Taken by the Rogue Alpha

8 | Burning Books

Jeremy and I are awakened by the sound of one of our phones ringing. It takes me a second to recognize it's mine. I groan, having fallen asleep a couple hours ago, and check the time on the clock beside the bed. 3:17am. Who on earth could be calling at this unholy hour? Could be a scam caller. I've been getting plenty of scam calls lately.

"Let it go to voicemail," I say, rolling onto my side. Jeremy spoons me, fitting his leg between mine.

My phone stops ringing and I'm on the verge of falling back asleep when it rings again. Is it mom? Did something happen to Carrot? Did something happen to Zhang? I realize if I am being called back to back it is probably important, probably from someone I know.

I throw the covers off, cool air and cold floors making my teeth chatter. Jeremy yawns, sitting up, running a hand through his hair. He points to exactly where my phone is—bless his enhanced hearing—which just so happens to be in the pocket of my discarded jeans. The light is bright and I wince, narrowing my eyes to slits to see who is trying to get ahold of me.

It's the fire department. That's curious. I answer, walking back to the bed. I sit on the edge.

"Hello?"

"Hi," it's a woman's voice. "Is this Amelia O'Dey?"

"Yes, this is she."

"I'm calling to let you know we received several calls that your bookstore is on fire. We have dispatched several firetrucks who are trying to put out the flames but it doesn't look salvageable. By the time firefighters arrived your building was consumed. Suspected arson," she pauses, let's it sink in for a second. "There are several people who want to speak with you. They are waiting for you at the scene."

"I'll be there in ten," I say, dumbfounded. "Thank you for your call. Have a good night."

"Take care, ma'am."

I hang up, staring blankly at the wall across from me. My jaw is dropped, unable to comprehend the phonecall. What a difficult job it must be when you have to deliver people news like this—telling them their livelihood is up in flames. I shake my head, first in shock, then in denial. I set my phone beside me. Jeremy crawls up to me.

"Holy s**t," he has a sharp intake of air. "Holy shit."

"I'm going to get dressed then head out," my voice is calm. "You don't have to come if—"

"No, I'm coming. Holy s**t! Who would set a bookstore—your bookstore—of all places on fire?"

He leaps off the bed, turning on the light. I wince again but am otherwise frozen. Jeremy begins rummaging through the dresser, grabbing sweats, socks, and a shirt for himself, then grabbing the same for me. He hands the articles to me. My jaw is still dropped as I stand and slip into the clothing, Jeremy moving much quicker than I. You'd think it is his bookstore on fire. By the time my socks are on I can hear the jangle of keys. I guess he's driving—we're taking his truck, I suppose.

I saunter out of the bedroom in a stupor. Jeremy already has his jacket on, passing mine to me as I walk up to him. We slip into our shoes, snatching our wallets, and are out the door. Jeremy holds my hand as he drives. It's strange how his hands shake but mine don't at all.

Appreciate what you have because you never know when it will get taken from you.

That's why my hands don't shake. I was warned this would happen.

✿✿✿

The smoke looks like napalm in the sky—a big, billowing, rolling menace. I open the window and smell the fire, closing it again. My heart begins racing and I start to feel cold. Not a word is spoken between Jeremy and I but he speeds up. Soon we can see the scintillating red and white lights from the firetrucks bouncing through back-alleys and between buildings.

The road gets blocked at a certain point and he parks hurriedly. We immediately evacuate the vehicle. I run ahead, greeting a fireman—the fire chief. He pays me no mind until I tell him who I am, showing him my license, then he ushers me through the barrier. There are dozens of people with their phones, taking pictures, jaws dropped, ogling at the burning building as if it is a volcanic eruption. The whole street is bright orange from the glow of the flames. I can't believe just a few hours ago I was sitting at my counter, working, socializing, and selling books. There will be nothing left of my business but debris by the time the fire goes out.

The fire chief and I walk ahead a few steps but I spin around to recover Jeremy, taking him by the arm and pulling him through the barrier. The chief doesn't notice my delay but notices my return, giving Jeremy a nod of subtle recognition—he is also a wolf, I gather—and leads me to a trio of police cars. I recognize Kareena's husband right away who also recognizes me. He approaches us.

"Amelia," he shouts. It is loud. There is incessant crackling and creaking, beams and bricks collapsing, hoses spraying from every angle. "I am sorry to be so formal but there are a few questions I need to ask you."

I nod, eyes glued to my building. It reminds me of a skull for some reason. It is completely consumed, flames like pillars inside as well as outside. Ashes are raining down, landing on the ground like large gray petals. These ashes are pages—these were once ivory pages with words and, sometimes, colorful images. Colorful covers. These were glossy, full books. Now they are destroyed. What a shame that is.

A few more police officers come up to us, joining Kareena's husband in taking my statement. Jeremy has his arm around me, kneading circles into my shoulder. They have to rule me out as a suspect even though they already know I couldn't have possibly done this. Jeremy is my alibi, explaining how I picked him up from the airport then went straight home and remained there with him until currently.

My building caves in on itself, collapsing. Sparks dance throughout the air, a galaxy of hot tangerine, then die out as they fall to the pavement. It is mesmerizing and strangely gorgeous. I understand why people are marveling at the scene. If it wasn't my building I would be taking photos of the beautiful disaster as well. I see reporters arriving with their vans, fixing their hair before speaking professionally into their microphones for the camera. This is, in a town like this, breaking news.

They inform me that they believe this is an act of arson because the smell of gasoline was strong when they arrived at the scene, but until an investigation is launched it is all conjecture. They ask me more questions—do I know anyone who could have done this, is there anyone out to get me, is there anyone out to get Jeremy, what could have been the motivation behind this attack. I debate on giving Seth up because I am certain this is his doing, then decide against it.

"Well, maybe—" Jeremy goes to say.

"No," I cut him off firmly. "No, I don't know who would have done this. I don't know why this is happening. No one is out to get us. I can't say I think this is personal."

Kareena's husband looks at Jeremy, ushering the other police officers away, telling them he'll take over.

"What were you going to say?"

I press a hand to Jeremy's back, warning him against saying anything.

"Well, there's been rogue activity is all I was going to say," he's vague but I'm still displeased, digging my thumb into him. "They pull s**t like this all the time in other places, but I agree with Amelia. I can't say for sure she was targeted personally."

"It's just that you two are prominent figures in this community," Kareena's husband steps closer to us. "And Kareena has been alluding to the fact that you have been stressed, Amelia, but she won't say why. I can't force information out of you, but if you have any now would be the time to say it."

"Nothing related to this," I lie. "I have no additional information to give you. I'm sorry."

"No further questions at this time. You'll have to come in to the police station later in the morning, however. There will be some papers I need you to fill out, and I'm going to read through your statement with you one final time for confirmation. I will be the one to help you. I'm sorry this has happened."

He shakes our hands and walks away, joining the rest of the police officers. They stare at us. The fire-chief stares at us. I regard them all, blank-faced, then turn to the spectators. The crowd has thinned out, the climax of the disaster having passed. The reporters linger, probably waiting for Jeremy and I to leave so they can bombard us with questions. The cameras face us. I wrap my arms around Jeremy's abdomen, pressing my face against him. It takes a second for him to hug me back.

We stay until they put the flames out, the sky hydrangea blue by the time this happens. The reporters have given up, leaving a couple hours ago. Ashes are everywhere—on our clothes, in our hair. Staring straight ahead it looks like a black-and-white photo; all that remains are black cinders, grey heaps, and white smoke. They had done what they could but I was warned over the phone it seemed unsalvageable so I am not surprised by the outcome. This was to be expected.

My heart is shattered, however.

✿✿✿

Jeremy waits for me in his truck while I tie up all the loose ends at the police station. Kareena's husband tells me I have to go to the fire station and fill out more paperwork there; he will be sending them my statement before I arrive. The fire station will then send my paperwork to the police station. Finally, they will send everything to my insurance company. I have no idea if this is a normal process in the human-dominant cities but it's the process here in Wolphville and, so far, no one has questioned or challenged it. Not even the people who don't know of the wolves. It's just a very bizarre situation in a very bizarre town.

I finish this all before noon, getting home and making a call to my insurance company. I have to file a claim. I already know I am zero liability—they already know, too, but these things always take time. It will be quiet for a couple weeks until all sides are finished investigating. They are all in communication, I have done my part, so all I can do is wait. They will call me if they need more information, however...though I have given them all I am inclined to share.

Jeremy asks if I'm hungry but I am not. I am tired and want to lay in bed, so that's what I do. I crawl under the covers, facing the wall, and sob. The gravity of the situation begins to sink in. This is a calculated affront. I was warned. I didn't heed. A small match has ignited a whole conflagration and I simply let it happen.

Jeremy leaves me alone for over an hour, understanding my need for space, but when he does come into the bedroom I am still sobbing. I try to hide my shaking but I know it shows through. I pull my legs to my chest, curling into myself, and realize my error in keeping secrets from Jeremy. He is suspicious, I sense. It doesn't matter that I am hurting. He wants answers—he deserves them in all fairness...but I don't feel fair in this moment of grief.

He sits on the edge of the bed, setting his hand on my hip. It makes me sob even harder. My chest and head ache, eyes stinging. All of this because we decided to go to a bar one night instead of staying home like our original plan.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"No," I say.

"Well, Amelia, I think you should tell me anyway."