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“Your brothers told an officer that, too. You know who didn’t say that? Every single witness from the restaurant that I could question. They said you walked in and picked a fight with Tyler Morgan.”
Michael fought to keep his voice even. “I didn’t know Tyler would be there. The guy I was meeting never showed up. I thought—”
He stopped short. He’d almost said, I thought Tyler had set me up.
But that would lead to more questions.
“You thought what?”
Like that one. Michael shook his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I didn’t know he’d be there. I was supposed to meet someone else.”
“Okay, give me a name.”
Michael turned to stare at the ceiling again. “I don’t remember.”
The fire marshal pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and held it up. “Maybe you should check your text messages.”
Michael whipped his head around. His vision spun for a moment, and he had to blink.
His cell phone was hanging in a plastic baggie marked Evidence.
All he had to do was meet Marshal Falkner’s eyes to know that his text messages had already been reviewed.
Michael had no idea what to say.
“You know what we found, don’t you?” said the marshal.
The pictures. The texts. The threats. “Is that why I was chained to the bed? Because someone else was threatening me?”
“This is where the really honest part is going to be important, even though you haven’t kept up your end of the bargain.” The fire marshal paused. “I think this is bigger than just your neighborhood and that restaurant. Am I right?”
Michael had nothing to say. How could he explain? How could he even begin to wrap words around the scope of this?
Well. It began when I was a teenager, and my parents made this deal . . .
“This goes beyond the carnival, too, doesn’t it?”
Michael didn’t say anything.
“They’re talking about bringing in the FBI,” said the fire marshal. “You can talk to me or you can talk to them. I guarantee they’re not going to give you the benefit of the doubt. You know something. It’s obvious you know something. It’s all over your phone.”
Michael wished he’d run. This morning, when they’d made the decision to go to Adam’s. He should have just gotten on the highway and started driving.
They had no proof, right? All they had were text messages he’d received.
“You mention Calla,” said the fire marshal. “In one of your messages.” He paused, waiting for a reaction. Michael didn’t give him one, though the machine kept beeping out his heart rate, quicker than normal.
The man leaned against the bed rail. His voice was low, conspiratorial. “I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you that Calla was listed as missing after the fires at the carnival, and her body was never recovered. Want to tell me why you’d think she was sending you text messages claiming responsibility for the fires in your neighborhood?”
Oh, that’s easy. Because Calla is a psychotic Fire Elemental who wants to start a war between the Elementals and the Guides. Oh, wait, you don’t know about Elementals? Here, let me tell you . . .
Michael inhaled a long breath and set his jaw.
Marshal Faulkner held up the phone again. “You were texting Hannah around the same time. Did anyone else have access to your phone?”
No one had, but Michael was expecting a trap now, so he didn’t answer.
You were texting Hannah at the same time.
