Since I Stopped Loving You

Chapter 5: Ashes and Cold Realities

The heat at her back was a solid wall, pushing her forward as the bedroom door finally cracked open, spitting a long tongue of flame toward the bed. Juanita didn't look behind. She climbed onto the sill of the south-facing window, her hands gripping the wet stone of the exterior ledge.

Below her, the ground was a long drop through the dark, but the ivy trellis that climbed the western wing was old, its thick, woody vines anchored deep into the brickwork. She swung her legs over the side, her fingers locking into the wet, slimy foliage. The wood groaned under her weight, leaves tearing away in handfuls as she slid down, the rough bark stripping the skin from her palms.

Two stories down, a structural iron sconce caught the hem of her shirt, ripping the fabric open with a sharp, metallic screech before she dropped the remaining eight feet into the mud of the side garden.

The impact jarred through her spine, sending a flare of white-hot agony from her calf straight to her hip. She lay in the wet earth for three long breaths, the cold rain hitting her face, washing the black soot into gray streaks down her neck. The air here was clean, smelling of wet soil and cut grass, a stark contrast to the sulfurous furnace she had just crawled out of.

She hauled herself up against the stone retaining wall, using her hands to guide her weight onto her left leg. Her right trouser leg was soaked through—not just with rainwater, but with the steady, hot flow from the reopen dog bite. She didn't look at it. She focused on the brick path that led around the perimeter of the estate, away from the front driveway where the orange glow of the fire was brightest.

From the front lawn, the sound of Dayana’s crying was thin and high, easily cutting through the steady roar of the burning roof.

Juanita walked slowly, her shoulder dragging along the wet stone of the kitchen annex. She bypassed the main courtyard entirely, sticking to the deep shadows cast by the overgrown hornbeam hedges. Through the leaves, she could see Damian. He was still on his knees in the gravel, his skin gleaming with rain and sweat as the first fire truck roared up the long driveway, its red lights painting the limestone walls in rhythmic, bloody pulses.

"Is there anyone else inside?" a firefighter shouted, his boots crunching hard on the gravel as he lugged a heavy canvas hose toward the entrance. "Sir! Is the house clear?"

Damian looked up, his hand still resting on Snowball’s neck. His head jerked toward the burning entrance, then slowly turned toward Dayana, who was clinging to his bicep.

"My—" Damian’s voice broke, the sound swallowed by the sudden hiss of water hitting the hot brickwork. He stood up, his legs shaking slightly as he looked at his own hands, then at the empty driveway behind him. "Juanita. Where is Juanita?"

Dayana didn't look up from his shoulder. "Ian, she was right behind you. I thought she came out through the kitchen."

Damian didn't answer her. A look of sudden, visceral horror washed across his face, stripping the composure from his features until he looked completely unhinged. He dropped the dog’s leash. "Juanita!"

He lunged toward the front doors, his bare feet sliding on the wet gravel. A firefighter caught him by the shoulder, his heavy turncoat bunching under Damian’s fingers as the man tried to wrench himself free. "Sir, you can't go back in there! The roof is fully involved!"

"My wife is in the eastern wing!" Damian screamed, his voice reaching a pitch Juanita had never heard from him before—raw, panicked, stripped of all executive control. "Let go of me! She’s still in the room!"

"Damian."

The voice wasn't loud, but it came from the edge of the gravel path, right where the side alley opened onto the main lawn.

Damian froze. He stopped struggling against the firefighter's grip, his head snapping around so fast his neck made an audible click.

Juanita stood under the shadow of the hornbeam hedge. Her shirt was torn at the shoulder, her skin covered in a layer of black grease and small, red blisters where the sparks had caught her arms. Her right trouser leg was a dark, sodden crimson, a trail of thick red drops leaking from her hem into the gray gravel. She looked small, entirely consumed by the shadows, but her eyes were perfectly steady as they fixed on his face.

"Juanita," Damian choked out. He broke away from the firefighter, his long strides taking him across the lawn in seconds, his arms reaching out to wrap around her shoulders, to drag her against his chest.

Before his fingers could touch the fabric of her sleeve, Juanita took a single, deliberate step backward. She didn't raise her hands to block him; she simply shifted her weight, her spine stiffening into a rigid, defensive line that stopped him as effectively as a stone wall.

His hands hovered two inches from her skin, his fingers trembling in the wet air. "You're bleeding. Where—how did you get out?"

"The south window," she said. Her voice was flat, dry, entirely devoid of the breathlessness of someone who had just escaped a fire. She didn't look at his face; her gaze was fixed on a point somewhere near his collarbone. "I need an ambulance. The dog bite needs to be irrigated before the tissue sets."

Damian reached for her wrist, his face twisting with a desperate, heavy guilt. "Juanita, let me look at it. I didn't see you in the hall. The smoke was—"

"The paramedic is over there," she cut in, her tone as level as an executive summary. She turned her back on him without a second glance, her right leg dragging with a heavy, rhythmic click against the gravel as she walked toward the flashing red lights of the emergency vehicle.