someone to hurt. I wanted someone to blame,” she continued, eyes still in a faraway place. “My life has been nothing for so many years. Just a dark hole to oblivion. I—I just want my husband back.”
I swallowed the fear in my chest, wanting to scream at this girl and shake her into reality.
“They can’t save them all, Amanda,” I said gently. “Korbin goes to work every day and saves people’s lives. Sometimes they save them all, and sometimes they lose some. I can promise that the day something happened to your husband, it was merely an accident. Nobody did it on purpose. Is that what you think?”
Fire lit in Amanda’s eyes briefly, but I didn’t regret the words that came from my mouth. I was angry that she could stand here and hold a gun to me all because her husband was one of the many people that didn’t survive each time.
“I miss him,” she said softly. “He was my family.”
“And Korbin is mine,” I told her. “And so is Hansen, Paisley, and every other firefighter at that station. Does my family mean less than yours for some reason?” I had no idea where I was going with this, but as long as it kept Amanda from putting a hole in me, that’s what mattered. For a long moment, she seemed speechless, like she wasn’t sure how to respond to this. I took another step forward and then another. Now, the gun was less than a foot from my chest.
“Stop walking!” Amanda screamed, but now the pistol trembled in her hand, uncertain. “And stop talking, too. I don’t care! I don’t care what you think!”
I reached out my hand, but Amanda took a step back, now holding the gun between both hands, trying to hold it steady. I opened my mouth to keep the conversation going, hoping to distract her, but before I could say a thing, the sudden noise of someone twisting the front door handle made Amanda flinch. It wasn’t much, but I took my opportunity for distraction and lunged at her as her head tilted to the side momentarily. The front door opened a crack, but my attention was on Amanda and the gun. I slammed my arm into hers, surprising her so that the loaded pistol fell from her grip and hit the living-room carpet. Without giving her time to think about going for it again, I dropped to my knees and grabbed the pistol just as Korbin walked through the front door, stopping dead when he came across the scene in front of him. Amanda’s head spun to look at Korbin, and then her eyes darted towards the still-open door. Panicking like a deer in headlights, she lunged away from me and at the door, probably for a quick escape, but Korbin stopped her, throwing his arms around her midsection as he kicked the door shut with his boot and half-dragged her into the living room.
“What in the hell is going on?” he roared, a fire smoldering his eyes. My fingers wrapped around the pistol, and I held it up, but not before unloading the chamber and tossing it aside, far out of Amanda’s reach.
“She broke in,” I told him, setting the gun down to join Korbin in the living room, where he’d just dropped Amanda onto the couch. She shrieked like a banshee, claws and teeth out, panic overtaking any sense she might have had at one point.
“Is that gun hers?” Korbin demanded. I looked at Amanda, who was still snarling and muttering gibberish.
