Bloom (6 page)

Bright red flames licked up the sides of her two-story home and crawled onto the roof. One of the front windows shattered into a thousand shards of glass as fire burst out of the family room. Wood groaned and popped as beams split from the heat. Neighbors walked out of their own houses in pajamas and bathrobes, squinting bleary-eyed at the bright light.

“No!” screamed Haven. She kicked open the car door and ran into the yard. Tears streamed down her face as she stared up into the dancing flames. Even standing thirty feet away, the heat made her sweat. Her eyes wanted to close against the smoke but Haven forced them to stay open as she watched the raging fire.

“Haven!” shouted Kayla. She got out of the car and ran over to her. Haven started toward the house but Kayla grabbed her arms and held her back. “You’ll die!”

A burning support beam snapped on one corner of the house and the roof sagged down with a slow crunch.

Haven tried to push Kayla away so she could run inside, but she wasn’t strong enough. She pulled as hard as she could but grew weaker as the flames spread across the entire surface of her home. Kayla guided Haven to the ground so she could sit down.

The front door to the house fell off its hinges and broke against the porch. Parts of the second story collapsed into the first, crashing down and sending a flurry of burning embers into the air. Haven screamed and sobbed as the roof caved in and half of the house crumbled to the ground.

“Noooo,” she said softly, her voice tapering to a whimper. She sat with her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs while she rocked back and forth. Her tears glinted with the refection of red flame.

Kayla sat next to her and placed a hand on her back. In the distance, the piercing wail of police sirens grew louder.

6

C
olton stood in one corner of the holding cell and crossed his arms. He tried to look tougher than he felt in the company of the other men who had been tossed into jail that night. There was only one long bench lining the wall opposite the cell door, and it was fully occupied by a row of mean-looking, tattooed brutes. Smaller men sat around the edge of the large cell and leaned their heads back against the concrete walls.

After being pushed into the room a couple of hours earlier, Colton had taken the only open spot on the bench. A little while later, three more criminals arrived, each one bigger than the last. The largest of the three walked over and stood before the bench, looking down over his enormous gut. Colton needed no further motivation; he got up and walked over to the corner, where he could see everything going on in the cell.

Most of the men kept to themselves, but a couple of them seemed to know each other and talked at length about what was going on in their lives. Colton was surprised that they never mentioned the crimes for which they had just been arrested, and instead spoke of family life and other things he would not usually expect career criminals to discuss.

Colton had never been in as much trouble as he was at that moment. There was no need to worry about the police calling his father; even if they were lucky enough to catch him awake and not in one of his alcohol-induced stupors, he would probably laugh and say that his son was getting what he deserved.

Colton made a strong point of not thinking about his father as much as possible—there were too many emotions that flooded his mind. Love mixed with hate; regret at the happy childhood he was denied; sadness and loneliness rolled into one. It was easier just to push it all far away where the confusing mass of feelings became fuzzy and blended into the background of everyday life.

It was simple enough for him to blame his mother for abandoning the both of them, but as he grew older, he realized that as much, if not more, of the fault rested with his father—there was a lot he could have done to make their lives easier. Instead he chose alcohol and anger.

To Colton, the gulf between them seemed impossible to bridge.

An hour passed, then two. Half of the men in the holding cell were either asleep or passed out drunk. Colton shifted on his aching feet. He wanted to sit down but the floor was filthy and the benches were still full. Cigarette butts and clumps of wet paper were scattered everywhere, and discolored puddles of unidentified liquid pooled in several spots around the room.

He never expected them to hold him such a long time. Reece had been the one to steal the CDs—Colton merely helped him get away from the police. He supposed the police officer he “fell” against in the alley could have upgraded Colton’s criminal charge to assault, in which case he was utterly doomed. Still, Reece could have been locked up for a year or more if he had been caught.

As a first-time offender, Colton hoped the judge would go easy on him and give him a small amount of community service with no actual jail time. There was always the possibility that they would try to make an example of him to prevent other potential screw-ups from assaulting police officers.

The rattle of keys and the sharp clicking of hard shoe soles in the hallway outside the holding cell grew louder as someone approached. All of the men in the room sat up eagerly and watched the door, hoping one of their friends or loved ones had come to pay their bail.

The same officer Colton ran into in the alley looked at him through a small viewing window as he unlocked the door.

“Great,” said Colton quietly.

The officer stepped into the cell and pointed at Colton. “You,” he said. “Let’s go.
Now
.”

The other men in the room grumbled and sank back into their seats. A few of them stared at Colton with malice as he walked past them and out into the hallway. He wondered if Reece had called his lawyer father and talked him into getting Colton released from the police station. In the morning he would have been processed and likely transferred to an actual jail, where he would spend the next few weeks waiting to go to trial for striking a peace officer.

He didn’t know how much money it would have cost to avoid all of that unpleasantness, but he imagined it was a great deal more than Reece could afford on his own.

After he was out of the room, the officer—whose name tag read “Sanders”—shoved Colton in the back, pushing him toward the end of the hall.

“Spoiled little rich boys like you really get on my nerves,” he said, then shoved Colton again.

“Where are we going?”

“You ruin my day, then you’re out by midnight when you
should
be rotting in that cell.” He pushed him harder.

Colton fought the urge to turn around and punch the cop in the face. He realized that was exactly what the man wanted: an excuse to keep him in the cell even longer.

“And you must be someone extra special, because they don’t let
anybody
out if they hit a cop.
Especially
if that cop is me. I got pull around here, let me tell you.”

Another shove.

They reached the end of the hallway and Sanders knocked on the door. There was a loud buzz and an officer in the next room pulled open the door to let them through.

They were in the main lobby of the building. An officer sat behind the counter reading a magazine and looked up over his glasses.

Sanders pushed Colton toward the exit. “Next time you hit a cop,” he said, “you won’t even make it to the station.” He walked back into the hallway that led to the holding cell and slammed the door behind him.

Colton looked at the officer sitting behind the counter, who dropped his eyes to his magazine and whistled softly to himself.

The waiting area was empty. Colton looked outside through the large glass windows on the front of the building and out at the street beyond. The exterior of the police station was well-lit at night, but he still couldn’t see the person who supposedly paid his bail and got him out of the holding cell.

The street outside the station was empty except for a few pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk. The air was cold and Colton still wore the dirty jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing all day. He waited for a few moments with his arms crossed against the cold night air, thinking someone was going to appear and explain what was going on. He eventually gave up and started the long walk back to his apartment.

Colton turned the corner at the end of the street and saw Reece ahead, leaning against the brick wall of a building with his hands in his pockets, staring across the street at a pair of scantily-clad women who were hanging out in front of an adult video store. He didn’t notice as Colton walked up next to him and slapped him on the back of the head.

“Hey!” said Reece, pushing off the wall. He clenched his fists as if he were about to start throwing punches, then relaxed when he saw that it was Colton. “You scared me half to death.”

“Making new friends?” said Colton, nodding at the women across the street. The women giggled and waved when Colton looked their way.

“They wish,” said Reece. “But I should remember this spot for later.” He fell into step next to Colton when he started walking again. “So, how did it go?”

Colton shrugged. “Just a bunch of waiting around, really.”

Reece nodded. “Look, I need to say thank you before my ego takes over and won’t let me.”

“You would have done the same for me if I was in your situation. I should say thank you as well for getting me out, even though it was your idiotic idea that landed me in jail in the first place.”

“I got her phone number,” said Reece, smiling.

“If you didn’t, they would be dragging me back to the police station right now for murdering my best friend.”

“Aw, come on. It’s not that bad, right? You’re out, at least.”

“Did you have to call your dad and ask for the money?”

“Yeah, about that. It’s funny, but I actually didn’t have anything to do with your release.”

Colton stopped. “What do you mean?”

Reece walked a couple steps ahead, then stopped and turned back hesitantly. “I meant to tell you a couple weeks ago, but it just never came up.” He scratched the back of his neck and looked away. “My dad kind of cut me off. He’s not gonna send any more rent checks until I ‘get my act together’, or so he says, anyway.”

“So who got me out of jail?” asked Colton.

“That’s the funny part. After the cops hauled you away and I went back to the apartment to change so I could go ask the record store girl out on a date—her name’s Chloe and not Jenna, by the way—this guy knocked on the door right as I was about to leave. Real creepy dude. Tall with black hair and a grey suit. I thought he was from the funeral home and he was gonna tell me you died in jail or something.”

“Reece…”

“Right, sorry. So this guy hands me this briefcase and tells me that if I give it to this other guy at the District Attorney’s Office, they would let you out! I can’t believe it worked!”

They started walking.

“Who was the guy you gave the briefcase to?”

“No idea. Never seen him before in my life. Looked very political, though,” said Reece.

“So you dropped off the briefcase, then went and got Chloe’s phone number?”

“Wellll…” said Reece.

“You went to the record store first.”

“I knew you would be okay, and look at you!” said Reece. He slapped Colton on the shoulder. “Like nothing ever happened.”

Colton shook his head and sighed. “So what’s the catch?”

“Catch?”

“This guy gave you a briefcase—probably full of money—and told you to use it to get me out of jail. So what’s the catch?”

“That’s the best part of the whole thing! He didn’t want anything except to meet you after you were released.”

Colton frowned. “What do you mean, ‘meet me’?”

“Exactly what I said. He wants to talk to you, in person. He said I could go, too. I think he might have some sort of business offer for us. Great timing, right?” Reece turned left at the next street but Colton kept walking toward the apartment building. “It’s this way,” said Reece.

“He wants to meet
now
?” said Colton.

“That’s what he said. I had to agree before he handed over the briefcase.”

Colton looked down the unfamiliar street.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he said. “How does he even know who I am, or who
you
are?” Colton shook his head. “How did he know I was in jail in the first place?”

Reece raised his eyebrows. “For a guy who just survived a few hours in the lion’s den with cutthroats and thieves, I would think you’d be a little less of a chicken.”

“It doesn’t seem weird to you?” asked Colton.

“It seems like this guy wants to talk to us, hopefully about how we can both make tons of money with minimal effort. Of
course
it doesn’t seem weird to me.” He pulled a wrinkled piece of paper out if his jeans pocket and squinted at a written address, then looked up at the street signs next to the road. “I was right. Not much farther,” he said, and started walking.

Colton thought about it for a moment, then followed Reece down the dark street.

“I’m not going to bail you out of trouble again,” said Colton. “That was a one-time thing.”

Reece held up his hands. “Totally understandable. And again—thank you.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Reece led them down quiet streets to a tall, unmarked building in University Heights. All of the windows were dark and the brick face was crumbling from age.

“This is it,” said Reece.

“He told you to come
here
?”

“Yeah. Spooky, right?”

They walked up the small set of stairs that led to the front door.

“I feel like I’m about to have my organs harvested,” said Colton.

“Look, if you want, you can just say ‘thank you’ and then we’ll leave. We owe the guy that much at least. But there’s still the matter of all that potential cash…”

Reece turned the handle and pushed open the old, wooden door to reveal a single large, dark room. The entire first floor of the building had been gutted except for a few structural pillars which propped up the ceiling. Debris from interior walls that had been torn down years ago was piled into small mounds throughout the room.