She Has A Broken Thing Where Her Heart Should Be - J.D. Barker Page 0,115

thinking about me?

Even I don’t know. Perhaps you will always think about me.

Live all your days with me on your mind, then.

Perhaps you won’t, but I think you will.

My Pip.

Every day, always. My Pip.

Stella

HELP ME

On the television, the reporter returned, repeating the same information. “I need to get over there.”

“That sounds like a really bad idea.”

“Don’t care.”

Before he could reply, I was back in my room, changing out of my damp clothes.

Neither of us owned a car. Everything we needed was within walking distance, and parking was scarce. Matteo had offered to buy me one with funds from the trust, but I turned him down. It would just sit and rot, I told him. Vandals in the neighborhood didn’t need another target, particularly a shiny new one.

I caught a cab on Brownsville.

Willy wanted to go, but I told him no. I told him I needed to do this alone.

Each turn, every bump of the road, seemed familiar. When I closed my eyes, I was back in that white SUV, following the same route.

The driver had to drop me at the mouth of Milburn Court. There were too many people and emergency vehicles blocking the small cul-de-sac to get any closer.

I gave him cash and stepped out into the crowd.

The acrid scent of fire was heavy on the early morning air, the sky at the edge of the cul-de-sac was thick with it, all eyes of the crowd faced in that singular direction. Some people had brought chairs, one man even had a cooler. Some were silent, others joked and laughed. Two boys circled the large group on skateboards, sticking to the outer edge of the pavement.

I pushed past them all.

I forced my way through, the numbers growing as I neared the front, until I was at the yellow police tape, now reinforced with wooden barricades and about a dozen uniformed officers behind those, eyeing the crowd with solemn faces.

About thirty feet behind them, I spotted the tall wall of stone topped with black metal spikes, familiar from my visit to this place. A gate of matching metal stood open at the foot of the driveway. To the left was the guardhouse Pete Lemire of KRWT had used as a backdrop in his earlier broadcast. There was no sign of him or the news van now.

The driveway twisted and disappeared among the old oaks and elms, the house lost somewhere behind the trees, not visible from here.

“Pretty crazy, right?”

This came from the woman beside me. She was in her early twenties, long blonde hair and green eyes. She didn’t look at me, only faced forward. She wore a long, white coat.

An ambulance siren chirped, and I turned back to the driveway. The police made an opening in the barricade and forced the people back so it could drive out. Its lights were off. It wasn’t in a hurry.

When I turned back, the woman was gone, replaced by a man in his late sixties fumbling with a cigarette and lighter.

I sucked in a deep breath and ducked under the yellow tape, rounded the wooden barricade, and ran toward the driveway, toward the house, toward Stella. When one of the officers shouted behind me, then another, I only ran faster. When I passed the guardhouse, I spotted another officer, this one staring at me, barking orders into the radio attached to his shoulder. I forced my legs to push harder.

I rounded three bends before the house came into view.

Black smoke streamed up from the west side. Where the white SUVs had been, two fire trucks now stood. Coils of hose ran from the tanks up into the house, through a door off to the side. The front door stood open, and people were rushing in and out—paramedics, police, officials in plain clothes. Nobody I recognized.

Standing between me and the house were three more Pittsburgh PD officers. The one in the middle shouted, “Far enough, kid! Stop right there!”

I faked left, then bolted to the right, tried to rush past him, but one of the others tackled me from the side, and the two of us tumbled to the ground. He twisted my arm around to my back, and I felt a handcuff clasp my wrist. He tried to get my other arm out from under me. I rolled, but his bulk held me down.

“Stop squirming, dammit!”

With the help of one of the other officers, he managed to tug my free arm out and pull it back, locking it behind me with the other