What started as wisps and curls of smoke, begins to escalate until it pours in.
And I’ll be trapped up here if I don’t get out.
I run to the bedroom and grab an armful of clothes off the chair and slide my feet into my sneakers. It’s too dangerous to waste time pulling them on. Just as I reach the door and open it, I think of something.
Dropping my clothes, I run back inside and grab my grandmother’s photo album, and the painting I did of Knox and me.
When I step out onto the stairs that lead down to the parking lot, I see my father’s personal car. Even though Knox had told me he was the only person headed my way, I guess I was hoping he was wrong.
Shit.
The gun Knox gave me that’s safely tucked in my bedside table.
Why didn’t I think to grab it?
Because despite everything you know about your father, a piece of you still believed there was a chance he loved you.
My hands shake as I tug on the track pants, stumbling to get my feet through in my hurry to pull them over my sleep shorts.
The panic bubbles into sobs.
And that’s when I see the first lick of orange flames, just as my father walks out the store. He pulls the disposable gloves off his hands once he closes the door.
I stand still, frozen on the stairs.
Maybe he won’t see me, but no sooner is the thought in my head than he looks up at the stairs with a smug grin on his face and spots me. The grin slips in shock.
For a second, my brain refuses to make sense of it all. My father is setting fire to the bait shop.
My father.
Not some evil villain or warlord.
My own flesh and blood.
“Dad.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
He jerks violently, then… “Maren, quick. I was driving by and saw the store was on fire. We need to get you out of here. I called for emergency backup already.”
A window shatters under the intensity of the heat behind my father, and I can’t hold back the scream that escapes. Smoke billows out, and fire starts to lick up the wooden-clad building. It can’t spread to the new building, given the construction material, but the loss of this one would be irreplaceable.
The stairs are the only thing separating us, but the smoke is choking me, and the flames are inching towards me.
I try to squint down the road, for any sign of light from Knox’s bike.
But I don’t see it.
The longer I stay up here, the safer I am from my father, but the more at risk I am from the smoke and flames.
I glance over the railing and contemplate jumping. But broken legs won’t help me.
“Maren. Quickly,” my father encourages.
I know it’s a ruse, and yet, I don’t have any other choice. I drop the photo album and painting over the top of the stairs to the parking lot below.
I run down the stairs, hoping to gain momentum, enough to push my father out of the way. Instead, he bands his armsaround me as I try to shove him away. The sickeningly intense scent of something that smells a lot like gasoline hits me.
I try to fight, sending my head backwards in the hope I’ll smash his nose.
