Point Blank Seal. Carol Ericson

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       Chapter Three

      Miguel bolted from the sofa and Jennifer lunged after him, tripping over the coffee table and banging her shin. The acrid smell of fire invaded her nostrils and terror ripped through her body like the jagged edge of a knife when she saw black smoke pouring out of Mikey’s bedroom.

      “It’s Mikey’s room.”

      Miguel charged into the smoke-filled room as Jennifer hung back coughing, her eyes watering. The heat from the flames licking at the drapes spiked her adrenaline, and she stumbled into the room after Miguel.

      “Stay back, Jen. I’ve got him.”

      Miguel emerged from the dark gray cloud, Mikey clutched against his chest. He slammed the door behind him.

      “Get out. Get out of the house now—back door.”

      She grabbed her phone on her way to the sliding glass door and gulped in the fresh air when she hit the patio. The smoke and fire from the front of the house hadn’t made it back here yet, hadn’t escaped from Mikey’s room.

      She got on the phone with 9-1-1 while stroking the back of Mikey’s head as he sobbed against Miguel’s shoulder. After giving emergency services the details, she held out her arms and Miguel transferred Mikey to her.

      Even amid the terror, she couldn’t help noticing how Mikey, in his fear, had clung to Miguel. She whispered in Mikey’s ear, “It’s okay. You’re okay now. Mommy’s here.”

      She rested her chin on top of Mikey’s head and met Miguel’s gaze as he pulled her away from the house. “What was that?”

      “As far as I can tell from the smell, it was a Molotov cocktail.”

      “Meant for you? The FBI would go to those measures to get you back? Risk harming a child?”

      Miguel cocked his head at the sound of sirens in the distance. “No, but who said I was being debriefed by the FBI?”

      “You’re scaring me even more, if that’s possible.” She squeezed Mikey so tightly, he squirmed in her grasp. At least the FBI had some accountability, rules to follow, public exposure. But these shadowy black ops organizations? Who held them accountable?

      The sirens wailed louder, and Jennifer pointed to the side of the house. “Should we meet them?”

      Her neighbor Stephen called over the back fence, “Is that you, Jennifer? What’s going on?”

      She yelled, “Fire in the front bedroom. Everyone’s okay. I think the fire department just got here.”

      “Oh, my God. Mikey’s room?”

      “Yes, but he’s fine. We’re going out front now.”

      She led Miguel to the front of the house on the other side of where the fire was blazing.

      Mikey lifted his head when they got to the street, now bathed in red light. Neighbors clustered on their porches in their pajamas. The firefighters started working before the trucks even came to a full stop.

      Jennifer waved at a police officer getting out of his car, and he approached them.

      “Is this your house, sir?”

      Miguel pointed to her.

      “I rent it. I live here with my son.”

      “Is the boy okay?”

      “Scared but not injured.” She shifted Mikey to her other hip.

      “What happened?”

      She felt Miguel stiffen beside her. They hadn’t discussed what to tell the authorities. The truth?

      “I—I’m not sure. We were talking in the living room, heard a crash from the front bedroom window and smelled smoke. I heard my son cry out, and my...friend went into the room and grabbed him. We all ran outside to the back of the house then, and I called 9-1-1.”

      “A crash, like a broken window?”

      Miguel cleared his throat. “Like somebody threw something through the window.”

      The cop narrowed his eyes. “You know anyone who would do something like that, ma’am?”

      “Of course not.”

      Taking out a notebook, the officer asked for their names.

      Jennifer didn’t blink an eye when she heard Miguel identify himself as Mike Esteban.

      As they continued talking to the police officer, the firefighters seemed to be making short work of the fire that had engulfed Mikey’s bedroom, where flames were shooting up to the roof through the broken window.

      Mikey squirmed in her arms, kicking his legs against her hip.

      “We need to stay here, Mikey.”

      “Do you want me to take him to watch? He seems interested, not scared.”

      Miguel hadn’t even formally met Mikey yet. This was his first real contact with his son, and it couldn’t be more disastrous.

      With her throat tight, she spilled an all-too-willing Mikey into Miguel’s outstretched arms and murmured, “He likes action. He’s his father’s son.”

      Miguel wandered to the other side of the house where Mikey could get a good look at the firefighters at work.

      “Ms. Lynch, is that the boy’s father?”

      “N-no.”

      “Where’s the boy’s father?”

      Was the officer trying to imply some former husband had a motive for firebombing her house? A case of jealousy while she enjoyed the company of another man?

      “His father’s dead.”

      “I’m sorry.” He scratched his chin. “If what you heard is accurate, this sounds like a deliberate act. The arson investigators will do a full analysis, but I’m just trying to get as much information as I can from you to assist them.”

      “I understand. I’m a fifth-grade teacher at Richmond Elementary. I don’t have any enemies that I know of and no irate parents that would go to these lengths.”

      “You never know what lengths people will go to—until they do.”

      Jennifer crossed her arms and shivered. “I suppose I’d better call the rental management company and let them know what happened.”

      The cop looked up from writing in his notebook, peering over her head at the house. “You won’t be staying here tonight.”

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