Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

“I’m turning it on now,” she said.

“The one in your bedroom. You have to be under the covers, just like when you were in Washington.”

Sydney smiled as she walked down the hall, the phone at her ear. “In the bedroom now,” she said, then switched on the set. She hit the guide. There was more than one Disney Channel. “What show is on?”

“ Kim Possible.”

She turned to that channel, then climbed into the bed. “Okay. I’m here and the TV’s on.”

“Are you under the covers?”

“I’m under the covers.”

“No, you’re not.”

Sydney pulled the quilt from the foot of the bed over her. “I am too.”

“What’s on your TV screen?”

“The same as yours, imp. Kim Possible is kicking butt on Dr. Drakken.”

“I love Dr. Drakken,” Angie said. “He’s such an idiot.”

They watched the TV in silence for a few seconds, and finally Sydney said, “Okay. I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t turn off your TV.”

“You either.”

“ ’Night.”

“ ’Night.” Sydney hung up the phone, thinking about Angie, how many times they’d done this when she lived halfway across the world from her… Her gaze fixed on the cartoon characters jumping across her set, she relaxed for the first time in days, smiling at the thought that her sister was checking up on her to make sure she really was watching TV. And for some reason it struck Sydney, her sister’s name, what her mother had told her it meant, why she’d chosen it. Angela. Messenger from God… She closed her eyes, feeling warm beneath the comforter, sleepy even, wondering if Angie was a messenger, what message was she bringing? An odd thought, but Sydney was too tired to figure out why…

She wasn’t sure if it was the strange dreams that woke her, or the flickering of the TV set. Since it was the latter that bothered her more, she blindly felt for the remote control, then gave up when she couldn’t find it. But the flickering continued, penetrated her consciousness…

Let it be a dream…

Of course it was a dream. She’d had them before… The sort where she thought she was awake, but she wasn’t, then she dreamed she’d awakened…

But the hallway glowed orange. Sydney could see straight down it to the kitchen. To her painting of the flames. A painting that was engulfed. And that red eye winking at her…

But it wasn’t an eye…

And her pulse thundered.

She couldn’t move. She’d seen that eye. On the hand of the man who closed the door. The door that closed the night her father was killed.

She could even smell the smoke from the fire…

All she wanted to do was close her eyes, move back in time, see her father once more, but now the damned fire alarm was going off.

She felt so sleepy.

“ Sydney! ”

The crash that followed jarred her. She saw the flames down the hall. Flames that shot to the ceiling with the rush of air. Someone running toward her.

She bolted up, cried, “Angie!”

Someone was racing toward her. Her gun. Where’d she put her gun?

“Sydney!” Scotty appeared in front of her.

She tried to clear her head. Her gun was in her purse.

“You need to get out.”

“Where’s Angie?”

“ Angie? She’s here?”

Relief flooded her. “Downstairs,” she said, then reached for the phone.

“It’s called in. Let’s go!”

She dropped the phone, allowed Scotty to pull her from the room.

She didn’t know what made her stop. Dig in her heels at the door. The sight of the flames engulfing her painting in the kitchen. The thought that Scotty was there so quickly. She pulled her hand from his. Ran back. Got her purse. All she could think was she needed a gun. She was not going out there without her gun.

Sydney took one last look at the flames shooting up in her kitchen, and with a death grip on her purse, ran for the door. Scotty stood on the porch, waiting, watching. Sirens blared in the distance. Topper barked sharply from behind Arturo’s door. A moment later it opened. Arturo stood there, his expression one of someone who has awoken, and wasn’t sure what was going on. Topper raced out, barked again, then tried to herd Sydney down the steps.

Arturo’s gaze widened. “What the-?”

“Fire. You need to get out.”

“Oh my God.”

He looked back inside, his expression filled with that mo- mentary panic of what he should try to save. Sydney grabbed his arm. “Now.”

The cement was cold beneath her bare feet as she raced down the steps to the damp grass, where Rainie and the others were standing. Angie was in Rainie’s arms, and she broke free, ran to Sydney the moment she saw her. Jake hadn’t yet gotten there, apparently.

“What happened?” Rainie asked.

“I don’t know.” Sydney held Angie tight, stroked her soft hair as she looked up at her apartment, the flames through the kitchen window. All her art supplies. “I don’t know…” she repeated, vaguely aware that Scotty had walked up to her. She pinned her gaze on him. He seemed so calm. “What did happen?”

At first he didn’t look at her, and she saw the reflection of the fire dancing on his face. He watched the kitchen, then scanned the stairway and around the house, before finally meeting her gaze. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d drive by. To see if you were still up

… To-” His glance flicked down toward Angie before giving Sydney one of those readbetween-the-lines looks. “To see if you were still up. That’s when I saw the fire.”

And Arturo said, “Well, thank God for small miracles. Good thing you came by.”

Though she wanted to demand that Scotty explain how anyone got past the surveillance team or how they failed to see the flames, she couldn’t right then, for the obvious reasons.

Within moments sirens echoed off the buildings as two engines turned the corner, stopping in front of the house, their three-sixties lighting the neighborhood like a red and white flashing disco. Soon the neighbors were out on their lawns and, judging from the size of the growing crowd, a number who weren’t neighbors and didn’t have a life in the middle of the night. Sydney pulled Angie close as they made way for the firemen, who were dragging a hose up the steps. Topper barked at them, and Arturo held tight to his collar.

She couldn’t even look up at the apartment. All she could do was bury her face in Angie’s hair. It seemed like forever before they got the water on it, an eternity before they got the fire out. “I need to call Jake,” Sydney said, pulling her cell phone from her purse.

She punched in his cell number. When he answered, she said, “I thought you’d be here by now.”

“We’re about fifteen minutes away. There was an accident, and the roads were blocked-” He stopped talking suddenly, perhaps taking in the background noises. “What’s happened?”

“We’re fine,” Sydney said. “But there’s been a fire at my apartment.”

“Oh my God. Angie?”

“Fine. Right here with me.”

She heard him give a loud sigh. “I’ll be right there. You’re both okay, though?”

“Yes, Jake. We’re fine.”

“How did it start?” he asked.

“The fire department’s checking it out now,” she said. “It was contained in the kitchen. It, um, probably started in my painting supplies.” No sense in getting him any more worried than he was.

“Let me talk to Angie,” he said, just as the phone beeped with an incoming call-not that Sydney was about to interrupt Jake to answer it.

“Your dad wants to talk to you.”

Angie took the phone. “Hi, Dad!” she said. “You should see all the cool things going on right now. There’s like two fire trucks outside and flames shooting-” She looked up at Sydney, who waved at her, then put her finger to her lips. “Well, maybe it’s not that cool. A bunch of firefighters, and, like, hundreds and hundreds of neighbors standing around watching. You’d think the whole block caught on fire. It’s just in the kitchen. And I was downstairs at Rainie’s anyway. But I’m okay. Really.” She listened to whatever it was Jake told her, then said, “Do I have to?” She gave an exaggerated sigh, then, “Promise. Love you.”