Disconnection Read Free Page B

body over. Detective Lewis Kline drew out a long, lengthy breath. Carved on her back was the notorious Fishhook symbol. Score three for a psychotic serial killer.
    For the first time that morning, Detective Kline forgot about his throbbing hemorrhoid.

CHAPTER
3
     
    T here was no ending to the inferno, and no beginning. It conquered the floorboards and walls with its hot, flaxen flames, and when it reached Sela Warren’s bed, it lit up her covers and stuffed animals in such a display of blue heat and silver sparks that Sela, who was watching from the safety of the only corner of the room not yet consumed, was reminded of Fourth of July fireworks.
    Sela, we’re coming
.
    She heard her father’s voice from the direction of the bonfire that had once been a hallway. Suddenly Sela’s mother was standing over her, dragging her from the floor and into her arms in one swift motion.
    I’m going to drop you from the window and the firefighters are going to catch you
.
    Sela wrapped her hands around her mother’s neck. The smoke brought tears to her eyes. She continued coughing furiously.
    Out you go, Sela. Don’t be afraid. We’re right behind you
.
    Sela squeezed her eyes shut. The next thing she knew she was falling through the night sky, a million gusts of wind circling her young body, carrying her through to the safe womb of the firefighters’ trampoline.
    When she reopened her eyes, Sela was staring at a firefighter with eyes as blue as the hottest flames.
    You’re okay, kid
.
    It was then that Sela looked above his helmet, where the Warren home was crumbling to the ground in an avalanche of flame and wood.
    Sela sat up in bed and screamed. Minutes came and went before she finally had the courage to look around the room. She exhaled with grateful relief when she realized that her bedroom was dark and safe from flames—many years had passed since the night of her dreams, and she was no longer a child watching her parents’ gruesome death, but a twenty-four-year-old woman living alone in a New Orleans apartment.
    The dreamlike smell of burnt glass lingered just within her nostrils as she took time to move her arms, her legs. She stretched her hands in front of her face and wriggled her fingers while she cried softly. Though she’d had the nightmare many times before, it never got easier.
    The autumn air, fragrant with the foliage of leaves, slid through the window cracks. It was only early evening, but Sela had gone to bed right after her shift at Frank’s Diner. Work had been exhausting as always. Frank’s was a shit-hole of a place, but it paid the rent. She could handle the work, too, even if she did not particularly enjoy it. Whoever said waitressing was hard was lying. Rocket science was hard. Waitressing was just miserable and draining.
    The phone awakened with a loud ring. Sela reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the receiver, lifting it to her ear. “Hello?” She wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her nightgown. Whoever was on the other line would not know that she had been crying.
    It was Mandy, her closest friend even though the two girls had nothing in common. Sela had met her at Frank’s Diner, but Mandy had only lasted a week before getting fired. She was fond of cussing out unruly customers, and Frank, the owner, was fond of cussing out Mandy for cussing out customers. So she left. She told Sela afterwards that she was not cut out for hospitality, claiming that she was much better suited out there in Corporate America, which was why she’d jumped from job to job ever since.
    “What are you doing?” Mandy asked.
    “I’m making it a Blockbuster night,” replied Sela. Resignedly she stepped out of bed, reached to the floor, and grabbed her pink terry cloth robe. She wrapped it around her thin frame as she walked to her bedroom door and looked down the hallway at the DVD player and 32” screen TV waiting to provide her evening enjoyment.
    “Oh, yeah? Who’s your object of celebrity