Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Put it out,” I sob, tears flowing hot and salty into my lips. “The fire, put it out.”
“There’s no fire, ma’am,” the officer says. “But you are under arrest. You have the right to remain—”
“What is going on here?”
I lift my head and, through a scrim of tears, see Dr. Garrison standing at the entrance of the exhibit hall. Her hair, always elegant, is hidden beneath a scarf, and a trench coat covers her silk pajamas.
“Oh, my God. Verity,” she says, her wide eyes roaming over my nearly naked body. “Get those cuffs off her.”
“She’s unruly,” the officer says, dragging me to stand. “I’ll have a black eye tomorrow. The cuffs aren’t coming off.”
Dr. Garrison rushes over, peels off her coat, and settles it around my shoulders to cover my breasts.
“Verity,” she says softly, lifting my chin. “Honey, look at me.”
“Put it out,” I sob, rocking back and forth. “Put it out. You have to put it out. It’s burning.”
“Put what out?” she asks, her brows knit into a frown.
“The flame.” I jerk my head toward the sculpture. “Will you put it out?”
“The Brody piece?” Her eyes narrow and she searches my face. “You want me to put out the fire?”
“Yes!” I strain against the cuffs, twisting so hard the coat falls from my shoulders and I’m exposed again, my naked chest heaving. “Pleasehelppleasehelppleasehelppleasehelp. You have to. I can’t keep this up. The fire is spreading and my hair is on fire and my skin is blistered and I think I have heartburn and every time I try to breathe, my throat is on fire. It’s like when you have a sore throat. You know? But a million times worse. Imagine fire in your throat. In your mouth. Your teeth burn. I don’t know why. I know you think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I-I-I just understand it now. I didn’t understand all this time why I was always drawn to the fire, but now I get it because it’sthekeyit’sthekeyit’sthekey! And I was sent here to put the flame out and if I don’t do it no one can and I won’t be the only one burning up. Oh, no. You’ll be next. Don’t you get it? It’s not just me. It’s you, too, but I have to put it out. If I don’t, the whole world could burn to the ground. I don’t know how I know, but I know. It wasn’t a voice or anything like that. It was inside. The knowledge of it was inside my head. You get it? In my head. And it was only revealed to me tonight because the fire was about to rage out of control. The whole campus could burn. I was just the first victim, but it wants us all. It wants you and it wants the faculty and the staff and… Monk.”
The words, pouring out of me incessantly like vomiting a volcano, falter on his name. I choke on tears and ashes.
“Monk,” I sob, letting my head fall forward and my shoulders slump and my hands hang limp in the cuffs cutting into my wrists. “Don’t let it burn Monk. Please. You have to help me. Please help me put the fire out.”
“Oh, Verity, honey,” Dr. Garrison whispers, her eyes glazed with tears. “I’ll help you. Of course I will.”
SEVENTEEN
Verity
I hate it when they whisper.
I’ve been in the hospital right outside our small Georgia town for a week and I’m ready to go home. I’ve been asking when I can leave, but my aunts keep whispering in the hall.
“I’m mentally unstable,” I call out. “Not deaf. I can still hear you.”
They start guiltily, turning wary stares into the room where I’m lying down, and then back to each other.
“Please come in.” I wave them inside with my bandaged arm. “You’re making things weird.”
They’re kind enough not to point out there is a certain degree of inherent weirdness when we’re having this conversation in the psych ward.
Aunt Roz and Aunt Grace walk in, holding hands.
“How you feeling?” Aunt Roz asks, taking the seat to the left of my bed, while Aunt Grace takes the one on the right.
“Confused?” I bite my lip and blink back tears, eyes trained on my fingers twisting in the hospital sheets. “Embarrassed.”
“You got nothing to be embarrassed about, honey,” Aunt Grace reassures me.
“I broke into the fine arts building and tried to destroy a priceless piece of art,” I remind them despairingly. “I can’t imagine what Dr. Garrison thinks of me.”
“She thinks you’re a wonderful girl who hit a rough spot,” Aunt Roz says. “She called last night to see how you were doing.”
“That’s really nice of her.” I drop my eyes to the bed. “If she hadn’t shown up and said I needed a hospital, not handcuffs, I might be in jail right now.”
“Nothing but the grace of God,” Aunt Grace says. “We prayed for you that very morning.”