Burn Girl (26 page)

The last two days, I'd crossed the highway and sneaked into the Holiday Inn breakfast room to steal a bagel and a small box of cereal. I needed something I could grab fast. Part of me wished I could smell the freshly made waffles the tourists were having before they went hiking or rafting.

The young guy at the front desk caught me the second day. His eyes were sleepy and sad. When he shook his head no, I knew I couldn't go back a third day.

Mom had warned me not to leave the room when she was away, that it'd look suspicious for a twelve-year-old girl to be out alone. But if she didn't care enough to make sure I wasn't hungry, then I didn't care enough to obey her.

Anyway, it was Saturday, not a school day. No one would think it was weird for me to be out walking around. I pulled on a ratty, long-sleeved T-shirt that one of Mom's friends had left behind in our room. I'd learned never to wear anything nice where I was going.

I jogged down the alley for three blocks, then ducked behind a delivery truck that was parked in the back of Mama's Boy Italian restaurant. I only had to wait fifteen minutes before two kitchen workers brought out the trash.

When the guys had gone back inside and I was sure no one was looking, I hoisted myself to the edge of the dumpster and jumped inside. I wore heavy hiking boots so I wouldn't accidentally cut myself on broken glass or the sharp edge of a tin can.

Because I couldn't smell or taste, I wasn't choosy. Still, I didn't want to get food poisoning. I usually looked for pieces of bread left over from the baskets they put on everybody's tables. I also looked for discarded pizza slices because the meat and cheese made me feel full longer.

I'd been in the dumpster a couple of minutes before I noticed the police car. A female officer approached and she didn't look happy.

“Hey, there. Want to tell me what you're doing?”

I loved how authority figures asked the obvious and didn't expect a kid to reply with a snarky comment. I didn't say a word though. I thought through my options. Getting out of the dumpster and then outrunning a cop car didn't seem like a good one.

Before the officer could speak again, Mo pushed herself through the hedge lining the alley. She brushed off leaves and twigs that clung to her hair.

“Sorry, Officer. That's my sister, CeeCee. I dared her to go dumpster diving, but I never thought she'd take me seriously.” Mo rolled her eyes for effect.

“And who are you?” the officer asked.

“I'm Maureen Mooney. We live a block over.”

While the officer listened to Mo's explanation, I pulled myself out of the dumpster and walked toward them.

“You smell awful,” Mo said. “Mom and Dad are going to be mad.”

“Only if you tell them,” I played along.

The officer let us off with a warning, but not before scolding us for trespassing on private property and endangering our health and safety by going through other people's trash.

I saluted her as she drove off.

Mo yanked my arm down. “You want to get in even more trouble?”

Ever since I'd met Mo the year before, she'd been showing up at the motel with schoolwork and books even though I wanted nothing to do with school. More than once, I told her to leave me alone, but she kept at it. I don't know how she showed up at exactly the right time in the alley, but I'm glad she did.

“You stalking me now?” I asked.

“Whatever.” Mo took off walking down the alley and I followed.

“Why are you mad?” I asked.

Mo turned and faced me. “Because you needed something to eat and you didn't ask me for help.”

My cheeks grew hot. I thought about lying, but that'd be stupid considering she'd caught me going through garbage to find food. She thought of us as friends, but I didn't have friends.

“You don't have to be embarrassed,” she said.

“I'm not.”

“You're red.”

I brought my palm to my face. “What do you know anyway?”

“I know that friends count on each other,” she said.

When I didn't answer, she walked away. I let her get to the end of the block before calling out. “Hey, Mo! Wait up.”

We didn't say much as we walked. I let her take the lead.

“Where are we going?” I finally asked.

“My house,” she said. “You stink.”

I didn't want to know where she lived. I didn't want her parents to see me like this. And I didn't think it was safe that someone knew so much about me and Mom.

“They're not home,” she said.

“Who?”

“My parents.”

She had an almost creepy way of reading my thoughts, but I was grateful she offered the information before I decided to run back to the motel.

Mo's house was everything I didn't want it to be: a life-size dollhouse painted light blue with curly white trim around the edges of the porch. Inside, the furniture seemed brand new, as if no one ever sat on the chairs or sofa. The kitchen was almost all white, except for the stainless-steel refrigerator and stove. Every surface was shiny. In this too-perfect world, I felt dirty and checked the soles of my boots to be sure I wouldn't mess up the floor.

“So, was that a fake name you gave the cop, or do you really have a sister named CeeCee?” I sat on a bar stool, careful not to put the arms of my stained shirt on the counter.

“I had a sister. Celine's dead now.” Mo offered no further explanation as she grabbed bread and peanut butter and honey, and set about making sandwiches for us. “Would you get the milk from the fridge?”

I didn't ask about CeeCee, although I was curious. I figured Mo would tell me more some other day. And one day I'd tell her that I couldn't smell or taste, and that sticky peanut-butter sandwiches were one of my least favorite foods in the world.

CHAPTER 31

With Mo's back to me, I couldn't tell if she'd fallen asleep or not. If I waited much longer, Lloyd would reach the trailer before me. I needed to get there first so I could grab Frank's gun.

I sat up as slowly as I could manage. No movement from Mo. When I swung my legs over the side of the bed, she sighed but made no other sound. The moon cast enough light in the room for me to find my jeans and T-shirt. I couldn't find my jacket so I borrowed Mo's fleece and a ball cap.

When we were younger and I didn't want to risk running into her dad, I'd climb the oak in her backyard to reach the roof of the sunroom, which was just below her bedroom window. The tree would be my means of escape tonight.

The window opened without a sound, although the rushing in my ears made it hard for me to determine how loud I was actually being. Light rain had left everything with a glossy sheen. Much to my relief, the rubber soles on my sneakers gripped the shingles on the roof.

I quickly closed the window and scrambled down the tree, careful not to lose my grip on the wet limbs or drop my backpack. The moonlight that had helped me get dressed now made me feel like a burglar caught in the lights of a police helicopter.

Brittany and her parents still lived next door to Mo's family, but thankfully the house was dark. I shivered to think how much more complicated things could get if she spotted my escape.

I crouched low and made my way to the fence gate. The space between the boards gave me a good view of the police car posted in the alley. It faced away from me, opposite the direction I needed to go. Still, all it would take was one quick glance in the cop's rearview mirror and I'd be busted. I needed a diversion.

I scanned the ground for a rock or brick, something heavy enough to throw over the fence and squad car that would get the officer's attention. Mo's dad kept the backyard immaculate—definitely nothing in the immediate vicinity for me to pick up. I crept back over to the patio and grabbed a small flowerpot filled with soil, praying it'd do the trick.

I heaved the pot over the car and down the alley. It soared for a good way before hitting the pavement and shattering.

As soon as the officer leaped from the car with his flashlight, I opened the gate and took off running. I didn't dare look behind me until I'd reached the side street. From there, I cut across the parking lot of a gas station and disappeared into the darkness.

It took me longer than I thought to jog back to our trailer. I had told Lloyd to meet me at two a.m. and it was already ten minutes past that. The city still hadn't fixed the street lamp and Frank had never gotten the chance to install motion-detecting lights, but the full moon illuminated the entire yard.

As I rounded the back of the trailer, I spotted Lloyd on the top step near the front door of the Airstream, working at the lock. He had a handgun stuck in the back of his jeans. If I had shown up just a few minutes later—a few
seconds
later—I wouldn't have seen him arrive. I would have unknowingly opened the door.

A weapon. I needed a weapon. The gun in Frank's fake Bible was now useless. One of Frank's tools might suffice, but he locked them in the small shed every night. Even if it wasn't locked, I couldn't get to it without crossing the yard and risking that Lloyd would see me.

He had a gun. Fear washed over me, draining every bit of strength I had. Of course he had a gun. I felt foolish. A little girl thinking she could fight back against the monster in her nightmares. I wanted nothing more than to be back in Mo's bed, warm and dry under the quilt.

Crashes and thumps erupted from within the trailer. He was probably trashing the place, looking for the cash I said Frank had stashed there. Crouching beneath the trailer's bedroom window, I pressed my back to the metal exterior and inhaled, struggling to fill my lungs and squelch the doubts paralyzing me. The rain had soaked my jeans and fleece hoodie. I'd lost the ball cap on my run from Mo's. Water dripped from my hair and I swiped it from my eyes.

An image of Frank in the ICU, tenuously connected to life via tubes and wires, failed to steel my nerves. I was going to totally lose it right here and now, when I was so close to finding the truth.

Mom, tell me what to do. I'm scared
.

Then I remembered the wheel chocks. The red triangles of heavy-duty rubber kept the wheels of the trailer from rolling. A loop of synthetic cord made it easy to remove the one closest to me. It was heavier than I expected and definitely not easy to hold with one hand, but like a medieval spiked ball and chain, the wheel chock would do some serious damage if I could catch Lloyd unaware. Otherwise, the chock was useless against a gun.

I crab-walked along the side of the trailer until I stood on the far side of the front door, shaking violently from adrenaline overload. I bent down beside the steps. I needed him to exit the trailer so I hammered my fist against it.

The screech of the metal screen sent an additional jolt into my limbs. He walked out on the first step, his cowboy boots at eye level. He held the gun in one hand and a flashlight in the other. I stood and swung the chock upward, connecting with Lloyd's groin. Doubled over and cursing, he tumbled down the steps and onto the muddy ground. He reached for me with one outstretched arm. I wound up one more time and brought the chock down on his head.

The street remained quiet, empty. No one had witnessed what I'd done. Lloyd didn't move, but he was still breathing. His ball cap and wig had come off in the fall. The gash on his head bled profusely. I looped my arms under his armpits. With short bursts, I heaved backward, dragging his body only inches with each pull. I'd never get him up the steps to the trailer.

The rain came down harder now. Ignoring the searing pain in my arms and back, I dragged Lloyd toward the construction site. The slick mud made it easier to pull him except that my feet also slipped as I struggled with that much deadweight. One last heave and we were inside the shell of the house. I felt a bizarre sense of elation, as if I'd accomplished something heroic instead of hiding a person I'd injured badly.

I backed away, letting Lloyd slump to the floor, then shucked off my backpack. The house was dark except for moonlight that shone through the window openings cut in the plywood sheathing. A black stain widened on the floor near Lloyd's head, but I couldn't see how bad his wound was. I took off the fleece and balled it around my hand. The fabric, soaked from the rain, made a squishing sound when I pressed it to his skull to stop the bleeding.
All that blood
.

I needed light. Even though the house didn't have wiring yet, Frank had used heavy-duty extension cords to run electricity from the trailer to his thousand-watt halogen work lights. The powerful bulbs could illuminate the entire first floor while he was putting up drywall. I saw the outline of one at the far side of the room. I carefully made my way to it and felt along the floor for the extension cord. My shaking hands managed to fit the plug into the lamp's socket.

The instant shock of light and heat stunned me, and I stumbled backward. I turned to Lloyd. He moaned in pain but lay still.

I gasped when I saw his face. The wheel chock to the head wasn't his only injury. One eye was swollen shut, and his chin and cheek had cuts. Frank must have put up a fight before Lloyd knocked him out.

I spotted another extension cord on the floor. Maneuvering behind Lloyd's back, I wrapped the cord around his wrists and then around a wall stud. He groaned into consciousness and I backed away quickly. He looked like the subject of an interrogation gone very wrong.

“Didn't think you'd come.” He spat blood onto the floor, but most remained in the spit that clung to his chin.

I hadn't smelled gasoline before, but now the stench filled my nostrils and burned my throat.

“What were you planning to do?” I screamed at him.

Lloyd smiled at the panic in my face. “What's it smell like? I was going to teach you and your uncle a lesson by burning down your little dream house.”

The gun. Lloyd had been holding a gun before I hit him. I ran out into the rain and searched the ground near the trailer's steps. Moonlight glinted off the metal of the gun, making it easy to spot. I grabbed it and ran back to Lloyd.