Reborn to Burn the Arsonist Who Killed My Mother

2.

Three in the morning, and we flew back.

Gerard Lawrence, the property manager, was still waiting at the foot of our building with a handful of neighbors. The second we climbed out of the taxi, they all closed in on us.

The moment Paulette saw my mother, she jerked backward and let out a scream.

It was the kind of scream you'd give if you'd seen a ghost.

The whole crowd froze and turned to stare at her.

Paulette went rigid. Two or three blank seconds passed before she caught herself, and she forced out a smile uglier than crying. "Susan, how are you back? I thought you were…"

She let out two dry little laughs.

I looked straight at that guilty face of hers and said nothing.

The manager shoved a folder right at us.

"Phyllis Fox, right? There was a gas leak in your unit that started a fire. Lucky Aunt Paulette caught it in time and called it in, or the whole building would've gone up with you."

"You'd better thank Aunt Paulette right now, and pay for the damages to the three units downstairs. Their walls are all smoke-blackened."

My mother heard that and panicked.

"That can't be right, Manager Lawrence. Before we left I checked it over several times, everything was shut off properly."

I clamped a hand on my mother's shoulder and pulled her back behind me.

"Manager Lawrence, what caused the fire? Has the fire department's investigation report come out?"

Gerard blinked. "Not yet."

"The fire department hasn't issued a report, the police haven't ruled on anything," I cut in.

"And you, a property manager, are standing here making the call for the police? Who gave you the authority to rule on this incident? Who made you qualified to demand I pay up and say thank you?"

His lips trembled under the hit. He jabbed a finger at my nose. "Twisting the facts! People like you are a menace to this whole complex! Today it's your place that burns, tomorrow it could be someone else's!"

The second that landed, a few of the neighbors who'd taken damage couldn't hold back.

The woman on the third floor, the one whose balcony railing had been scorched, spoke first. "Exactly! Our balcony railing was brand new, over three thousand dollars!"

The old lady on the fourth floor crossed her arms. "Scared awake in the middle of the night, my heart condition acted up. Who's paying for the emotional distress?"

Everyone talking over each other, working themselves up more with every word.

Before I could get a word in, an old, frail voice suddenly came from the edge of the crowd.

"Phyllis! Susan! Are you two all right?"

My grandmother pushed through, leaning on her cane. She had on her thermal underwear with a padded jacket thrown on any which way over it, the look of someone woken in the dead of night and rushing over.