“Your parents?”
“I yelled for them.”
The words became harder.
“I couldn’t get to their room. The staircase—”
Mercer touched my shoulder.
I kept going.
“I heard Vicky upstairs.”
My eyes burned.
“So I went up.”
“You ran into a burning house?”
“She was seven.”
Ruiz held my gaze.
“I know.”
“I found her hiding in the bathroom.”
Vicky had been curled inside the tub with a wet towel over her head because Dad had taught us what to do if smoke filled a room.
I carried her out through the upstairs window onto the porch roof.
A neighbor brought a ladder.
I tried to go back.
Three people stopped me.
For months, I had hated them for it.
Some nights I still did.
Ruiz switched off the recorder.
“That’s enough for tonight.”
I stared at her.
“What was Howard doing there?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Did you get the video?”
