Page 62 of Hush Money

I grimace. One of my arms automatically comes up in a futile attempt to protect my head as I assess the scene and try to get my bearings. I know I’m in the little foyer, but I don’t recognize anything about what I’m seeing. It’s like I’ve been inserted into the final scene of some sci-fi movie, yanked through a portal to a hostile planet in the last few seconds before it self-destructs.

A bright ring of fire greets me, an obscene inside halo running up the curtains and rippling across the ceiling in every shade of orange that the human eye can conceive. Choking black smoke immediately swoops in and drops me to my knees, giving me the necessary reminder that I need to belly-crawl. So that’s what I do, down the hall to the first bedroom, the largest bedroom, the hardwood floors cool and welcome against my limbs.

I cough the whole time, my lungs raw and burning, my eyes irritated. I turn when I see an opening into the bedroom, rising up to a crouch because the air is clearer back here and I’ll need to get her off the bed?—

“Tamsyn? Tamsyn!”

I fumble around on the giant bed, cursing myself because I didn’t think to click on the lights when I came in. She’s got the shades drawn, and there’s not enough moonlight filtering in for me to see what I need to see. I feel pillows neatly propped…the duvet…a book. No Tamsyn. Is she on the other side? The fire does its part just then, flickering higher down the hallway and providing enough additional illumination for me to see that she’s not anywhere on the bed. Nor is she on the floor on either side of the bed. I dash to the bathroom. She’s not there, either.

“Tamsyn?” An incoherent shout of despair rises from the bottom of my soul as I think about repeating this procedure in the other three bedrooms. “Tamsyn? Where the fuck are you?”

The sofa.

I don’t know where I get the sudden clarity in that moment of wild panic, but I cling to it as I hit the floor again, praying I’m right. Because it’s hotter in the hallway now, and the fire is getting a nice taste of the fresh ceilings and walls outside of the living room. If I’m wrong, I doubt I’ll have the chance to come this way again and finish searching the other bedrooms. If I’m wrong, this whole hallway will be a tunnel of flames in thirty more seconds, and Tamsyn and I are both dead.

But I don’t think I’m wrong. I think she went to sleep on the sofa because she didn’t want to spend the night alone in that lonely bed without me.

My crawling is slower now, my coughing harder, my vision more narrowed. If I open my lids too wide, the smoke gets to my eyes and the blinding heat and bright flames make them feel as though they’re sizzling. I’m fine with my burning arms and legs, but I need my eyes to find Tamsyn. I keep going, willing myself to do it despite my growing exhaustion. The sofa is just ahead… Five more feet… Keep going…keep going…

I come around the sofa, and there she is, head resting on a throw pillow, blanket thrown over her body. Asleep facing me. Deathly pale, but the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I laugh and sob, sagging with relief at this welcome bit of luck.

“Tamsyn?” I reach up to shake her. “Tamsyn?”

She doesn’t move. I shake her again, harder. Her head lolls, dropping off the pillow. More panic surges

“Tamsyn? Fuck! You’re not dead. You’re not dead. Do you hear me?” I don’t know if she’s dead, but now is not the time to find out for sure, and I refuse to believe it anyway. “You’re not dead. You’re not. You hear me? Fuck you, Tamsyn, wake up! Don’t you do this! I need you! You know I need you!”

I stand, hike her up into my arms and turn to go?—

A flash of white outside the living room window catches my attention and snaps me out of my rising despair. It’s Ravenna again. Evidently she needed to come in for a closer look at her handiwork. The flames catch her silent euphoria and those vivid green eyes at their most serpentine. Our gazes connect for a poisonous second. She looks as though she wants to break into a dance and twirl the skirt of that white dress in time to our destruction. That’s the moment I swear to myself—swear it—that if I live through this, I will guarantee that she never commits another destructive act on earth.

There’s a new distraction as a beam falls, temporarily blocking my view of her. I blink against the sudden shower of sparks, and she’s gone again as though she was only ever a figment of the ugliest parts of my imagination.

I clutch Tamsyn closer, holding my breath as best I can and ignoring the way my skin now feels as though it’s bubbling. Then I duck and dart back through the flames—they’re almost close enough now to reach down and lick me from the ceiling—toward the front door. This fucking cottage has turned into Ravenna’s perfect minion. It wants to collapse on us, and it wants to do it now. Once again, I force myself to ignore the pain…to keep going… One more step… I see the door… I see the main house looming in the background… I see a crowd of people gesturing me on and the flashing red of emergency lights…

Suddenly, I’m outside, drunk on fresh night air and the coolness of the light breeze against my flesh. But there’s precious little relief, and I refuse to believe that I just rescued a corpse. I. Fucking. Refuse. I put a little more distance between us and the dying cottage before sinking to my knees and lowering Tamsyn to the ground.

“You’re not dead!” I shout at her, stretching her out and tipping her head back so I can give her mouth-to-mouth. “You’re not dead!” Hands come out of nowhere, trying to push me back. I swing an arm, determined to kill anyone who tries to keep me from her. “She needs mouth-to-mouth! Let me help her! Let me help?—”

More hands. A lot of hands. Strong hands. The next thing I know, I’m being dragged backward, away from her, and someone’s right in my face and shaking me by my shoulders.

It’s Roman.

“Don’t make me hit you,” he says, blocking me when I cock my fist. “The EMTs are here. Let them help her.”

“She needs mouth-to-mouth! She needs?—”

“They’ve got her, Lucien,” Roman says calmly, pointing. “Look. They’ve got her.”

I shove him away so I can see for myself. And there she is, the middle of a circle of men and women moving with brisk efficiency to give her chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth. They swarm back and forth, passing equipment and calling medical jargon to each other. Someone produces an oxygen mask, but she’s not moving.

Why isn’t she moving?

“Tamsyn, don’t you fucking die on me!”

The EMTs pause what they’re doing and stare down at her.

The sight of their inaction unhinges me. “Don’t you stop, you fuckers! She’s not dead! Don’t you?—”

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