Page 91 of Ink and Ashes
I hop into the front seat, driving in the direction of the hospital. I’ve come by twice this week to visit Ollie, and he’s opened up to me a lot in the past few days. Told me about his childhood, where he grew up, how he became a firefighter. I’ve gotten the sense that Ollie tries so hard at the station because that’s how he’s always been. He’s doing his best to fit in, and sometimes he makes rash decisions in the process.
The biggest thing I’ve learned in all he’s shared is that Ollie had a picture-perfect childhood, with parents who loved him and lots of friends. When his family relocated to Ember Grove a few years back, he lost his sense of belonging and had to start fresh. That’s hard at any age, but even harder at eighteen.
The things he’s shared with me over the past week have all but convinced me he’s not behind these. Whoever the arsonist is would never open up in such a way. They’ll be closed off and keep to themselves, which is the opposite of Ollie. He may fit other aspects of an arsonist profile, but while there are some overlaps, he doesn’t fit the aspects of a murderer profile.
And that’s what we’re looking for now: a murderer.
I pull up out front of the hospital ten minutes later to find Colson’s truck in the parking lot. I hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not I should come back later, but ultimately decide to head inside. If he wants to avoid me, he can leave, but I’m not going to.
I pull myself from my car and make my way through the front doors. I smile at the nurses at the front desk as they let me pass through the doors toward the burn unit. I don’t stop until I make it to the end of the hallway, then turn right into Ollie’s room.
Colson’s head whips up from where he sits at Ollie’s bedside, while Ollie slowly turns his in my direction, a smile gracing his face.
“Holland, hey,” Ollie says.
“Hi, Ollie,” I say back, glancing between the two men. “Sorry. Am I interrupting?”
Ollie shakes his head. “Nope. We were just hanging out.”
I nod. “How are you doing?”
Ollie shrugs, flexing his fingers in the cast. “I’m okay. Doc’s still got me on painkillers, but the burns don’t really hurt anymore. They just feel tight.” He flexes his right hand—the one covered in bandages to protect the burns. “I’m ready to leave. One more day.”
My eyes widen. “They’re letting you out tomorrow?”
“I insisted. I’m not missing the funeral.”
My heart splits in half at those words. Cass texted me earlier in the week to let me know that the funeral is tomorrow but hearing it out loud has my stomach lurching.
I nod, training my gaze on Colson, who keeps his trained anywhere but on me.
Ollie glances between us, clearly sensing the tension. He opens his mouth to speak, but Colson beats him to it.
“I should get going,” he says, still not looking at me.
Ollie frowns but doesn’t argue. “Alright, man. Thanks for coming by.”
Colson leans down to hug Ollie. When he pulls back, he says, “I’ll be back to pick you up tomorrow.”
Ollie smiles, then Colson moves toward me. My heart rate accelerates with each step closer he takes. I’m blocking the doorway, but I don’t bother moving.
“Rhodes,” Colson says as he wedges by me. He still doesn’t meet my gaze.
My brows pull together as I turn to watch him walk down the hall. I shake my head, my jaw falling open as I shoot Ollie a quick, “Be right back,” then follow after Colson.
I call his name, but he doesn’t stop, forcing me to pick up speed to catch up to him. When I do, I grab him by the arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“Hey, wait,” I say. “What the hell is going on, Colson?”
He keeps his gaze trained above my head, shaking his. “Nothing, I’m all good.”
I bring a hand up behind his neck, tilting his head down, but his eyes still don’t move.
“Why won’t you look at me?”
Colson winces, his jaw flexing.
“Talk to me.”
