CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SHE WAS HERE.
Dexter knew it. Like the way he’d known that Charleen would chase after the younger version of Josiah and the alive version of Eileen in the stadium. That she’d disappear and leave him wondering. That he’d end up somewhere in their history, his brain scrambling to pick all the hints from the recesses.
He’d always assumed that if he found his wife she’d have a logical explanation as to where she’d been hiding. That if became so large over the years, he’d stopped putting any thought into it.
Until he’d crossed paths with Charleen.
If Dexter had refused to leave her side in this moment, things might be different. He could feel it. The way she’d begged him to pick up a few items. Her refusal to come with him. Her unresponsive form when he’d returned.
The way everything inside of him had stopped at the sight of her still body surrounded by blood. So much blood. With nothing he could do.
He paused on the sidewalk leading to their darkened two-story home. The ripple of the past—the present—hummed along his nerves. He couldn’t be too late—it was never too late.
The light of the full moon hit on something white near the edge of the walk. He picked up a Polaroid, the smiling faces of a family coming to him as if he could see them in clear light. Simone and Hicks stood with a little girl in between them—Fay or Mia—or whatever she went by.
Josiah’s sister.
The pound of footsteps hit his ears seconds before a darkened figure barreled into his chest. Knocked him off balance to the unforgiving flowerbed at the edge of the sidewalk. A palm flattened over his mouth. The smell of jasmine floated around him.
“Don’t move, Dex.” Charleen’s voice held that hint of a rasp he’d never get enough of. The moonlight illuminated the hair she’d dyed. The ball cap on her head and those eyes she had turned toward the house. The pound of her pulse was evident at her neck, a staccato beat.
Beyond the intermittent whip of the wind rustling the surrounding greenery, he heard nothing. Saw nothing except Charleen and the chaotic way she lived that he’d die trying to protect. “Vi.” The words came out garbled around her hand.
“Have you seen Dr. Hicks or Josiah?”
He shook his head. Removed her hand from his mouth and clutched it. Her fingers were like solid cubes of ice in his. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She rolled off of him, stayed crouched low. “I woke up inside the house. Turned off all the lights and went out through the crawl space.” She tugged a strand of hair from her mouth. “What if I could change everything?”
He sat up, kept his voice low. “You can’t change basic human nature. You can’t force people to do what’s right.”
“He saved my life, Dexter.” Her fist hit the dirt. “Hicks came here—made sure Simone knew where he was going and when. When she arrived and saw me bleeding out and him hanging from the ceiling, she had to choose. Him or me. And by the time you and Simone got me to the hospital, Josiah had already moved Hicks from this time to another—one where no one was looking for him.”
The scene she’d described popped up in his mind. The panic. Sitting at Charleen’s bedside. Praying. Watching Simone crumble under guilt silently. Had Hicks’ diagnosis for Charleen been a clue? A way to keep her out of the field and out of sight? Safe.
“None of that would’ve happened if I’d made different choices. He’d be alive. I’m going to make sure he stays that way.”
What she didn’t—wouldn’t—say hovered all around them. If she could change this moment, why wouldn’t she change the one inside the hospital? If she’d save the life of someone she barely knew—in the here and now—why wouldn’t she save Eileen? Dexter would give anything to make this all end. He knew how important it was for her to save lives, but do so in a manner that seemed ordinary. Anything else left her wide open for attack. “Vi, think this through.”
“I have, Dexter.” She stood. “I can’t watch you go through any of this. I won’t watch anyone else die—not if I can save them. I have to fix this.”
He mimicked her motions, everything inside of him clenching. “No slingshot. I go where you go, not where you think I should go.”
“Aw, Vi.” The crunch of footsteps echoed toward them, Josiah’s form coming into view. He wore a grin. Moonlight glanced off the edge of metal in his hands. “We meet again.”
Dexter stepped between them. Shielded Charleen from Josiah. Wasn’t going to let him touch her. They could slingshot—absorb, but Josiah would likely follow, the process removing their memory. “You don’t have to do this.”
A laugh erupted from Josiah. The scene around them began dissolving. “Why is that always the first thing anyone says in these situations?” He motioned to himself with the knife. “I know exactly what I do and don’t have to do.”
“The night of the fire, your mom and dad put you and your sister to bed.” From behind him, Charleen’s voice was sure and strong. She stepped up next to Dexter even as everything inside him screamed for the opposite.
“Like always, right? You couldn’t sleep so you got out of bed. You climbed the kitchen counter and got your dad’s lighter from the top of the refrigerator. It was silver and shaped like a cowboy boot. You always begged him to let you hold it, but he always told you it was for adults only. You worked it like a pro. Only burnt yourself once. Lit a dishrag on fire in the sink. Didn’t count on it catching the curtains your mother loved. Then the whole house was on fire, even though you tried to put it out.
“The house was so filled with smoke you couldn’t breathe. Could barely make it to the room your sister slept in. You grabbed her and meant to get your parents, but you got turned around. Ended up outside. Watching the flames engulf the house. And later when you found out your parents were dead, you promised to take care of your sister no matter what. But then she left you too—a product of an undiagnosed disease. You decided to go back. To try again.”
“You said it would work.” Everything around them was gone.
“I was six, Josiah. I’d just met my mother for the first time accidentally. A mother I thought was dead. I didn’t have the answers. I still don’t. No one does.”
Josiah laughed, their surroundings coming into view. “The proof is right there.” He gestured to the same two-story house. Instead of the middle of the night, it was daylight. The structure was no longer intact, but had windows missing and was engulfed in flames.
___
There was no telling how long she’d been here.
One minute Charleen was outside the house—watching the flames—the next in the center of the burning inferno in the middle of what had to be the living room. The smoke was so thick it sent her to her knees. Made taking a breath the equivalent of inhaling eighty thousand knives. Her entire body sizzled with the nearby heat of the flames.
Where was Dexter? Josiah? She had to get out of here. She moved forward on her hands and knees. Encountered something hard. Felt the edge of rubber and the softness of an extremity. Moved in that direction. Mia’s dark features came into view as she lay unresponsive. Next to her Finn, Amanda, and Robinson were sprawled out in much the same fashion, the fire eating its way toward them. Flames shooting higher. Devouring the structure.
The sight around her made her stomach heave upward. She needed to check on them. Make sure they were okay. Breathing.
“She’s alive.” Josiah’s voice reached her above the crackle, but his body was nowhere in sight. “I saved her. And look what happened. She ended up in someone else’s family. They don’t get her. They think she needs constant protection.” He stepped into view in full fire gear. He removed his black respirator as he crouched near her, his eyes piercing. “She would’ve been fine with me.”
“She wasn’t.” A rough cough came from her lungs. She rolled to her back and scooted backward. “You put your sister in harm’s way when you set that fire, Josiah. And when you were both placed with an interim family, you ruined it by setting another fire.”
Josiah advanced.
Simone and Hicks had offered to take Josiah and Fay—distant relatives—Charleen could see it in her mind. There had been no one else. Josiah had destroyed that chance with several fires, the last one so large Simone’s attached garage had been unusable. After that, the children had been removed from the home, Fay being quickly adopted by the Harwoods.
Josiah was doomed to bounce from home to home, his mental issues seemingly unsurmountable. Putting them all in danger. Leaving Simone to make a choice no mother should have to make.
“You went back to the night of the original fire.” Dexter’s voice was strong and sure—somewhere outside of her view. Somewhere beyond the flames. Where he needed to stay. He couldn’t get through. Not without fire retardant gear. “Thought you could save them. Save your sister. Keep all of you together. And when you couldn’t, you ended up on that road with Charleen. It wasn’t an accident. You were waiting for her.”
“Vi brought you back, didn’t she?” Josiah donned the mask. “She survived that slice in her arm. Saved this one.” He pointed toward Amanda, his words a little garbled. “On numerous occasions.”
Charleen needed to get everyone out of here. Sling them somewhere safe. Another cough racked through her. Made a wave of dizziness take over. “I told you to think of somewhere safe.”
“My house.” His eyes glittered as he hovered over her. “With my family alive.”
Dexter’s form appeared through the fire as he leapt through it and landed above Josiah, gun aimed right at his head. Charleen held up a hand. Struggled against another cough. Dexter didn’t move.
“Something terrible happened.” She grabbed Josiah’s coat. She had to get through to him. Couldn’t rely on a bullet to do the job for her. Not ever again. “You lost your family. Nobody can bring them back. A family adopted your sister, Josiah. They cared for her and loved her. You made that possible. So, you have to let her go. You have to accept that recreating the scene that night won’t provide answers.”
Just like nobody could ever bring back Eileen. Just like she’d never stop the fire here. Never stop him from killing those around her. Not with words. Not with a life sentence. Not with a gun.
___
They didn’t have a lot of options.
The Wittemoore house was sound asleep—quiet. Unsuspecting. Charleen and Dexter regularly passed the house and waved at the family. Borrowed sugar from Mrs. Wittemoore. Helped Mr. Wittemoore fix his lawn mower. Tossed a ball to both children on the off-chance that it had rolled in their direction.
“You’re suggesting we stop this?” Anger resided in Dexter’s voice.
The kind Charleen wanted to soothe. She wasn’t suggesting anything. She was going to do exactly that. She was going to take a chance on a little boy. Take all measures to subdue a threat before taking aim.
The alternative meant repeating everything they’d gone through since Dexter had landed in the airport, an infinite loop until they didn’t remember anything about their lives. Until they couldn’t enjoy it at all. Until their friends—their family—ended up a casualty in this mess.
“Josiah won’t stop.” She moved toward the house. She understood the pain behind the actions, but didn’t condone them. “You know that.”
Not on the current path he was on. He couldn’t see the truth. That there was absolutely no way for him to fix what he’d done. There was no way for anyone to fix any of it.
But Charleen would try. For Fay. For Josiah. For Eileen.
“How do we know we won’t have to watch him his whole life?”
“We don’t.” That was the price paid for loving someone. For reaching out. Believing in change. Doing what was right. Fighting the war. Diving into the mission.
“This is what we do.” Her gaze hit him. She wanted to memorize every last inch of him. Have a moment in case there weren’t any others to follow. “We save lives.”
“I’ll go.” Dexter’s voice was stern, his hand finding hers and squeezing.
She could argue. It only would delay what needed to be done.
Dexter moved in close. He tilted her chin upward, his lips hitting hers and moving over them. She couldn’t help trying to get closer. Reveling in the way he tasted, in every touch. In all the words they’d never say to each other. Not right now. Maybe someday.
She could hold onto that.
A light flipped on in the kitchen. It blasted over where they stood. Seconds later the back of a chair came into view, followed by the top of Josiah’s head. Dexter’s fingers left hers as he headed for the house. For the door the Wittemoore’s never locked.
Dexter turned back. “If things don’t go as planned…”
There really wasn’t much of one. No way for them to know what might happen in this moment or the next.
“I—I want you to know that I think Eileen would be proud of you.”