Two years.
Two years of eighteen-hour days, of sleeping on the office couch when I couldn’t afford both rent and supplies, of building something beautiful from nothing. Gone in minutes.
I press my hands to my mouth, trying to hold back the sob that threatens to tear me apart.
The heat from the fire makes my eyes water, or maybe that’s just grief. I can’t tell anymore.
“Ma’am?” a gravelly voice behind me makes me turn. “Are you Dr. Conti?”
The fire chief is a mountain of a man, probably in his fifties, with silver hair and kind brown eyes that have seen too many disasters.
His yellow turnout coat is streaked with soot, and exhaustion lines every inch of his weathered face.
He looks like someone’s grandfather, the type who’d fix your bicycle chain and sneak you extra cookies when your parents weren’t looking.
“Yes.” My voice comes out as a croak. “This is—this was my clinic.”
His expression softens with genuine sympathy. “I’m Chief Rodriguez. We spoke on the phone. I’m real sorry about this, doc. I can only imagine how much this place meant to you.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Behind him, firefighters continue to spray water onto the inferno, but it’s clearly a lost cause. They’re just trying to keep it from spreading to the neighboring buildings.
“Can you tell me what happened?” I manage to ask, wrapping my arms around myself to try to keep warm. Or keep myself upright. I’m not sure right now.
“Preliminary investigation suggests a gas leak. The main line must have ruptured and ignited.” He shakes his head. “These old buildings, sometimes the infrastructure just gives out without warning.”
But that’s wrong. That’s completely wrong, and the knowledge sits in my stomach like a stone.
“Chief Rodriguez,” I say carefully, “the gas lines to this building were shut off this morning for maintenance. I watched the utility crew do it.”
His bushy eyebrows draw together. “You sure about that?”
“Positive. They marked the lines as inactive before I left for lunch.” I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “This wasn’t an accident.”
Rodriguez studies me for a long moment, and I can see him mentally shifting from consolation mode to investigation mode. “Ma’am, are you saying you think someone did thisdeliberately?”
Before I can answer, my phone rings. Unknown number.
Ugh, seriously? Spam callers at this hour?
I almost decline the call, but something makes me hesitate.
With everything that’s happened, maybe it’s someone who saw the fire and has information.
I bring the phone to my ear, heart hammering. “Hello?”
Silence. Then a mechanical voice, processed through some kind of distortion device, “Have you talked to your father recently, Dr. Conti?”
Time seems to slow down and my heart seizes. “W-Who is this?” I demand, ignoring Rodriguez’s puzzled look. “What do you want?”
“You should check on him,” the voice continues. “Family is so important, don’t you think? Especially when they’re…alone.”
The line goes dead.
My blood turns to ice as I slowly lower the phone. I can barely hear the fire chief calling my name.
Dad.
I fumble for his contact, pressing call with trembling fingers that won’t seem to work properly.
