“You have a few friends,” Sadowski said. Dodge didn’t know what he was getting at. He consulted his page of notes again. “Heather Nill. Natalie Velez. Someone must have invited you to that party.”
That was the story that had gone around: a party in the Graybill House. A bunch of kids getting together to smoke weed, drink booze, freak one another out. Then: a stray spark. An accident. The blame was spread around that way, couldn’t be pinned to anyone specific.
Of course, Dodge knew it was all bullshit. Someone had lit the place up, deliberately. It was part of the challenge.
“Well, yeah. Them. But they’re not friends friends.” Dodge felt himself blushing. He wasn’t sure whether he’d been caught in a lie.
Sadowski made a noise in the back of his throat Dodge didn’t know how to interpret. “Why don’t you tell me all about it? In your own words, at your own pace.”
Dodge told him, speaking slowly, so he wouldn’t screw it up, but not too slowly, so he wouldn’t seem nervous. He told Sadowski he’d been invited by Heather; there’d been rumors of a keg party, but when he got there he found out it was pretty lame, and there was hardly any booze at all. He definitely hadn’t been drinking. (He congratulated himself on thinking of this—he wouldn’t get busted for anything, period.)
Sadowski interrupted him only once. “So why the closed room?”
Dodge was startled. “What?”
Sadowski only pretended to glance down at the report. “The fire chiefs had to break down the door to get to you and the girl—Heather. Why’d you go off with her if the party was raging somewhere else?”
Dodge kept his hands on his thighs. He didn’t even blink. “I told you, the party was lame. Besides, I was kind of hoping . . .” He trailed off suggestively, raising his eyebrows.
Sadowski got it. “Ah. I see. Go on.”
There wasn’t much else to tell; Dodge told him he must have fallen asleep next to Heather. The next thing he knew, they heard people running and smelled smoke. He didn’t mention Nat. No need to explain how she’d known to direct the firemen to the back of the house, unless he was asked.
For a while after Dodge finished talking, they sat in silence. Sadowski appeared to be doodling, but Dodge knew this, too, was an act. He’d heard everything.
Finally Officer Sadowski sighed, set down his pen, and rubbed his eyes. “It’s tough shit, Dodge. Tough shit.”
Dodge said nothing.
Sadowski went on. “Bill Kelly was—is—a friend. He was on the force. Little Kelly went to Iraq. Do you know what I’m saying?”
“Not really,” Dodge said.
Sadowski stared at him. “I’m saying we’re going to figure out exactly what happened that night. And if we find out the fire was started on purpose . . .” He shook his head. “That’s homicide, Dodge.”
Dodge’s throat was dry. But he forced himself not to look away. “It was an accident,” he said. “Wrong place, wrong time.”
Sadowski smiled. But there was no humor in it. “I hope so.”
Dodge decided to walk home. He was out of cigarettes and in a bad mood. Now he wasn’t so sure that going to the cops had been a good idea. The way Sadowski looked at him made him feel like the cops thought he’d started the damn fire.
It was the judges—had to be, whoever they were. Any one of the players could squeal about the game, and that would be the end of that.
If Panic ended . . .
Dodge had no plans beyond winning Panic—beating Ray in the final round of Joust, and making sure it was a hard, bloody win. He hadn’t thought of his life beyond that moment at all. Maybe he’d be arrested. Maybe he’d go out in a blaze. He didn’t care either way.
Dayna, his Dayna, had been destroyed, ruined forever, and someone had to pay.
But for the first time he was seized with the fear that the game would actually end, and he would never get his chance. And then he would just have to live with the new Dayna on her plant-stalk legs, live with the knowledge that he’d been unable to save her. Live with knowing Ray and Luke were fine, going through the world, breathing and grinning and shitting and probably crapping on other people’s lives too.
And that was impossible. Unimaginable.
The sun was bright and high. Everything was still, gripped in the hard light. There was a bad taste in Dodge’s mouth; he hadn’t eaten yet today. He checked his phone, hoping Nat might have called: nothing. They’d spoken the day before, a halting conversation, full of pauses. When Nat said her dad needed her downstairs and she had to get off the phone, he was sure she’d been lying.