Unmaking Marchant
“I don’t need anything but my gun. I clutch the .38 as I dash behind Juniper, cutting through the grass beside my cottage and following her willowy form toward the pond. I can smell the smoke already. We come around a few oak trees and I see the flames. They’re bright—so bright they almost blind me. It’s surreal. I feel nothing but the burning of my muscles as I run toward the main house—nothing but that and the determination to get everyone out. By the time I get within ball-throwing distance, ...the fire has engulfed most of the back left side of the building, and people are pouring out two sets of rear doors toward the right, even though our fire plan directs them to the front. I don’t see Rachelle, and I feel a sick jolt of fear for her. Where is Hunter?Where is Suri Dalton?Where is Hawkins?My throat knots up as I realize this fire is his doing. My doing. If someone dies, it will be my fault. I lean down in the bushes to be sick, then push through a frenzied group of escorts, clients, and staff, and run through one of the flame-framed doorways.MoreLess
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