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“It looks like you’re smoking weed in my house,” I say, breaking golden rule number one of welcoming a foster child. It is always our house. But I don’t care. This will never be Carl’s home.
“Ten out of ten.” He puts the joint to his lips and takes a long, slow drag before holding it out in my direction. “Here, you look like you need this more than I do.” Then he laughs with this throaty, high-pitched cackle that makes me see red.
I’m not thinking. Something inside me snaps.
I hurl myself at him, my fists clenched, my arms flailing, and give a shriek that must have been stored up for months. I make a grab for the joint, but Carl pre-empts my move and swings himself from the bed, grabbing one of my hands with his other arm. I lose my footing and roll on top of him. He twists me over, and I fall onto the floor on the other side of the bed.
He is on top of me, holding both my hands above my head with one of his. His grip is vice-like, his face primitive. I try to kick, but his body is too heavy.
“What did you think you were going to do?” He snarls. “Did you think you could take me?”
I stop kicking. My breathing batters my chest. He moves his face closer to mine, and I instinctively close my eyes and turn my head away.
“Oh, I get it.” He sniffs, and a sly smirk creepsacross his face. “You think this is the part where I’ll fuck you. I’m right, aren’t I?”
I don’t answer. The thought had crossed my mind, and my body had started to shut down, turning off all its receptors and acting as if I were dead.
He pushes his face into mine, his breath stale, a coldness seeping from his skin.
“I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last person on this fucking earth,” he spits out. “In fact, I’d rather fuck your mom, your dad, your brother, and your fucking cat before you.” He licks my cheek, his rough, wet tongue running up the side of my face as I cower into the carpet, screwing my eyes closed.
“No, with you, I’d rather do something more fun.” He moves his head away, and I dare to open my eyes.
I fight the urge to try and overpower him. Surely, my two arms are stronger than one of his, but I have to get the timing right. He grabs something from his bedside table. I immediately scold myself for not acting straightaway.
“This is much more my style,” he hisses as he waves the lighter in front of my face. The little flame glows before me as he swings it back and forth as if he’s trying to hypnotize me.
“Have you ever smelled burned flesh?” he asks. I want to close my eyes, his face illuminated by the tiny flame haunts my vision, and I want nothing more than to kill him. “It has a very distinct smell, depending upon which part of the body is burning. Here, let me demonstrate.”
I brace myself for the heat upon my skin, but he holds his hand out toward the bottom of the curtains and sets fire to them.
They go up in seconds, the flames crawling up the material. I pull my hands free and scratch his face. Carl yells and drops the lighter. He tries to restrain me, but I see my chance and grab it. I punch him in his right eye, and my large ring catches him on the side of his face as he thrusts his hands up to his eyes. I drag my legs from underneath him and hurl myself forward.
I crawl with speed, trying to get away from him, but he grabs my leg and drags me back.
“You stupid fucking bitch!” Carl screams. I try to kick him as he wrenches me backward, giving me carpet burns on my hands and face. He grabs my shoulders and slams me to the floor, shouting at me, calling me every name he’s ever written. And while he does this, the flames grow, consuming everything in their wake.
“So, what you’re saying seems to add up,” Klein says, holding the slim file. I let out a sigh and let it hang. I don’t want to look too relieved. “I just want to make sure we’re totally up to speed with this.” I nod, hoping it’s nearly over.
“Carl was fostered with your family at the age of fifteen, and you were fourteen. You report that Carl was a troubled individual with psychotic tendencies resulting from childhood trauma. You claim he set fire to your house, and you were the key witness who helped prosecute him for arson. He was sentenced to three years in a youth detention center. A Youth Rehabilitation Order of eighteen months was substituted on appeal with several other conditions, including a curfew. Because of this and his good behavior during his incarceration, Carl only served a portion of this sentence.
“You don’t see him for years, and then, as chance has it, he marries your boss. He’s worried as you are the only person who knows his past, and he wants a little revenge for you putting him away. Am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“He apprehends you in a bar and warns you to keep your mouth shut where Cora is concerned, but then something goes wrong with Cora.” Klein eyes me, waiting for my nod of approval. “You are photographed by one of Cora’s friends, so Carl tried to pass it off as flirtation on your part, which gets you fired. A few months pass, and Cora shows up at the coffee shop accusing you of pursuing Carl. It gets violent, and then Carl turns up at the coffee shop wanting to know what you’ve said to Cora.” I nod as Klein wrinkles his nose, ready for his next question.
“What do you think happened between Carl and Cora? Why did she come after you at the coffee shop?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. I want to bite my nails but keep my hands jammed under the table. “Cora isn’t stupid. I think she has suspicions about Carl, but she’s been too afraid to confront them. After she sacked me, I think she would’ve watched him very carefully.” Klein waits for me to continue, but I’m done. I don’t know what happens behind closed doors, but I know Carl. He will have been up to something. He will have aroused her suspicion, and she will have jumped to the conclusion that it involved me.
“Okay, I can tell you we have put out an APB on Carl, but we haven’t found him yet. Do you think it is likely that he’ll come looking for you?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. I don’t think Carl would be that stupid, but then again, he’s been waiting a long time for revenge, and now he’ll hold me accountable for Lewis’s death. It will be my fault for sure, and I’ll have to pay.
“We have a few lines of inquiry to follow, but I’m confident we will find him,” Klein boasts.
“Thanks.”
