Page 119 of Dead Love
“Don’t,” my mother barked. Then she hung up.
I stepped back from the vehicle. “Call the fire department,” I said.
Shea stayed frozen in her seat. Drowning in fear. I took a step back. If she wasn’t going to do anything, then I needed to gonow.
“I don’t have my phone with me,” I started, “but you have Vincent’s number—”
She jumped out of the car, tripping over her heels as she stumbled onto the sidewalk. She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me.
“You can’t go,” she said. “If what you said is true, then none of them can be trusted. Not your father. Not Andrew. Not even Vincent.” Her eyes bulged, her voice trembling: “All we have is each other.”
That wasn’t true, but she wouldn’t understand. I turned toward the street, checking the direction of the funeral home. Vincent must have been insane to think that burning down the town would give me a signal. A sign that he loved me.
But it wasn’t all about destruction. Not anymore. He didn’t want Nikki to die, nor my mother. He even warned her of what he had done. He just wanted the world to burn.
And I didn’t blame him for that.
“I have to go,” I said. I stepped around Shea, going toward the driver’s seat of the car, but she stepped in front of me.
“I won’t let you.” Her eyes narrowed on mine. Her nostrils flared, her feet planted firmly apart, ready to brace for my impact. Ready for me to fight her.
But there was no time for that. If I couldn’t drive, then I would go on foot. I went around her, walking down the sidewalk.
“Please don’t leave me,” she begged, her voice rattling. The shop’s windows shattered, every last piece of glass spilling on the sidewalk. Shea flung a hand over her mouth to keep herself from whimpering.
“Call the fire department,” I repeated. “Then leave. You don’t have to watch this.” I motioned toward the car. “I have to go.”
“You’re making a mistake,” she said. “He doesn’t love you. He wants to kill you.”
The flames reached high above the roof. The breeze fueled the fire, the flames growing to the clouds. From across the street, the heat brushed against our skin, the yellow, white, and red flames mixing with black clouds. The fire roared.
Each time I had been inside of the crematory room, Vincent had opened the furnace door, letting the heat brush my skin. Like when he had placed me on that conveyor belt, threatening to burn me. We didn’t know each other than, and yet, when I was ready to let the fire take me, to release me from this existence, he had stopped me. He had threatened me, tried to hurt me, and taken everything from me, and yet he had given me so much. Shown me what it meant to be free.
Because Vincent wanted me to understand what it meant to live.
“He never wanted to kill me,” I said. I put my hands on my hips, trying to be strong. “All he wanted was for you to wake up. For Dad to see what was there, that you and I were waiting for him. That I was there for you, Mom. Every time. Because in the end, I was nothing to you. Nothing but a prop. But to Vincent?” I gestured at the fire as if he was inside of there, as if the flames were a representation of him. As if I could feel him with us. “Vincent always saw me. When you locked me away. At the dead of night. Even when I thought no one in the world could understand. He always did.”
“That’s not love, sweetheart.” She bowed her head. “That’s obsession.”
And maybe she was right. Maybe that’s all it really was: Vincent’s sick obsession where I was the centerpiece, the muscle that kept twitching, that kept everything connected, even when all the other signs said to give up.
But it wasours.Our obsession. Our screwed-up love. And for once, it didn’t matter who I was, or what image I was failing to uphold. Because Vincent saw me. The real me.
“I know what our love is,” I said firmly, “and I don’t care.”
Her skin flushed, her hands wiggling at her sides. “I’m the only one who has always been there for you, who never stopped looking for you. The only one who will keep you truly safe.” She bared her teeth. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“Safety isn’t always what you think it is,” I said quietly. The fire crackled loudly to the side of us, and I raised my voice: “Safety doesn’t matter if you sacrifice your happiness along with it.”
“Don’t I make you happy?”
I stared into her green eyes, the color she had given me. She had wanted to be the perfect image of a family for so long, that now, now that she knew with certainty, that her husband wasn’t the man she thought he was, she was latching onto me. But that didn’t fool me. I knew it was never about my father, nor was it about me. It was about making Shea secure. She needed someone like that. Someone to protect. Someone to make her feel like she wouldn’t disappear.
But even if I was going to be there for her, I needed to be there for myself first. And I couldn’t give up Vincent. I refused.
“I will always come back to you,” I said. “But my heart doesn’t belong to you.”
A sob crumbled through her. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
