The front door to the house stayed open.
Susan felt around on the ground and picked up the sharpest stick she could find. In one hand she had the stick, in the other the water bottle. She could stay outside alone or she could go inside and see what was going on. Either choice was dangerous. But if she went in, at least she wouldn’t be alone. Parker would go in. Parker wouldn’t even hesitate.
Fuck it. She put down the water bottle and followed Henry into the house.
There was music inside. Susan could barely hear it over the rush of her own pulse. A faint classical concerto drifted from the main room up ahead at the end of the hallway.
For a second Susan let herself believe that maybe this was the wrong house. Maybe Archie wasn’t here.
She slid along the wall a few feet at a time, the stick held in front of her like a sword. It was dirty and crooked and she gripped it so tightly she worried it might snap in her hands.
Henry was standing at the end of the hallway completely motionless.
“What have you done to him?” she heard Henry ask.
Susan continued along the wall, drawn forward by a compulsion beyond her control. She wasn’t even aware of moving forward until she found herself at the mouth of the hallway.
A huge fireplace loomed up ahead, the embers of a dying fire flickering within it. Then Susan realized that it wasn’t the dying embers flickering, it was the forest fire. On either side of the floor-to-ceiling stone mantel were picture windows and Susan could see the ridge of red flame growing closer in the darkness, a vision of sinister splendor. It was a mile away, at the most.
Susan couldn’t breathe.
Next to her Henry stood with his gun leveled at Gretchen Lowell. Susan couldn’t get enough oxygen, couldn’t concentrate. Gretchen was wearing slacks and a white silk blouse and her hair was half undone from a bun, blond strands falling against her cheeks. Archie was dead, his head in her lap. Susan tried to get air, but her gauze-packed nose made her feel like someone had a hand over her face. Gretchen’s white blouse was splattered with Archie’s blood.
Susan wheezed, a wet rattle of a noise, like something dying.
“Susan, get out of here,” she heard Henry say. Henry’s eyes were still fixed on Gretchen. “Back away from him,” he barked.
Susan saw Gretchen hold an arm up, revealing a pair of steel handcuffs that bound her wrist to the banister. “I can’t,” Gretchen said. There was a little irritation in her voice, as if she shouldn’t be bothered with something so obvious.
Henry started inching forward toward Gretchen, gun raised. Susan felt a hard nut of panic in her chest. A thousand possibilities streamed through her head. What she would do if something happened to Henry, if she were left alone with Gretchen, with Archie there on the floor. She looked at the stick in her hands and then glanced around for some better kind of weapon, a knife, a hammer, anything. She noticed the white purse on the bar, the key, the piece of paper, the empty prescription bottles, but no blunt objects. Then she saw a paring knife, on the bar. She dropped the stick on the floor, grabbed the knife, and tucked it into her hand. Henry had reached Archie and was kneeling beside him, gun leveled at Gretchen’s head as he reached a hand to Archie’s neck to feel for a pulse.
“What have you done to him?” Henry demanded.
“Guess again,” Gretchen said.
Susan got her phone out and looked at it. There still wasn’t any service. If she lived through this, she was definitely changing carriers. She looked around for a landline and didn’t see one.
“Both your hands where I can see them,” Henry said to Gretchen. He said it through gritted teeth, so it came out hard and fast.
Gretchen raised her other hand. “He’s in liver failure. I’ve got naloxone. I can save him. There’s a key on the bar. Uncuff me.”
Susan glanced over at the small key on the bar. Then back at Gretchen. Then the realization knocked her back on her heels: It wasn’t Archie’s blood all over Gretchen’s blouse. It was Gretchen’s. She’d split the flesh of her own wrist open struggling against the cuff.
He might still be alive.
“Fuck you,” Henry said to Gretchen.
“He’ll die,” Gretchen said. She said it calmly, with complete conviction. “Uncuff me. And I’ll save him.”
Susan looked back and forth between Gretchen and Henry. Somebody do something.
“You’re going to help him,” Henry said with just as much conviction. “Or I’ll shoot you in the head.”
Archie was still alive. Susan felt light-headed. Her nose was running through the gauze and she wiped it. The snot was black with particulate matter from the fire and blood. Archie was dying.
Gretchen looked at Susan. “Uncuff me,” she said. Susan glanced back at the key. Gretchen’s authority was so absolute that Susan hesitated.
“Susan, stay where you are,” Henry said.
“Tick, tock,” Gretchen said.