Page 86 of Captive Ruin

Amelia

The Uber drops me down the street, and the red and blue strobes of emergency vehicles reflect through the night, bouncing off every wall and window. My stomach bottoms out at the sight, a hollow ache filling me. Hearing about the disaster is one thing; seeing it saps all my strength, leaving me with a mixture of existential dread and pure loss.

I get out, numb, oblivious to what the driver says to me. The acrid stench of burning fills the air.

Three fire trucks pour water into my gallery, dark black smoke disappearing up into the night. Flames flicker through the windows, bright orange but not numerous, and the building looks mostly unharmed, save for smashed windows.

It doesn’t matter. The water will have destroyed what the flames haven’t.

I’m sick to my stomach, moving as if in a daze. I have to find Sierra, see if she’s safe, and find out what happened.

There’s a cordon and a crowd to push through. A police officer stops me with a raised hand.

“No closer, ma’am.”

“I’m Amelia Anderson,” I say, my voice sounding distant in my ears. “That’s my gallery.”

My words cause a stir in the crowd. Someone snaps a picture with their phone, and I wince. The officer gives me a sympathetic look, then pulls the barrier back enough for me to enter.

Sierra is sitting in the back of an ambulance, a blanket around her, but she stands up as soon as she sees me. “Oh, Ammy!”

“Thank God you’re all right.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She flaps the corner of her blanket with disdain. “This is for shock, apparently.”

“I could use one of those right now,” I mutter.

I was only half serious, but Sierra wraps hers around my shoulders, and I’m grateful for it.

“What the hell happened?”

“I was in your office, doing the listings, and I… fell asleep,” Sierra says miserably. “Just for a few minutes,” she adds hastily, tears in her eyes. “The fire alarm woke me… there was smoke everywhere, and I saw flames.”

“You were in there?”

“I’m fine.” She waves away my concern. “A little coughy, but the EMTs checked me over and cleared me.” She grips her own arms with both hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank God you’re safe.” If she’d been hurt too… I can’t finish the thought.

“Ammy… I heard something, but… I was too busy trying to get out.”

I look at her sharply. “What kind of something?”

“I could’ve been mistaken,” she says hesitantly.

“What do you think you heard, Sierra?” It’s an effort to keep my voice calm.

She takes a breath and squares her shoulders. “The rear door slamming.”

“Jesus,” I breathe. “You think this was arson?”

“It wasn’t the store room and I was in the office. When I came out, it was the gallery itself on fire. The walls, the floors, the sculptures. How could that happen?”

“It couldn’t,” I say grimly. What the hell? Arson. Somebody broke into my gallery and set it on fire. Why? I’m a nobody; I’m irrelevant. I’m not even competition to most other galleries. I haven’t made any enemies… except Serranto. Who else could it be?

Fuck. Taking revenge for his finger.

Which means Van Wyk failed me… again.