Torch (Take It Off #1)(16)
Author: Cambria Hebert

But I didn’t stay asleep very long.

I was awakened by the sound of shattering glass.

As my eyes sprang open, I heard a hard thud on the floor a few feet from the bed. I jolted up immediately, trying to focus my sleep-heavy eyes.

Something orange caught my eye, and then a familiar scent wafted into my nose.

Pure panic burst inside me. It was so strong that I felt dizzy, and I sat there battling it, trying to take control. I leapt to my feet and stared across the room at the bottle that had been thrown through the window.

It was on fire.

I took a single step closer, peering down at the glass.

It was a jar of some kind. It had a rag stuffed halfway into it. The exposed ends were blazing, catching the floor around it on fire as well. I grabbed a pillow off the bed, thinking I could smother it, and stepped closer, trying to shut down the panic that was still trying to take control of my body and mind.

When I was a few feet from jar, it exploded. It made a sharp pop and then glass flew everywhere. I screamed, shielding myself with the pillow, and jumped back, hitting the corner of the bed and falling backward. My head bounced off the floor, and the pillow landed on top of my face.

I lay there sprawled out, trying to catch my breath. The telltale whoosh had me scurrying off the floor and tossing the pillow aside. The curtains were on fire. In fact, most of that side of the room was on fire. The jar must have been filled with some kind of gasoline. When it exploded, fire burst everywhere.

Knowing I couldn’t put out the fire, I ran toward the door, fumbling with the chain and then yanking the handle.

The door wouldn’t budge.

I tried again.

Nothing.

There was something blocking the exit.

I rushed toward the window beside the door and yanked open the curtains, trying to see what was in the way.

The window was blocked too.

I glanced back at the raging fire. It consumed that side of the room like a hungry wolf, and I knew soon it would be spreading toward me.

Smoke was beginning to cloud the room, making it harder to breathe. I rushed to the nightstand and dialed 9-1-1.

I waited anxiously for the operator to come onto the line.

There was no ringing. No operator.

There was no dial tone.

No help.

Someone cut the phone line.

With an anguished cry, I dropped the receiver and looked around wildly for something—anything that would help me.

I ended up throwing myself against the door, banging on the wood and screaming for help. Surely someone in another room would hear me. Surely someone would help.

Except I was the only car in the parking lot when I got back.

The front desk. Someone was always there. Hopefully they would smell the fire and come to investigate.

I kept screaming, yelling for help. The effort robbed me of the oxygen I needed, and a familiar pressure began to build in my chest.

It was the same feeling from the night I almost died.

Not again.

Thinking fast, I grabbed up the lamp, yanking the cord out of the wall, and went to the window, smashing the lamp into the glass. It cracked but didn’t shatter. I hit the glass again; this time a large shard fell to the floor and burst at my feet.

I ignored the fresh, stinging cuts on my feet as I reached my hand out the broken glass and tried to shove away whatever was there. It was really heavy. It didn’t even budge.

I started to cry.

I was trapped in here with a blazing fire. I had moments—maybe seconds left to live. I was going to die because I didn’t know how to get out.

Just then I heard a loud crashing sound.

Someone was outside!

I started to scream anew, putting my face up to the broken glass and yelling as loud as I could.

The door to the room splintered and burst in, fragments of wood going everywhere.

“Katie!” someone roared.

“Holt!” I cried, jerking away from the window and rushing toward the door.

Flames were dangerously close now, eating up part of the doorframe and the carpet below. The rush of oxygen that came into the room with the opening of the door seemed to fuel the flames even more, and they burst forward in a great rush, completely overtaking the exit.

The bulky outline of Holt was suddenly concealed by flames.

I screamed his name again. Fear that he was burned turned my knees to Jell-O. I heard him cuss and call for me again, and then there was another crash and whatever was sitting in front of the window was gone.

Holt was there punching through the broken glass and reaching a bloodied arm through the opening.

“Come on!” he yelled.

I rushed to the window, pausing to grab my few shopping bags nearby and throwing them out the opening (hey, it was all I had to my name. I wasn’t about to let it be destroyed). Holt shoved them away and reached for me as I flung myself out the opening.

And then Holt was there, grabbing me beneath my arms and towing me over the broken vending machines that lay damaged in front of my room and across the parking lot toward his truck, which was haphazardly parked in the center of the empty lot. I couldn’t stop coughing. They were deep, menacing coughs that made it hard to walk, and I stumbled onto my knees.

I would have fallen, but he caught me, swinging me up and rushing the rest of the way behind his truck.

I heard more shattering glass and the groan of wood as he sat me down on the hard asphalt and leaned over me.

“I leave you alone for two days,” he shouted, shoving his hands through his hair. “What the hell happened!”

He was bleeding. Dark rivulets of blood trailed down his arm and dripped off his elbows onto the ground below. Slowly, I slid down the side of his truck until I was sitting on the ground, still grasping for breath.

“Katie!” he yelled, gripping my shoulder and leaning in to look into my eyes. “Stay with me.”

The distant sound of sirens filled the air, and I knew within minutes the place would be swarming with police officers and firefighters. It was minutes I wouldn’t have had. If Holt hadn’t gotten here when he did, I would likely be dead right now.

That had me looking up.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“I came by to check on you. I was worried.”

“How did you know where I was?” I said, suspicion leaking into my tone.

He crouched down in front of me, my feet between his legs. “I saw your car in the lot,” he explained. “I knew you worked at the library nearby, so I thought you might pick somewhere close to stay.”

My shoulders sagged.

He put a hand under my chin and lifted my face. “Look at me,” he demanded.

I looked up.