I run to the neighbor’s across the street and climb the porch. I don’t bother pounding on the door, just walk right in. Her elderly neighbor, Herb, startles with wide eyes. He and Clyde were friends.
“Where’s your shower?” I shout.
He shoots an arm out. “H-hallway, right side,” he stutters. “Son, is that gasoline?”
I dash toward the bathroom, and after setting her in the bathtub, I drop to my knees and tear off her soaked clothes as quickly as I can.
“Watch her eyes!” he shouts behind me. “Don’t let it get in her eyes!”
She squints, wrinkling up her nose and sealing her lips closed as I carefully stretch the neck of the shirt to avoid her face and slip off her head. Then I peel off the wet pants and underwear that stick to her skin, and finally my own shirt that absorbed gasoline while carrying her out of there.
The old man enters the doorway. “Give me the clothes,” he says, reaching for them shakily while turning his head away from Kelly.
I plop the soggy pile of pants and shirts into his arms, and he disappears.
Kelly flinches when the initial cold shower spray hits her skin. “Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart.” I instruct, gripping the shower head attachment and rinsing her face off, giving her intermissions to breathe in between.
The water mixes with the cut on her hand and circles around the drain with a light reddish-brown hue.
“I’m gonna throw up,” she says, leaning forward on her knees, bracing one palm on the bottom of the tub and gripping the side of the basin with the other.
I gather her hair in my fist to keep it out of the way and gently brush my thumb over her white knuckles. Her weak body heaves up the liquid contents of her stomach. It looks like red wine but has the same smell as the gasoline fumes that have already eaten up the air in this small bathroom.
The memory of Kelly thrashing around while Piper clumsily tried to pour gasoline down her throat tenses every muscle in my body, filling me with unbridled rage. If Kelly didn’t needme right now, I’d be racing into the inferno to take care of her myself.
“It burns,” she sobs, her voice raw.
“How much did you swallow?”
She shakes her head. “Only a little bit.” Her body heaves again, but nothing comes up.
“Can you bring us a glass of water?” I shout to Herb.
He returns with a large cup. “I’m not looking!” he announces, holding it out for me to take, and I pass it to Kelly. “Keep rinsing your mouth out,” I tell her.
She nods.
Herb shuffles behind me, crossing the bathroom like a man on a combat mission, and shoves open the windowsill. Fresh air streams in.Thank God.I glance up at a shirtless Herb. His entire back is a collage of aged, once-vibrant tattoos.
“Where’s the monster that did this?” he demands. He peers out the window, turning his head left to right as if he’s going to find the suspect and kill them with his bare hands. I like Herb.
“They’re still in the house,” I reply with a flat voice, turning back to Kelly.
He quietly stares out the window, no doubt watching as Kelly’s house is devoured by flames. The crash of windows shattering across the street is barely audible over the running water. Herb slowly hobbles while turning around. “Hot water and soap,” he says. “You’re gonna need to rinse her skin for a while to make sure you get it all. I’ll see if I can find my phone to call 911.”
I pull my cell from my pocket and hold it out for him to use.
“No, no,” he mutters, giving me a firm look. “I’ll find mine. Shouldn’t take me too long to remember where I put it.”
“Appreciate it, Herb,” I say, giving him a nod.
“There’s fresh towels in the cabinet,” he calls, exiting the room. The air in here is finally smelling less like gasoline fumes—now it has a different smell. The acrid, bitter aroma of smoke and burning plastic.
“Look at me,” I whisper, lifting her chin to check her eyes for signs of redness, and as soon as her gaze finds mine, I want to break down. She looks at me so trusting, even though the whole reason she’s injured is because of me. I clear my throat, clearing away the emotion. “Your eyes look good.”
“Very kind of you to hand out compliments when I’m this . . . unpolished,” she says, her voice raspy.
“You fought for your life today; if you think that makes you less beautiful you’re out of your goddamn mind,” I mutter. “I’m sorry?—”
