Erica Spindler - In Silence

"Your father and I had become friends. Every time we were together, he talked about you."

Run, Avery. Go as fast as you can.

With a sense of inevitability, Avery reopened the computer document and read:

His thoughts settled on vengeance. On the act he had just carried out. Some thought revenge an ugly, futile endeavor. He fed on it. On thoughts of the pain he could inflict. Punishment deserved-

Avery leaped to her feet. The chair went sailing backward. Not Hunter! It couldn 't be true.

She took a deep breath, fighting for calm. A clear head. Her gaze settled on the desk once again, its drawers. She tried them. And found them locked.

She had found the paper with Gwen's name on it, maybe she would find something else.

She hoped to God she didn't.

Turning, she headed for the bedroom. She went to the closet, rifled through it, then turned to the dresser. There, underneath some sweaters, she found a plastic storage bag. With trembling fingers she eased it from under the garments and held it up.

Tom Lancaster's Tulane University ID card. A cheap gold crucifix. A man's class ring.

A cry of disbelief slipped past her lips. She dropped the bag, turned and ran blindly for the door. What to do? Where to go? Buddy? Matt?

Gwen. Dear God, let her be all right.

Even as the prayer ran through her head, fear clawed at her. The sense of impending disaster. That it was too late. That the clock had just stopped.

She had been sleeping with the enemy.

She made it to her car. Fighting hysteria, she unlocked it and climbed inside. It took her three tries, but she finally got the keys into the ignition and the vehicle started.

She glanced out her window. Several people on the sidewalk had stopped and were staring at her.

She jerked away from the curb-a kid on a bike appeared before her and she slammed on the brakes. The momentum of the vehicle jerked her against the safety harness, knocking the wind out of her.

The kid whizzed by. She collected herself and merged into traffic, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her fingers went numb. The sound of a siren penetrated her panic. She glanced in the rearview mirror. A sheriff's cruiser, cherry lights flashing.

Matt! She pulled over. Tumbled out of the vehicle and ran to him. He met her halfway. Caught her in his arms.

"Avery, thank God you're safe." He held her tightly to his chest. "When I heard, I was so afraid-"

She clung to him. "How did you know about Hunter? When did you find out?"

"Hunter?" He frowned, searching her gaze, his concerned. "What are you talking about?"

"But I thought…the way you pulled me over…"

Her words trailed off. She went cold with dread. "What's wrong, Matt? What's happened?"

"Your parents' house is on fire. I just got the call."

Avery left her car and rode with Matt. She smelled the fire a block before she saw the flames. Saw the smoke billowing up into the pristine blue spring sky. The two trucks came into view next, the pumper and water truck, lights flashing. Half a dozen guys had turned out, the firefighters in their chartreuse coats and helmets, hoses spewing water at the dancing flames.

Then she caught sight of the house. The fire had completely en-gulfed the structure. A cry ripped past her lips. Until that moment, she had hoped-prayed-Matt was wrong. That it was a mistake.

Matt stopped the car and she stumbled out. The heat slammed into her, the acrid smell of smoke. Her eyes and throat burned. She brought a hand to her mouth, holding back a cry.

Neighbors clustered around the perimeter of the scene, huddling together, their expressions ranging from fear and disbelief to horrified fascination. They glanced at her, then looked away. As if ashamed. As if in meeting her eyes, her tragedy became theirs.

And because they were so very grateful this had happened to her not them.

If they looked away, maybe they could pretend it hadn 't happened.

She hugged herself, chilled despite the heat. Lucky them. She wished she could pretend. That her childhood home wasn't in flames. Gone, she thought. All her parents' things. Mementos. The photographs she had looked at that very morning. Gone. Forever.

She had nothing left to remember them by.

"Wait here," Matt said. "I'm going to see if I can help." He hesitated, searching her expression, his concerned. "Are you going to be all right?"

A hysterical-sounding laugh raced to her lips. Oh sure, she thought. Just dandy.

"Fine," she managed to say. "Go."

He squeezed her hand, then disappeared. She watched him, and turned at the sound of her name. Buddy had arrived and was hurrying toward her.

She ran to him. He enfolded her in his arms, holding her tightly. "When the call came in, I was so frightened. No one knew if you were in the house. Thank God you're all right. Thank God."

She clung to him. "What am I going to do, Buddy? I've lost everything."

"Not us, baby girl," he said fiercely. "You haven't lost us."

"Where will I go? Where is home now?"

"You will stay with us as long as you like. We're your family now, Avery. That hasn't changed. It will never change."

"Ms. Chauvin?"

She glanced over her shoulder at John Price, the firefighter she'd met at her father's wake. He took off his helmet. His dark hair was plastered to his head with sweat, his face black with soot. "I'm sorry we couldn't save it, Ms. Chauvin. I'm really…sorry."

She nodded, unable to speak. She shifted her gaze. Ben Mitchell, the arson investigator, had arrived; he was conferring with Matt. They disappeared around the side of the house.

"Do you know how this happened?" she asked.

The fireman shook his head. "Arson takes over from here."

"I don't understand how…I was home this morning. I used my laptop, made some coffee, everything was fine."

The man shifted his helmet from one hand to the other, expression uneasy. "You have to know how odd this is, considering your father's death."

Her dad had burned. Now his house. A small sound passed her lips. Until that moment she hadn't made that connection.

One of his colleagues called him. "I've got to go. Ben's good, he'll figure it out."

Buddy put an arm around her shoulder. "Here comes Matt and Mitchell."

Avery turned. Waited. When they reached her, Matt and his dad exchanged glances, their expressions grim.

"Looks like arson, Avery," Matt said. "Whoever did it left the fuel can."

"Arson," she repeated. "But why…who-"

"Can you account for your whereabouts for the last few hours?" Ben Mitchell asked.

"Yes, I-"

The journals. Going to The Guesthouse, looking for Gwen. Leaving the note.

Hunter. Gwen's name and room number scrawled on paper by his computer.

"Avery?" Matt laid his hands on her shoulders. "Earlier, you said something about Hunter. You asked me how I had found out. What were you talking about?"

She stared at her friend, mouth working. She fought to think clearly. To focus. Not to panic.

Her mother's journals. Evidence of The Seven. Of something wrong with the Waguespack murder investigation.

All destroyed in the fire. All but…

But she hadn't told anyone about the journals.

"Avery?" Matt shook her lightly. "Avery, what-"

"You have to help me, Matt." She caught his hands. "You have to come with me now."

"Avery," Buddy said softly, "you're in shock. You need to rest. Come home with me and-"

"No!" She shook her head. "A friend. Gwen Lancaster, she's in trouble." Her voice rose. "You have to help me!"

"Okay," Buddy said softly, tone soothing. "I'll help you. We'll go find this friend of yours. Everything will be fine."

"I'll go, Dad." Matt looked from Avery to her father. "You've got your hands full here."