Page 21 of Dead Girl Running

Someone threw a coat over her head, blinding her, panicking her.

She fought.

Suddenly she was free. Her ears were roaring with some…sound.

A man leaned into her line of vision. He was shouting at her, gesturing toward his own head, then hers. She read his lips. “Lady, your hair was on fire!” She turned her head away from the direction of the house, coughed. Smoke clouded the air. A cab was parked haphazardly at the end of the drive where it met the road.

He was the cabbie. Not Gregory. The cabbie.

She lifted her head, looked toward the house.

Nothing was left but the foundation and burning pieces of wood, charred plaster and singed insulation dancing on the wind.

Off the cliff. Gone.

The roaring in Cecilia’s ears diminished. She could hear the cabbie’s voice now; she couldn’t yet distinguish the words, but he had his jacket in his hands, offering it to her, and he was averting his eyes and peeking at the same time.

She looked down at herself. Her linen slacks and cotton blouse had been shredded by the blast. Her panties and bra still covered her, but barely. Cecilia wrapped his jacket around herself. The arms were too long, and the hem barely reached her thighs.

Kellen was dead. Cecilia felt nothing but shock. Kellen, who had been so alive, so brave… How could she be dead?

And Gregory…was gone? Dead? Blown to bits? Cecilia felt shamed relief. And guilt. So much guilt.

The cabbie was still talking.

She could almost understand him. She stared, watching his lips.

“Are you hurt? You, uh, you were standing so close. You okay?”

She nodded. A lie. She wasn’t okay. Her lungs hurt. Her head hurt. She had blisters on her belly and blisters on her shoulders, and they burned like live coals. It didn’t matter. She was alive.

“I was called to pick up a passenger,” the cabbie said. “Saw the explosion. Was Mrs. Lykke in the house?”

Cecilia. The cabbie didn’t know she was Cecilia.

“I’m sorry, wow, what a tragedy, but the Lykkes always were a scary family with lots of ‘accidents.’” He did air quotes. “I should call this in. Right? Call the police?” He looked toward the main house. “Maybe not, though, because his mother and sister are coming to the site.”

Mother Sylvia Lykke and sister Erin raced toward the place where the house had been, and even from this distance, even with the ringing in her ears, Cecilia could hear them screaming.

In a panic, she said, “Drive me to the hotel.”

“But you want to stick around. You saw everything. Even more than me.” The cabbie was agog, thrilled at being on the front line of a breaking story. “The cops will want to talk to you. Get your testimony.”

“I want to go to the hotel.” Heart pounding in fear, she grabbed his arm, dug her fingers into his skin. “Take me to the hotel.”

“Right. You’re in shock. Let me help you—” He tried to support her.

She yanked herself away.

“Shock. Right. Don’t touch you. I’ll call, tell the cops I’m dropping you at the hotel. You can…do whatever you do for shock.”

“Lie down. Elevate the feet. Keep warm.” She had been a Girl Scout. She knew this stuff.

“Hospital!” The thought seemed to startle and thrill him. “Want me to take you to the hospital?”

“Hotel.”

“Right.” He hurried toward his vehicle. “I’ll get you down there, come back and give my testimony.”

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