His smile was glorious.
"Billy," I breathed. "Oh my god, are you okay?"
I leapt at him, threw my arms around his neck.
"Pretty good, for someone who just got a bullet ripped out of their shoulder."
I pulled back, looked at his arm, resting in a sling. Billy laughed.
"Relax, Ad. It went straight through; clean as a whistle. Besides, now I'll have a cool story to tell my friends."
"Billy, I – "
"Addie," he said, eyes serious and sweet. "I'm the one who rushed into the lion's den. It's not your fault I got bit."
He rested his hand on mine and I smiled, the relief and guilt humming in my chest.
"Yeah, well, you're not the only one who ran into a lion's den."
Billy took his hand back, sat up straight.
"What are you talking about?"
I gulped, sprang immediately into the story about the prison fire, Dad's interrogation, and everything in between. Billy hung onto my every word, his eyes widening with every syllable.
"So," he said carefully, "it's all gone?"
"Pretty much. West Wing is charcoal, the North Wing should be okay. God, their screams... I don't know how many died."
"What about the files?"
I paused, the air caught in my lungs.
"What?"
"The files. In the records room in West Wing. Were they saved?"
My mind was sucked back into the burning wing, the smoke in my eyes and throat, the heat of the flames against my skin.
"I... I don't know," I said quietly. "I hadn't even thought of that."
The files were our most valued resource. They were all we had left of the crime scenes, the evidence, the people involved... A dangerous thought began to emerge in the corners of my mind.
What if the fire was no accident?
I met Billy's eye. The hospital room door burst open, revealed our father and his menacing eyes, piercing us like a sharpened blade.
"Both of you," he growled. "We need to talk."
© A.G. Travers 2018