Unlocked (24 page)

“I have such a headache,” I said.

“You need a shower.”

“No.”

“Eventually, you'll have to shower. You stink.”

“Rude.”

“Truth,” he said. “Would you prefer I lie?”

I covered my mouth and nose and attempted to filter the air I breathed. Maybe this was how Lily felt when she smelled my stink yesterday. I stumbled to my closet and tugged off the wretched sweatshirt, which then exposed the bra and pink shirt I'd worn since Wednesday night. My clothes were absurd, and my body odor was ripe, but I refused to change. Not today. I slipped on a clean navy hoodie and zipped it up to my neck. Then I moved to my desk and spritzed myself with jasmine body spray. I squirted more onto my fingers and rubbed the scent beneath my nose. I ran my hands over my day-old braid. Loose strands of hair stuck out, but it was good enough.

Plug picked up the prescription bottle from my desk and read the label. “Did you start taking these?”

I plucked the bottle from his grasp and tossed it to the bed. “No, but I should have.”

“You are not schizophrenic,” Plug said.

“You do not know that.”

“Let's watch the videos on your laptop,” he said.

“No, we're late.”

“You're avoiding this. The only way to defeat the unknown is to meet it straight on.”

I shuddered and turned away from him. “We can check it in the library. Let's go.” I spotted my cell phone on the floor by the bed and snatched it up. Plug carried the laptop, and we headed downstairs.

A note taped to the inside of the front door read:

I pulled the note off the door and wondered if she had gone into work last night or early this morning. Didn't matter. I swung open the door. The air was murky, and I gagged when I breathed in the smoke.

“Something's burning,” I said, but then I regretted saying it aloud. I was probably hallucinating.

“Must be a fire nearby,” Plug said.

“You smell it, too?”

“Of course I do, Hannah.”

He set his hand on my back. His warmth radiated through my layers of clothes. Plug understood what was happening to me better than anyone else. I studied the cuts and bruises on his face, reminders that he hadn't fought back against Manny.

“Yesterday, in the nurse's office,” I said, “Mark called me a slut, and Manny said he never wanted to see again.”

Plug stroked my ear with his callused thumb. My chest tightened, and tears threatened to spill. Plug stepped away and walked to the El Camino. He opened the door for me, but I hesitated on the porch. He had been so patient with me when everyone else had turned away. I needed him to help me get through this day.

I trudged across the grass and sank into the passenger seat. Dried mud flaked off my shoes onto the floor mat.

“No respect for a classic work of art.” Plug poked my shoulder and grinned.

“Sorry,” I said. “I don't know how they got so dirty.”

“No worries,” he said. “I'll clean it later.” He set the laptop behind my seat, walked around to the driver's side, and got in. He started the engine, and even though I'd changed out of the other sweatshirt, the aroma of gasoline still filled the interior. Plug rolled down his window and set the fan to high. “Things will improve,” he said and drove down the street.

Plumes of gray smoke billowed across the pale blue sky, highlighted with swirls of white at the top and tinted with black at the bottom. I asked Plug to turn a different direction than normal through my neighborhood to follow the smoke. We came around the corner, and two fire trucks obscured the front of Manny's house.

“Pull over!”

“Not a good idea,” Plug said.

“Pull over or I'll jump out!” I released my seat belt and reached for the door.

Plug swerved to the curb, and I had my door open before he came to a complete stop. I bolted across the lawn toward the house, but a fireman grabbed my arm and stopped me.

“Let me go!”

“You can't go up there.” He tugged me back to the curb where the neighbors hovered.

I clutched the fireman's jacket. “Where's Manny? Where's his family?”

He radioed someone, told them to come to the sidewalk, and continued to restrain me.

I beat my fists against his chest. “Answer me!”

“You need to stay back,” he said.

Plug ran over to us and pulled away my fists, but the fireman kept his grip on my arm. Plug stood to the side of me and rested his hand on my shoulder.

The flames had already been extinguished, but the house continued to smolder. Firemen picked away at the darkened, charred remains of the house's siding. A gaping hole at least four feet wide marred the second-story face of the house. Windows had been knocked out. Screens lay on the ground. And broken glass sparkled in the puddles glistening in the morning sun.

The fireman tightened his grip on my arm.

“Let go of me,” I said and stomped on his boot. I tried to pull away, but he refused to release me.

“You need to stay here,” he said.

A guy in a business shirt and slacks marched over to us.

“Hannah O' Leary?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I'm Detective Samuelson.” He looked me up and down, and his eyebrows creased. He plucked a handkerchief from his back pocket and covered his nose.

“Is Manny okay?” I struggled to maintain my composure. Someone needed to answer me soon, or I would explode.

The detective turned to the fireman. “You can go. I've got this.”

I slipped my fingers through Plug's and squeezed. Out of habit, he started to fiddle with his lip ring, but it was gone, and he winced when his tongue touched the stitches.

“Did you set fire to the Santos's home?” the detective asked.

“No, I would never—”

“Where were you this morning?” he asked. “I went to your house, but there was no answer at the door.”

“I was asleep,” I said.

“Where were you between ten
P.M.
and two
A.M.
?”

“At home asleep.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“My mom.” But her note said she was called into work, and I had no idea when that was.

“Did you leave the house during the night?” he asked.

“No.” But my shoes were caked with dirt, and I smelled like gasoline.

“We have a witness who called nine-one-one,” Detective Samuelson said. “She said she saw you, specifically, at the scene.”

“What witness?”

Another fireman called out to the detective and waved him over toward the damaged house. The detective locked eyes with me. “Stay put. I have more questions for you.” He jogged toward the house, and the waiting fireman held up a red gasoline can.

“I have a bad feeling,” I said to Plug.

“Understatement.”

“I don't remember anything,” I said, “but I would never hurt them.”

The people milling about were focused on the smoldering house. No one paid any attention to Plug and me. Without discussion, we moved to the car and slipped inside.

I watched the detective at the edge of the house, and Plug started the engine. With the noise of the fire trucks running, no one noticed Plug drive away from Manny's house.

At the first stoplight, Plug yanked his seat belt across his chest, and I gasped for air. The light changed to green, and Plug sped down the street to the next red light. He pounded the heel of his hand against the wheel.

“We have to figure this out,” I said. “I reek of gasoline. My shoes are caked with dirt. That cop smelled my stink. I saw it in his eyes. He thinks I set fire to the Santos's—”

“You didn't,” Plug said.

“There's evidence.” I clutched my chest. My heart pounded faster.

Plug fished his cell from his pocket and dialed a number. “Nick? Get Kyla. Meet us at the studio. Yes, now. Park in the back.” The light switched to green, and Plug wedged his phone next to his thigh.

• • •

Plug swerved into an alley and drove to the back of the tattoo studio. He parked perpendicular to the doors and killed the engine. He hopped out and ran around to open my door. He let out a huge sigh and waited for me. I leaned my head against the dashboard and began to cry.

Plug crouched next to me. “Hang in there, Hannah.”

“We just fled the scene of a crime,” I said in between sobs. “What does that make us?”

“Determined.” He took my hand and pulled me from the car. He reached behind the seat, grabbed the laptop, and then we moved toward the doors.

I stopped midway. My skin crawled. The last time I'd been inside the warehouse, the painting pricked my finger and the lights went out. I could believe Chelsea popped the breaker, making the warehouse go dark, but it was impossible for me to believe she rigged the canvas to draw my blood, or the temperature to suddenly drop, or the bugs to buzz around our heads. I had to figure out what was going on before I completely unraveled.

Plug unlocked the door and reached inside to flick on the lights. I took a deep breath to steady myself and followed him in. We maneuvered through the crates, and I avoided glancing at any of the uncovered canvases propped against the boxes. I did not want to tempt any evil spirits or hysterical delusions to mess with me today.

We sat at the kitchenette near the office.

“Do you live here?” I wondered if his room was behind one of the closed doors.

“Yes,” Plug said.

“Does your grandma live here with you?”

“No, she lives near her store,” Plug said. “Did you start the recording program on your laptop before you went to bed yesterday?”

“Yes.”

Plug's cell chimed. He thumbed it and read a text.

“They're almost here,” he said.

My cell rang, and I checked the caller ID.

“Who is it?” Plug asked.

“No name. Unknown number.”

“Ignore it,” Plug said.

“But it could be important.”

The back door of the warehouse squeaked open, and a spider scampered across the floor, just like the monstrous spider from the hospital bathroom. I shrieked and dropped my phone on the concrete flooring. The case popped off, and it stopped ringing.

“It's only Nick and Kyla,” Plug said.

I scanned around for the spider and made sure it was long gone before I reached down and grabbed my phone and its case. I snapped them back together, and Kyla rushed in.

“What's the emergency?” She stopped and scrunched up her face. Her indigo hair swished when she flipped her head, and then she pulled the collar of her orange T-shirt over her nose. “Geez, Hannah, you reek.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“What's going on?” Nick asked and straddled a chair.

“Someone set Manny's house on fire,” I said.

“Were you involved?” Nick asked and pulled the knit cap off his head.

Kyla whacked his arm. “No, she was not,” Kyla said and grasped my hand.

“Someone called nine-one-one and said she saw me start the fire,” I said.

“Chelsea?” Kyla asked.

“I don't know,” I said.

“We'll find answers on here.” Plug opened my laptop.

“I have some answers, too,” Kyla said. “You'll be stunned by what I found with my research last night.” She unclipped her bag.

“What?” I asked.

“Here we go,” Plug said. He clicked on the file dated yesterday and expanded it to full screen. We scooted closer for a better view and waited for the video to begin.

“Have you watched any of it yet?” Nick asked.

“Not this one,” Plug said.

“You watched a different one?” I asked.

“Only one,” Plug said. “We can watch them all right now, but let's start with the one from last night.”

The video began, and my face filled the screen; I had been sitting at my desk with my laptop. I remembered. Everyone got a great view of my white bra on top of my pink shirt. My cheeks heated with humiliation as we watched the video.

Minutes passed. No one moved out of fear of missing something. Nick broke the silence.

“What's with the bra over the shirt? New fashion trend?” He pointed at the laptop. I wished for instant death and double-checked to make sure my hoodie was zipped up high.

Plug kicked Nick. “Shut up.”

After ten minutes of watching me sleep, Plug fast-forwarded the image. When my mom walked into the room, he backed the image up and hit play.

My stomach churned. I did not remember any of this. Where was my mom while this was happening? Was this after she'd left for work? Plug pulled at his ear and glanced at me. Kyla touched my shoulder, but I flinched away from her.