Page 55 of When the Smoke Clears

Her throat works around the following words. “And then the fire happened.”

“They said a candle caused it,” I say, remembering the investigator’s report. The charred outline of where her bed used to be.

She shakes her head immediately, eyes sharp. “I didn’t burn a candle that night.”

My fingers dig into my hair. “Why didn’t you tell me that when you woke up in the hospital?”

She looks at me like I’ve spoken another language. “I didn’t wake up in the hospital, Luke.”

The ground tilts. “What do you mean? Where did you wake up?”

A sob tears through her, shaking her shoulders. “I woke up in a closet.”

Her arms wrap tight around herself. She rocks once, twice, her nails digging crescents into her skin. Every protective instinct in me roars to life.

“I didn’t know where I was,” she says. “It was pitch-black. Freezing. I could smell cleaning supplies, dust, something…plasticky. I couldn’t breathe right. I kept thinking I was back in the fire.”

I pull her against me without thinking, her cheek landing over my heart. My hand slides into her hair. “Ssh. I’ve got you.”

“It took a while before I stopped panicking long enough to feel around,” she whispers into my shirt. “My hand hit a wall. A handle. I found a light switch. I was in a tiny supply closet. There was a backpack on the floor.”

She closes her eyes. “Inside were a change of clothes. My wallet. And money. Five thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills. Brand new, like they’d just been pulled from the bank.”

My grip tightens. The pain I’ve felt all of these years pales in comparison to hers. She was almost killed, abducted, and forced to live with the burden of my hate.

“I changed into the clothes,” she says. “My pajamas were…ruined. I don’t know how long I sat there, trying to figure out if this was a nightmare. But my chest hurt, my throat burned, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw flames. So I stood up and walked out.”

“Where?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want to know.

“A side door,” she says. “It opened into an alley. I still don’t know what building I was in. Somewhere near the hospital, I guess. I didn’t stop walking until I saw a bus station.”

She pulls back enough to look at me. Her eyes are swollen, but steady. “I bought a ticket to San Francisco. Rented a room that smelled like mildew. Got a job waiting tables. Saved up. Applied to nursing school. Changed my last name to Rae so no one could trace me back here easily.”

Rae. Her middle name. I file that away with a sick twist in my gut. If I’d looked…if I’d pushed…if I hadn’t been so angry⁠—

“All I had was the money, my license, and a picture of us from graduation that I kept in my wallet.” Her mouth trembles into a sad smile. “I texted you. Called my mom. Told her I needed a fresh start. Then I threw the phone away.”

Of all the things she could’ve grabbed, she took a photo of us. My ten years of fury stumble on that detail and come up short.

“Did the threats stop?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah. Once I left Wildhaven, I never heard from that number again. Nothing. For ten years, I was…fine. Lonely sometimes. But I was okay.”

“Did you and your mom…” I swallow. “Keep in touch?”

“Here and there,” she says, drawing shapes in the sand with her fingertip. “She’d call when she was sober enough. I kept her at a distance. I couldn’t bring this back to her. But in the last year, she started calling more. Sounded…clearer. She got a job. Went to meetings. She was trying.” Her voice breaks. “I didn’t let myself trust it.”

“You must’ve been terrified to come back,” I say.

“I was.” She looks out at the water. “But she died. And I thought…It’s been ten years. Whoever threatened me got what they wanted. I stayed away. Maybe it was safe.”

“But you came home and within a few hours⁠—”

“I almost got hit by a car,” she finishes. “Yeah.”

She pulls out her phone and hands it to me. A text from an unknown number stares up from the screen.

The sheriff won’t be able to save either of you next time.