“Miss?” The paramedic put an arm up between Fallon and me, his other hand pumping a blood pressure monitor. “Please don’t upset her. She’s had quite a scare.”
I was stunned to dead silence when Fallon looked from me to the paramedic and said, “That’s okay, she’s a friend.”
The paramedic finished his reading and backed away with a shrug. I sat down on the tailgate next to Fallon. We were silent for a full moment, the lights of the police cars washing over us, first responders rushing around, eventually getting in their cars or making notes.
“I went out to get something to eat. When I came back . . .” Fallon’s lip started to tremble again and her eyes filled with tears. I expected her to shake it off, to blink back the tears. The Fallon from school would have. This one just let the tears fall.
I put a hand on hers, squeezed gently. “What happened, hon?”
“Every light in the house was on. Blazing, like it is now.” She gestured absentmindedly toward the house. The doors were wide open. I went inside and—and—”
“There was a pentagram on the dining room floor.” It was Alex now, in front of Fallon and me, arms crossed in front of his chest, legs akimbo.
Fallon nodded and sniffed. “Someone had pushed aside all the furniture and drawn—drawn it in—in chalk or something. There were candles and—” Fallon closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip before whispering, “There was blood.”
I looked up at Alex and he nodded solemnly.
“I screamed and ran out. I guess I kicked over one of the candles because the curtains caught on fire.”
“Where are your parents?”
Fallon didn’t look at me. “Gone. My mom left for Portland tonight—that’s why I went out to get something to eat.”
“And your dad?”
“My dad is . . .” Her voice went thin again and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head, deciding what she should tell me. Exhaustion must have won over. “We don’t really know where he is. We haven’t for a while.”
My heart ached for her.
“Lawson?” I glanced up and Alex was right in front of me, eyes imploring. Will was twenty feet behind him suited up in his gear, soot streaked across his face, ax thrown over his shoulder. I felt my heart start to pound as Alex held out a hand. I saw Will shift behind him.
I swallowed hard, my stomach starting to roil. Finally, I stood. “I’m going to go in and check out what you saw, okay?” I was speaking to Fallon. She hugged the blanket tighter over her shoulders and frowned.
“What were you doing here, anyway?” She sniffed. “I mean, thanks, but you’re a substitute teacher. Why are you like, fighting crime?”
I sucked in a breath. “You have no idea what it takes to get teaching credentials in California. I’ll be right back, okay?”
Fallon nodded and rested her head on her knees.
The inside of Fallon’s house was opulent—more so than I expected—with a swirling staircase wide enough for my car and slick walnut carved everything. Pictures were spaced equidistantly apart, each one showing the same family of three in stiff familial poses, their surroundings and smiles imitating the perfect, happy family, while their eyes stared out vacantly. The kitchen had the same pristine, model-home feel, with glossy industrial ovens that looked like they had never been used and a bunch of fresh bananas that were the exact hue of the trim.
I wondered if Ms. Monroe would toss them once the color changed.
“It’s in here,” Alex said, ten feet in front of me. The dining room was the only room so far with its lights off, but there was enough light coming from the bouncing flames in the fireplace to give me a view of the whole room. I immediately started unbuttoning my jacket as the roaring fire ratcheted up the room temperature by fifteen degrees. An entire half-wall of the room was scorched, long fingers of soot crawling up to the ceiling. The remains of elegant drapery were gnarled rags on one side, Dupioni silk in a calming blue on the other. The window they were protecting was blown out and shards of glass littered both sides of the wall.
“What do you think?”
Alex was gesturing to the wood floor. Furniture hugged the walls, but the center of the room was bare. The pentagram that Fallon said was made of chalk had been ground into the lush wood, its luster covered by what looked like years of wear. A smear of red—blood, I supposed—was washed across the center circle. The candles set at the pentagram’s five points were out, and the one closest to the charred wall was still on its side, a little ripple of form in a pool of black melted wax.
“Anything significant?”
I snapped a picture and turned around, careful not to step on any of the dust. “I don’t see anything that screams out of the ordinary. Unless, of course, you count this giant pentagram on the floor.”
Alex let out a whoosh of air that let me know he was annoyed. “I mean, is this real?”