I breathed in relief, and waited for him to unlock the door and leave. Only then did I put the colored water on the table and pick up the box. Gingerly, I removed the key from the lock, placing it in my pocket.
Breadknife was motionless by my feet. His eyes were vacant, his mouth ajar in a wordless scream. I touched the tight chain on his throat, and it became lax, then slithered up my wrist, and linked into a bracelet. I grabbed the pouch from the table, and tossed the still-closed box inside. I had no idea what would happen if I left it behind to burn. Perhaps the things inside it would be free. Better to take it with me.
I stepped over Breadknife’s body and ran to the door at the other end of the warehouse. I prayed that, for once, no lock would stand in my way.
None did. The door opened to a small room, which must at some point have been an office. Now, the only remnants of its original function were severed phone cables protruding from the walls, and abandoned electrical outlets. A sleeping bag was unrolled on the floor, and on it lay Tammi, asleep. She was tucked in a fetal position, a stray curl on top of her cheek. I crouched by her side, brushing the curl away. Her skin was soft and warm. She breathed deeply, her lips in a pout, moving slightly as she dreamed.
The air became hazy and suffocating. I coughed into my sleeve, and then picked Tammi up, resting her head on my shoulder. To my amazement, she remained asleep.
She weighed almost nothing, and I easily carried her out of the room. The fire had spread to the far corners of the warehouse. The glass windows had cracked, then broken, and the flames roared as additional oxygen began fueling them.
The doorway out was engulfed in smoke. Flames licked at it, hungry for the air outside. I thought of my parents’ death and shuddered.
But then, the longer I waited, the worse the fire would become. Holding tight to my daughter, I ran across the room, the heat becoming more and more unbearable. My breathing, heavy from the effort, became a coughing fit as I inhaled a lungful of smoke. Tammi began moving in my arms, slowly waking up to an inferno.
And then we were plunging through the flames and I hugged her tight as she screamed, half blind with my eyes blurring from tears, running, running.
It took a while for me to realize we were out, that the air was cool and fresh around us. That we stood in a dark street, and not in a warehouse, orange with flames.
Tammi cried and squirmed. I quickly put her down, checking her for flames, for burns.
“What is it, sweetie? Are you in pain? Where are you hurt?”
“I want my mommy,” she sobbed.
She was whole and unhurt. Endless conflicting emotions drowned my heart as I hugged her, whispering, “Okay, sweetie. I’ll take you to your mommy. Calm down now. Stop crying. You’ll see mommy very soon.”
Chapter Forty
I had no phone; it was now melting inside the burning warehouse. No car either—nor, to be frank, the knowledge of how to drive one. No money for a cab. Besides, the streets around us were empty and dark.
I could wait with Tammi for the inevitable firefighters and police to show up. But that would mean I’d have to answer questions. One of the policemen who were routinely paid by Breadknife might have lingering loyalty to their barbecued boss, and I had no intention of risking Tammi or myself that way.
So I walked. At first, I told Tammi we would walk hand in hand. I wrapped my palm gently around hers, marveling at how small and soft it was. Then we began walking, but I quickly realized that walking with a five-year-old, even my daughter who was the best and brightest and most wonderful girl in the world, was… difficult.
Her steps were so small. She constantly stumbled, or paused for no clear reason. She was tired. She wanted her mommy. After what felt like a lifetime of walking, cajoling her to walk slightly faster and be a brave little girl, I looked back and saw that we’d barely crossed a hundred yards.
So I took her in my arms again and marched, already hearing the sirens of the first responders getting closer. I ducked with her into an alley as I spotted the flashing blue light of a squad car, and then moved on, keeping off the main streets to remain hidden.
She dozed off, her head bobbing on my shoulder, her hair tickling my nose. Though she didn’t weigh much, carrying her around wasn’t easy; her feet kept bumping my body, and my arms were starting to ache.
Nevertheless, I wanted this walk to stretch forever. My daughter in my arms, for the first time since she was born.
Finally, we reached an open bar. I stepped inside, looking around me warily. There were several men sitting around, drinking beers and playing pool, and one tired-looking prostitute smoking by the bar. Not the most wholesome place to bring a five-year-old to.
“Can I use your phone?” I asked the bartender.
He was fat, and a faded tattoo of what looked like a snake decorated his neck. He took one long look at me, and said, “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
I glanced at the mirror behind him and saw that my face was sooty, my hair a mess. A large ugly bruise was developing where Breadknife had pistol-whipped me. “I’m fine. I just need your phone, thanks.”
He handed me his own mobile phone, and I called Sinead, whose number I knew by heart. I gave her the address of the bar, refusing to go into any details other than “We’re both fine.”
While I waited, sitting on a bar stool with Tammi cradled in my lap, the bartender made me some tea. The prostitute stubbed out her cigarette, apologizing for the smoke. She gazed at my daughter and murmured that we were so much alike, a forlorn smile on her face. When I gazed around me, all I saw were kind eyes.
And then the bar door opened and Sinead and Kane walked inside. Sinead rushed to my side, hugging me carefully to avoid waking Tammi up. I followed them out, thanking the bartender profoundly for all his help.
Kane held the rear passenger door for me, and I carefully lay Tammi in the backseat. She shuffled slightly and murmured, “Mommy.”
“We’re getting you to your mommy now, sweetie,” I whispered in her ear.
I stood up, gazing at my daughter asleep in the back of the car. Then I took three steps to the side and threw up.
Sinead was by my side in an instant, fulfilling the loyal role of hair holder as I retched and vomited again. The world spun. I shook violently.
“You’re okay, Lou,” Sinead whispered in my ear. “You’re okay.”
“I’m… not okay.” My teeth were chattering. “I killed them, Sinead. I killed three of them. And I ran with Tammi through a fucking fire. She could have been hurt. I killed those men, Tammi. Matteo and Steve and ABC.”
“You were protecting yourself. And Tammi. They deserved to die.”
Tears were running down my cheeks. My body shivered violently. “But I was the one who killed them.”