Fireproof

CHAPTER 73

Sam had not even thought about Jeffery.

How could he have started the fires?

“This isn’t funny, Jeffery,” she told him while she gulped lukewarm coffee, hoping the caffeine would kick in and dissolve her blur of exhaustion.

“No one tipped me, Sam.” He was pacing the room, checking the windows. “I stumbled upon a ratings bonanza. Why wait for some huge news story when I simply could create one?”

He couldn’t be serious. The room tilted and Sam leaned against the tripod. She closed her eyes for a second, waited for her head to stop spinning. It had to be a joke, a prank.

“Big Mac kept wanting bigger and bigger stories,” Jeffery was saying. “We interview dictators. Not good enough. We almost get killed in the middle of those crazy-ass protests in the Middle East. Not good enough. We get awards for that Afghanistan exposé, and yet nobody thinks that’s good enough.”

She opened her eyes, only her eyelids were heavy and for some reason she was seeing three of Jeffery. She blinked several times but she still couldn’t focus.

“Otis taught me a hell of a lot in those rambling letters of his. He gave me the idea. I thought you figured it out that night with Harper. I screwed up and said something about chemical reactions.”

“But how …” Her thoughts slipped away.

“You knew I taught high school. What you didn’t know was that I taught chemistry. Basic stuff. Kid’s play. It was so incredibly perfect,” he continued his rant. “I could time it. Control it so we had every exclusive. But then you—you, Sam—you fucked up.”

She felt her body sliding. Saw the tripod fall. She tried to put out her hands to brace herself but they didn’t work.

“The biggest fire of all and you decided to have a little Chinese with Mama and Sonny Boy. You shut me out.” His voice sounded hard now, like staccato punches. “A whole family died and I missed the exclusive of a lifetime. I had to sit on the fucking sidelines because of you. You, my dear Sam.”

The coffee. He must have put something in her coffee. She stared up at him from a heap on the floor. Her body had become paralyzed, her vision swirled, and her mind screamed because her mouth couldn’t.

Her cheek lay against the cold tile while he paced. All she could see now were his shoes, shiny leather. That was Jeffery, so neat and clean. He was still lecturing her but the words were getting garbled. Something about opportunities he had given her. How he couldn’t let her ruin things for him.

He had a plane to catch. Nothing made sense. His voice came to her in a low monotone, muffled and slurred. She caught words and phrases. A story to cover in the Middle East. He’d miss not having her with him. But he’d make sure everyone saw him grieve when he heard the news about her unfortunate demise.

“I saw the way you looked at him,” Jeffery was saying, but she had no clue who he was talking about.

What was that smell?

“They’ll think you were lovers. That you were both targeted. Especially since his house is on fire, too. Poor Patrick Murphy. Even his famous FBI sister couldn’t save him.”

Through a blur she watched Jeffery pour the liquid on the tray of purple crystals. The trail of smoke was so pretty.

She didn’t even hear him leave. Sam had no idea how much time had passed when she saw the white flash of light. The tray sparked and in seconds the stack of newspapers underneath became engulfed in flames.

Whatever drug Jeffery had used, it relieved her of panic. It weighed her down, glued her to the floor. Her vision was blurred, her mind a pleasant haze, almost as if she were dreaming. She simply watched the red and yellow dance up the walls. Even the heat from the flames soothed her, like a warm breeze on a cool day.

Sam closed her eyes. Listened to the crackling and swoosh filling her ears. And she thought about Iggy in those silly red suspenders.