The Fire and the Veil (Veronica Barry Book 2) (23 page)

“The FD and the forensic unit,” Daniel said as he took the key out of the ignition.

When he came around to her side and opened the door for her, she took his hand and allowed him to help her out. The smell of smoke and burnt things assaulted her. His hand was warm, and his grip was firm, and it comforted her. She straightened and met his gaze. “So what should I do?”

“Just wander. Go wherever… the spirits take you,” he said, and after a pause, he cracked a grin. “That sounded kind of funny. Anyway, I just want to see if you get anything.”

Veronica nodded, swallowing. She wished she was anywhere but here, standing in front of the black hull of Lola’s former home. It stood like a monument to her arrogance and blindness, and anyway, there had been such misery there, before the flames destroyed it. She wanted to take a deep breath, but the air was burnt.

Taking a step forward, she looked around her. Much of the contents of the house that hadn’t burned, or that were only partially damaged, had been dragged out onto the front lawn. Perhaps the forensic team did so, she mused. A glance at the dumpsters revealed that they each were about half filled. The forensic team must have done some kind of sorting. They’d left a lot of toys on the lawn, she noticed.

She stepped closer to the outside of the house. Something caught her eye among a pile of stuffed animals. Under a singed, blue stuffed dog, a piece of paper fluttered. It came free, and as it tumbled away from her, she saw that it was a photograph. Veronica jogged towards it and grabbed it before the breeze could take it farther.

The photo showed four people. In the foreground, two women, one heavyset, one thinner but older looking, wrapped their arms around a toddler. All three smiled. In the background, Veronica could make out Lola, about to step outside of the frame. The heavyset woman was Lola’s mother, Veronica realized. She looked different. Younger, and happier. Lola couldn’t be more than ten or eleven. The baby was probably Leinani, although Veronica couldn’t be sure—she had only seen Leinani a couple of times, and the baby was all pudgy cheeks and scrunched up eyes.

Happier times, Veronica thought. Maybe before Terri had met Owen Carver. Although from what Veronica had gleaned, Lola’s father was no prize either.

She thought about putting the photo back on the ground, or giving it to Daniel, but neither option seemed right. She didn’t want it to blow away like so much debris, and what would Daniel do with it? Instead, she slipped it in the inside pocket of her purse, zipping it shut.

Veronica stepped along the outside of the remains of the house. She looked around. If she asked for them to come, would Terri and Owen appear to her? Where would she find the courage to face them after the way she’d failed them? She reached down and touched her finger to a blackened beam that jutted out from the rumble on the ground. Her finger came away with a dusting of black on the tip. She looked around. Did Lola do this? Could Veronica have stopped her?

Glancing over her shoulder she saw Daniel on his cell phone over by his car. She sighed. The only technicians were across on the other side of the ruins, discussing something they had found. She was more or less alone.

Again, she wanted to take a deep breath, but the smell of the air stopped her.

“Hello?” she murmured. “Anybody here?”

Nothing happened. She took a few more steps, careful not to enter the ruins. The technicians wore heavy protective gear—she didn’t think they’d like some civilian in street clothes stomping through the house.

“Terri?” she said. “Owen?”

Still nothing.

“If you want to talk to me, I’m here,” she whispered. “Maybe you don’t. I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you how sorry I am.”

She turned around, looking at the remains. There were fewer solid objects and more ash if she headed in the direction of the technicians. One step at a time, she made her way. When she set her foot down on one spot of white ash, everything changed.

~~~

The house stood as it had been in her dreams. She was in the hallway where Owen had dragged Lola by her hair to the stairs. Ahead of her stood Owen with his back to her, and beyond him glowered a young man. He looked a lot like the boy in the vision she’d had of Lola fleeing on the bicycle. This must be Paul Carver, her step-brother. His face was livid, setting off his pale hair in contrast.

“What do you mean, ‘She left’?” Paul shouted.

“That little slut is gone,” Owen answered. “Just forget she ever lived here, right? She’s gone!”

“You kicked her out!”

“She chose to leave!”

“She changed her mind—” Veronica said.

Owen whirled around, fixing blazing eyes on her. “Shut up, Terri! So what if she did? That bitch has been making trouble since the day she moved in here!”

“She’s my daughter, Owen—” Veronica pleaded.

“Terri, so help me—” Owen raised a hand and Veronica felt herself cower.

“How could you kick her out?” Paul demanded, marching over to Owen and grabbing him by the back of his shirt. Owen spun around and swung at Paul, but missed.

“She’s a dirty slut!” Owen hissed. He rocked as he recovered from his swing. “I’m done putting food in her mouth! I’m done with all of her bullshit! She’s gone, and she ain’t never coming back!”

“You had no right!” Paul shouted. He grabbed Owen’s collar but this time Owen’s fists landed where he threw them—against Paul’s face. Paul let go and tumbled to the ground, crying out. Owen kicked him hard and turned back to Veronica.

“It’s late,” he said, squaring his shoulders and straightening his shirt. “You go pick up Lei. I gotta go to bed.”

Veronica moved by him. Paul stood in her way. She tried to slip past him.

~~~

Veronica stood amidst charred rumble again. She let out a long breath. So Paul had come home after Lola left. He was distraught about her leaving. And then what had he done? Had he gone after her? Or had he set the place on fire?

It was almost with a feeling of hope that Veronica pondered this possibility. If Paul set the fire, there was nothing she could have done to prevent that, right?

She moved forward, and crouched down, digging her fingers into the ash.

The vision came on right away.

~~~

Paul, dousing a pile of clothes with gasoline. Walking from that room to the hallway, letting the gasoline pour out. Splattering a door until the jug was empty. He stopped and looked around. He produced a small box of matches from his pocket, and took one out, pressing it to the striking strip. And then he stopped, looking back the way he’d come. The stain from the fuel showed on the light carpet. He would have no means of escape if he lit the fire from where he stood.

Paul walked back to the first room—it was some sort of laundry and utility room. The pile of clothes stank with gasoline. He pulled one soaked piece—it looked like a dark sweatshirt—from the top and dragged it halfway out of the room, so it sat in the carpet stain but the end of one sleeve still touched the pile of laundry. He pulled the matchbox and a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Shaking the pack, he pulled one cigarette out with his lips and struck a match to light it, sucking in the smoke. Then he angled the cigarette to the side and blew air out of the corner of his mouth, extinguishing the match.

He tucked the matchbox just inside the sleeve of the sweatshirt that lay outside of the laundry room. Then he took the cigarette out of his mouth and trapped the filter in the matchbox so the cigarette was tilted up and away from the sleeve. It would burn down, igniting the matches eventually. Those would light the sleeve, and since the sweatshirt was soaked in fuel, it would blaze up, the fire spreading to the pile of laundry and along the stain in the carpet to the door of the bedroom where his parents no doubt slept.

Paul nodded and looked towards that door. He gave it a jerk of his chin by way of farewell, and turned his back, leaving the house.

Everything spun and then Veronica was lying in bed. She knew she was asleep, but she couldn’t wake up. She was breathing in smoke. It burned as it traveled through her nostrils down her windpipe. Struggling, she willed herself to wake up, but her body remained inert, unresponsive to her panic. A weight beside her on the bed shifted. She heard the springs creak with the movement. Then coughing and retching. It was getting so hot. She had to wake up. Wake up!

~~~

Veronica’s gorge rose when she came back to herself and saw the ruins again. She tried to breathe the nausea away but the smell of all the burnt things only made the queasiness worse. Then in a blink two forms appeared, inches from her face. The overwhelming smell of burnt hamburger assaulted her. Every detail of their ruined, burnt faces was clear. Bone showed through one of their cheeks, and the chin of the other. Their skin peeled back from their mouths, red and blackened—in horrible grins. But the eyes were worse—the eyeballs had collapsed and blackened, but they were still in the widened eye sockets.

And she felt the most appalling, overwhelming rage wash over her.

Veronica screamed. She stumbled out of the house and across the yard to Daniel, who hung up his cell as she approached.

“Veronica?” he said.

She grabbed his arm. “Get me out of here.”

“Are you okay?”

“Just get me out of here!”

After a moment in the car, Veronica burst into tears. Daniel slowed down and she waved a hand in a forward motion. He accelerated again.

She cried until they reached the curb in front of his building. He parked the car and sat still while she got a grip on herself.

“Do you have a tissue?” she whispered.

“No. You want to go up?”

The need for a tissue was urgent. “Okay,” she said, sniffling.

They made their way through the hall, to the elevator, and to his apartment without speaking. Veronica visualized a nice full box of Kleenex. No other images would be allowed to take the place of that one until she’d dealt with her nose.

Daniel let them in and she made a bee-line for the bathroom. No Kleenex, but there was a roll of toilet paper. After a few minutes the situation with her nose was manageable. She still felt teary, though, so she took some toilet paper with her when she joined Daniel in the living room.

“What happened?” he asked gently as she sat beside him on the couch.

Veronica took a deep, halting breath, and when she opened her mouth to answer the tears started again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I was done.”

“It was really bad, huh.”

She nodded. She focused on regulating her breathing and after a moment her tears subsided again. “Did I ever tell you about the time I went to the funeral home?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“It was for Sylvia Gomez’s viewing. Afterwards I went and confronted you at the police station—she told me some things there and I tried to tell you but you hadn’t started believing me yet at that point.”

Daniel grimaced. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Veronica said. “It’s just that there were a lot of ghosts there, at the funeral home.”

“It stands to reason.”

“Yes, well, they didn’t try to… connect with me, at first,” she said. “But then they must have realized they could because I was talking to Sylvia’s ghost. And they all started crowding in on me. And then one of them—” Veronica’s voice caught and she put a hand over her mouth, trying to swallow the lump that had reappeared in her throat. After a few breaths, she continued. “One of them jumped right into my face—and it looked awful, like a skull… I was really freaked out.”

“I can imagine,” Daniel said. “Did something like that happen at the Carver house?”

Veronica nodded. “I saw a lot of things. But at the end, they—both Owen and Terri Carver—they did that—except they were burned. Horribly burned.”

Daniel took her hand.

“I don’t know why they would do that,” she said, her voice breaking. “Except… except they were
so angry.
Oh, god, Daniel. I felt their rage.”

“You think doing that jumping in your face thing was an expression of that rage?”

Veronica closed her eyes, but an image of their ruined faces appeared, and her lids popped open again. “Yes,” she said, feeling like she couldn’t catch her breath. “Yes, that’s it. They’re furious. So angry that they were killed. They—they lashed out at me. God, Daniel. When I close my eyes I see them again.”

“Hey,” he said, pulling her hand to his chest. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We are miles away from that house, and they are not going to follow you here.”

“How do you know?”

He frowned.

“Daniel, I’m sorry. I know this is just more drama. I hate myself for it. But I can’t stand seeing them again. What if they can follow me?”

“How about we cross that bridge if we come to it?” Daniel said, his tone gentle. He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Do you want to tell me what else you saw?”

After a moment, Veronica nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Um…let’s see. The first thing was an argument. Uh… Paul Carver was there. It was in the house. It had to be a while after Lola left, I’m guessing.”

“Wait, can you tell me what happened with Lola, first?”

“Oh, yeah. Okay. She—that is, her step-father, he kicked her out. She brought a girlfriend over—”

“Hang on… girlfriend?”

“Yeah, like that. There’s a girl Lola has had a big crush on, and they went to Lola’s room to smoke a joint and make out.”

“And you… saw this?”

Veronica narrowed her eyes. “Yes, and it was like being a peeping tom, if you must know. Very awkward.”

Daniel pursed his lips and nodded. “Alright. Go on.”

“When Owen Carver walked in on them, he went nuts. He was very abusive.”

“Abusive how?”

“Verbally and physically. I made a report to CPS.”

“You did? Did you tell them how you knew about what happened?”

“No,” Veronica said. “Of course not. I said I overheard a conversation. The woman was really… I don’t know. She didn’t sound thrilled to take my call.”

“Yeah, it’s like a game of telephone, when someone says ‘I overheard such and such,’” Daniel said. “I get that from witnesses.”