She smiles. “Turbulent, then.”
“It was like riding a tornado. A white-knuckle ride of fucking chaos.”
“But you held on pretty tight?”
“Until the end,” I say.
“She left you?”
“In a form.” I take another breath. “She passed away just over a year ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, and she is. She looks mortified.
“Passed away isn’t the right term for it,” I clarify. “Passing away is a gentle phrase. Soft. Like slipping underwater. Like falling asleep and never waking up. What happened to Mariana wasn’t gentle.” Her screams are ringing in my ears. My fists are clenched underwater. “There was a fire at the warehouse. We were storing chemicals for a client up in Huddersfield, a whole batch of them ready to truck down to Dover. The whole fucking lot went up. It was a fucking inferno. So fierce the sprinklers couldn’t hold it.”
Her eyes are wide as she intuits what I’m about to say.
“Mariana was in there. So was Jake.” My breath strains. “The place was already burning when I got there. They say it was an explosion. It blew the roof out. It was like running into a tunnel of flames.” I gesture above my head, seeing them right there, the heat on my skin. “They licked the ceiling, moved like they were alive, a blanket of flames. The heat…” I take a breath. “Jake must have been in the loading bay. The first explosion sent him flying. His head hit the concrete as he landed. He was barely conscious when I reached him. I dragged him out of there as his feet caught fire.” I hold up my palms. “I put those flames out with my bare hands. His shoes were melting. He lost most of the skin on his heels.”
She’s shaking her head as I go on.
“He was screaming at me all the way. Begging me to get Mariana first.” My voice catches. “But he’s my brother… I couldn’t…”
“You saved him,” she whispers.
“If you can call it that.” I shake my head. “When I got back in there the whole place was up. The explosion must have blocked the door through to the store. The other exits were on fire. She was in there…”
I hear her breath catch.
“She was right on the other side of that door, and she was so fucking scared.” I close my eyes. “I told her I’d get to her. Promised I’d get to her. We had this racking, huge steel rigs to the ceiling. One of the bays fell when the drums blew and blocked the door. She couldn’t move it. Couldn’t even try. It was too hot to touch, she said. Everything was too hot to touch.”
I gesture to my shoulder without even thinking. “The door was heavy, it burnt like a hotplate. I shunted it with everything I had. Even still, I couldn’t open it more than an inch. I told her to get back, to run, but she had nowhere to go. The whole fucking world was burning around me and I couldn’t get through that door, not for the fucking life of me. My skin…” I take a moment. A long fucking moment. “I can still smell it. Still hear her screaming.” My gut churns. “You know the last thing she said to me?”
She shakes her head.
“She begged me not to let her die in there. Screamed that she didn’t want to burn.”
I have to look away as Abigail wipes tears from her eyes.
My heart fucking breaks all over again as the memory comes back. “She was so fucking scared. I was too. I promised I wouldn’t leave her. Swore I’d get to her. Told her just to hang on, that I was coming.”
I stare at the sky as I finish up the rest.
“The second explosion took the wall out. That’s the last I remember. I didn’t come around until I was already outside. The flashing sirens were hurting my eyes. My throat.” I put my fingers against my windpipe. “It hurt so bad to even fucking breathe, and I was screaming for her, fighting to go back in there, even as they held me down.”
“They didn’t get her out,” she says, and it’s not a question.
I shake my head. “They say that would’ve been the last she felt of it. That explosion would have been the end.” I rest back against the ledge. Fight to stay steady. “Jake says if I’d have got to that door earlier… if I hadn’t taken him out first…”
“No.”
“He says I’d have had more time… that I could have got to her… could’ve taken it off the hinges, driven a fucking truck through it…”
“No,” she says again. “I don’t believe that.”
And I’m not sure I do either. Not anymore.
I look her straight in the face. “I have scars. On my shoulder, mainly. My back too. They’re bad. Deep.”