“How long can someone survive…”
“I don’t know.”
They careened down a narrow street in a part of the city Lee had never visited. It seemed industrial; no cafés or pedestrians in sight. Lee’s heart was a jackhammer. She saw the smoke first, then a building on fire. “Oh my God,” she said. “Markos!”
“Γαμ?,” muttered Markos. He pulled to the side of the road and checked his phone, his GPS. In silence, they watched jets of orange and yellow flame envelop a large structure.
“That’s the warehouse?” said Lee.
“Yes.”
“Where are the fire trucks?” cried Lee. “Where are the other police cars?” She opened her door, smelling smoke.
“Lee…” said Markos, holding her elbow.
She twisted away, her voice a wail of anguish, “Why are we the only people here?” Lee started to run toward the building. Windows shattered with sharp, distinct pops, and metal siding glowed a dull red as it warped. Thick columns of smoke rose, blackening the night sky.
“They’re on the way!” said Markos. “They’re on the way, Lee, stop!”
“Regan!” Lee yelled. “Regan!”
Regan had never recovered from the motel where Mr. Ragdale had taken her when she was fourteen years old. Regan had believed in her love story with her teacher completely. But facing the truth that he was a predator and she had been harmed—not loved—changed a fundamental part of Regan’s psyche. Instead of becoming more vigilant about protecting herself, Regan seemed to think she was worthless and would take what she could get.
But she had divorced her abusive husband, the girls’ father, Matt.
She had come all the way to Greece.
Lee would not allow her baby sister’s story to end this way.
Waves of heat distorted the view, the air itself seeming to vibrate, the smoke acrid and thick. As she drew closer to the building, Lee started to choke. Her skin began to sear. For a moment, Lee stopped and put her hands on her knees, trying to inhale. When she bent over, she felt a blistering pain on the top of her head. Markos reached her and tried to bring her back.
Lee wrenched free. She stepped closer to the fire, then closer. If Regan was inside, she would die. Unless Lee got her out. There was no time to wait for whoever Markos said was coming. There was no time.
It was Lee or no one.
As always.
“Regan!” she cried.
Lee staggered forward but halted again. She couldn’t breathe, and the pain of the fire on her body was monstrous. “I don’t care if I die!” she screamed, saying the truth aloud for the first time. “I want to die!” she said, and she forced herself another pace closer and it was true, she wanted everything to end, she did, she wanted to die, but she stopped.
She couldn’t do it. Something in her would not die.
Lee threw her head back and wailed.
She stepped away from the flames.
58
Regan without François
Regan heard voices. She triedto move and could not. The voices were not speaking Greek or English or any language she recognized. There was a light in her eyes. There was pressing on her hand, on her leg, and words she did not understand.
After the light, someone speaking English. “Do you know your name?” asked a man, a man in a doctor coat. She could not remember her name.
“Where am I?”
“Ingilizce konusuyor. What is your name?”
