Part 10 — The Match in Her Hand

The first thing I noticed was the smell.

Gasoline.

I looked up from the mixing console.

Claire stood inside Echo House wearing a black coat several sizes too large. Illness had hollowed her cheeks and darkened the skin beneath her eyes.

A red fuel container hung from one hand.

She locked the glass door behind her.

“Claire.”

“Don’t call anyone.”

My phone lay beside the keyboard.

Her gaze followed mine.

“It won’t matter. Police are twenty minutes away.”

She tipped the container.

Gasoline splashed across the wooden floor.

I remained behind the counter.

“What do you want?”

She laughed.

“You always sound so calm.”

“I record dying people for a living. Panic doesn’t help them.”

“I am dying.”

“Yes.”

The answer struck her harder than sympathy would have.

“And you’re happy about it.”

“No.”

“You took Adrian from me.”

“He was never mine to give back.”

Her face twisted.

“He loved me before he knew you existed.”

“And you left.”

“I was sick.”

“You disappeared because you wanted him to prove he would spend the rest of his life searching.”

“He should have.”

I slid my hand beneath the counter.

My fingers found the silent alarm Noah had insisted we install after expensive equipment was stolen from a neighboring shop.

I pressed it.

A small vibration confirmed the signal.

Claire did not notice.

“He came back when I needed him,” she said. “Then you poisoned him against me.”

“You chose me as your recorder.”

“Because I wanted you to understand.”

“You wanted me to suffer.”

She poured gasoline across the couch and toward the front recording booth.

“You had everything I deserved.”

“No. I had a husband who loved the memory of you and resented every need I couldn’t hide.”

“Then why did he follow you?”

“Because losing me forced him to see himself.”

“Because he loves you!”

Her scream echoed through the studio.

I watched the fuel spread toward the base of the wall.

“You’re right,” I said.

Claire froze.

“He loves me now.”

Her lips parted.

“And it still isn’t enough.”

Confusion replaced her rage.

“I left him. I divorced him. I rejected him when he found me.”

“You’re lying.”

“He finally gave me what I wanted only after I no longer wanted it.”

I stepped slowly toward the wall panel controlling the fire shutters and suppression system.

“That is the difference between us, Claire. I don’t need to be chosen to know I have value.”

“Shut up.”

“You rejected treatment to control him.”

“Shut up.”

“You turned your illness into a weapon and called it love.”

Claire pulled a metal lighter from her pocket.

I hit the suppression control.

A siren sounded.

Fire shutters began descending between the front room and the recording booths.

Claire screamed and struck the lighter.

The flame appeared.

“Don’t,” I said.

She threw it.

Fire raced across the gasoline.

Heat slammed into me.

I pulled my sweater over my mouth and ran toward the rear exit. The suppression system released water and foam over the front room, but the flames had already reached old acoustic panels above the ceiling.

Claire coughed near the glass door.

“Move away from the fuel!” I shouted.

She stared at the fire as if she had not believed it would become real.

A section of burning insulation fell between us.

The rear hallway filled with smoke.

I reached the emergency exit and pushed.

It did not open.

A warped ceiling beam had fallen outside, jamming the frame.

I grabbed the wall-mounted extinguisher and struck the door mechanism.

Nothing.

The front window shattered.

Adrian came through the opening behind a firefighter carrying a shield.

“Maya!”

“I’m at the rear exit!”

The ceiling groaned.

“Stay back!” I shouted.

He ignored me.

He crossed beneath the descending shutter as flames climbed the wall behind him.

A burning wooden frame broke loose overhead.

I saw it falling.

Adrian reached me first.

He drove me to the floor and covered my body with his.

The frame struck his back.

His cry was almost lost beneath the roar of the fire.

“Adrian!”

He did not move.

I reached for the radio clipped to the firefighter’s spare mask Adrian had dragged with him.

“Two people at the rear wall!” I shouted. “One unconscious. The back exit is blocked.”

A voice answered through static.

“Stay low. Crew entering from the alley.”

I pulled the mask over Adrian’s face.

Blood seeped through his white shirt. The smell of burned fabric filled my throat.

His eyes opened briefly.

“Maya.”

“I’m here.”

He tried to move.

“Don’t. Firefighters are coming.”

His hand found mine.

“This time…”

“Save your breath.”

A weak smile touched his mouth.

“This time, I made it.”

His eyes closed.

Firefighters broke through the rear door seconds later.

They lifted the beam, pulled Adrian onto a rescue tarp, and dragged us into the alley.

Claire was carried out through the front.

Police restrained her as paramedics placed an oxygen mask over her face.

She saw Adrian’s unconscious body.

Then she saw me kneeling beside him, my hands covered in his blood.

The hatred disappeared from her eyes.

Only emptiness remained.

An officer approached me.

“Ms. Bennett, your security system uploaded the footage before the power failed. We have the entire incident.”

The evidence was safe.

The paramedics loaded Adrian into an ambulance.

I climbed in beside him.

His heart monitor accelerated, then dropped.

A warning alarm filled the vehicle.

The paramedic reached for the defibrillator pads.

“Sir? Can you hear me?”

Adrian did not respond.

The ambulance doors slammed shut.