Page 55

CHAPTER 54

IN THE ASHES

WILDER

I pull to a stop in front of the house and park, scanning the windows for a sign of him. It’s getting dark, the shadows in the dark house too deep to make anything out.

“What’s he doing here?” I wonder.

“I don’t know, but it can’t be good,” Cass says. “Not with the way he was talking earlier. Maybe we should call the police.”

“He’s trespassing—they’ll come fast for that alone.” My gaze is still stuck on the house. From the front, it almost looks intact. The back is all but gone.

Something is wrong. I don’t know what compels me to say, “Stay here,” and open the truck door. Maybe I’m too familiar with walking into things that my body says are wrong and dangerous. Maybe I’m just a fool. But I get out anyway.

“What are you doing?” Cass asks, her eyes wide.

“I’m just gonna check it out. Call the police.”

“But what if the house…I don’t know. Caves in or something!”

“It won’t, or they already would have demolished it. It’s stable. But I don’t know if Trent is. If he’s in there and there’s a chance he might hurt himself, you and I will never forgive ourselves for driving away. Don’t worry. I’ll be safe. Okay?”

She’s worrying her lip between her teeth, brows drawn together, but she nods and picks up her phone. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

I shut the door and walk around the truck in the quiet evening. It’s preternaturally still here too, like the rain stopped time. When I cross the overgrown lawn, heading for the taped-off front door, I hear the murmur of a voice and freeze. There it is again, but I can’t make anything out.

Frowning, I open the front door, ducking under the tape. The dark living room smells of mold and smoke, but the room feels oddly undisturbed. Everything is covered in a layer of soot and ash, but there’s a book on the coffee table with a soda can next to it. Under the front window is a little bookshelf with some of Cricket’s toys, some dolls, and when I look behind the door, there’s a row of sooty shoes on a mat against the wall. Ashley’s and Cricket’s. Just sitting there, waiting for their owners to return.

The sound of Trent’s voice snaps me away from the heartbreak. I’m about to call his name when I hear someone else, his voice frantic and pitched up a notch. The tone stops me from speaking, unsure what I’m walking into. Quietly, I walk deeper into the house, doing my best to avoid looking too hard when I pass the kitchen, frozen in time with dishes in the sink, a pot on the stove, a glass on the island. They’re beyond the hallway that must lead to the bedrooms. Fading daylight illuminates the hall, and I approach, my ears straining.

“Admit it,” Trent says.

“I told you, I didn’t do it!” the other man all but shrieks. And I glance around the corner to a sight that warns me to run.

The remains of the hallway only span a few feet before it chars and crumbles into dust. I can see that Cricket’s room was first—a few remnants of furniture and scraps of toys litter the ashes, the sight of her fire-eaten bed sending a chill so cold through me, it burns. But beyond, in the space that must have been Ashley’s room, Trent stands, boots planted and back stiff. Cowering in the ashes is a man I’ve never seen before, his hands in the air and eyes trained on the barrel of the pistol in Trent’s fist.

“I know you did, you fucking liar,” Trent says through his teeth.

“The cops have the proof!” the guy rambles. “It was you! You were here that night, I saw you myself! Y’all were always fighting, cops were here more than a few times. Why would I burn down my own house?”

The landlord.

But Trent sneers. “I know your bookie, you son of a bitch.”

The landlord pales, his face shocked and sagging. Quietly now, he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Three hundred grand,” Trent says, clicking his tongue. “That’s a lot of money.”

“More than the house is worth!”

“Sure, if you hadn’t mortgaged it to the teeth. You already took all the money out of it. But if it burned down, you’d get all that insurance money.” Trent takes a step closer, and the landlord stares up at him in terror, the gun trained on his forehead. “You’ve ruined my life,” he rasps. “You killed Ashley. You took away my little girl. You have this whole fucking town thinking I’m a murderer. But it wasn’t me, was it? It was you . Admit it.”

The man is frozen in shock.

The click of the safety is deafening. “Admit it!”

A dark spot spreads on the front of the guy’s pants, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“Tell the truth!” Trent jabs the gun, and the landlord flinches, curling in on himself.

He’s crying when he shakily whispers, “I-I didn’t know she was here.”

Shock floods me, and I lean on the wall to steady myself, but I stumble into it, knocking a piece of sheetrock off a pile.

Their heads whip in my direction along with the muzzle of Trent’s gun. His eyes are ringed with white, his jaw set and teeth locked.

My hands slowly rise, palms out. “It’s me,” I say stupidly.

“Davenport?” he asks, confused.

“Yeah. I saw your truck and?—”

The landlord takes the window of distraction and tries to scuttle away, but in a heartbeat, Trent arches around to pistol whip him.

He hits the ground with a cry and thud.

My mouth is so dry, I can’t swallow. But I approach slow. “I heard what he said.”

Nostrils flaring, he’s still staring at the landlord rolling around in the ashes. “I told you I didn’t do it.” It’s a quiet, trembling declaration. “Tell me everything.”

Groaning, the man holds his nose with both hands.

Trent’s pistol angles at his face. “ Tell…me…everything. ”

“Trent—”

He doesn’t even look at me. “Shut the fuck up, Davenport. I want you to hear this too. Get up! ” he screams at the landlord, who finds a way to at least sit up.

The older man is sobbing, his body sloped and eyes on the silvery dust. “I thought she left with you,” he says as I advance slowly, hands still up. But Trent is rapt, listening with his entire body as I pray that the police are close. “Y’all were fighting, and then it was quiet, and I thought she left with you. I knew the girl was gone, and so I… I…”

“Say it!”

He cries out, flinching, nearly yelling in his panic. “I didn’t know what else to do! I thought no one was home, so I… I s-snuck around from the other street and I, I started the fire in the back yard up next to the house! I didn’t know she was there! I didn’t know! ” Over and over again, he says it as he crumples in on himself.

“You killed her.” Trent’s eyes are full of tears when he looks to me. “He killed her. And now everybody’s going to know.” His left hand shifts to his jacket pocket, returning with his phone, showing that it’s recording audio.

The landlord is blubbering, his cheek scuffed and nose bleeding.

“Do you believe me now?”

I lock eyes with him, advancing still. “I believe you.” I’m almost in reach of the gun, though I’m not sure if I’m going to try and take it yet.

Relief breaks something in him, and his chin flexes. “He killed her,” he says again, stricken. Anger hardens in him when he looks back to the landlord, and the muzzle of the pistol rises again as if he suddenly remembered it in his hand. “You killed her.”

“I’m sorry,” the man whimpers. “P-please don’t kill me.”

“Trent.” I take another step. If I’m close enough, I can disarm him. “He admitted it. You got what you needed—he’s going to pay for what he did.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s gonna,” he grinds out, eyes still pinning the man where he kneels.

“Think about Cricket.”

He hears that, stilling. When he looks at me, I catch a glimpse of him behind his wild eyes.

“If you kill him, you might not ever get to see her again.”

“You’ll let me see her?” he breathes.

“I would have let you see her this whole time, if somebody had just told me. But if she finds out you killed somebody, what will she think?”

The muzzle of the gun quivers, lowering a few inches. “She’ll hate me. She’ll be scared of me.”

“I’ll tell her the truth. I’ll tell her you wanted to protect her and Ashley. That you wanted to make sure whoever did this was held accountable. But you’ve gotta give me the gun.”

“You’ll let me see her?” The pistol lowers when he asks again, and I wonder just how far gone he is, just how much Ashley’s death has destroyed him.

“Of course. She loves you. I know you love her too. I’ve always known you’d never hurt her.” Slowly, I extend my hand, knowing the police have to be close. I’ve almost got him, but when they get here, I don’t know what he’ll do. “Give me the gun.”

He looks down at it, turns his hand so he can see its profile. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

My thudding heart shoots into my throat as he turns the gun so, pointing it at his chest and?—

Trent turns the gun, holding the muzzle to point the grip at me.

Trembling, I take it and eject the magazine, emptying the slide. And for the first time since I saw his truck, I draw a full breath.

The screech of the squad car tires come just in time.