Girl on Fire
Rachel was the first person to discover the remains of a girl who’d fallen victim to a heinous murder. As the only eye witness to the tail end of the drama, Rachel knew that she could be in trouble, too. Could the man who’d screeched away in the van that morning have seen her watching? It didn’t help that the press had stupidly published Rachel’s name in connection to the story. For weeks after the murder, as the police continued to call it a hate crime, Rachel lived in a state of fear for her own life. Her nerves were shot from being on constant high alert, so she started eating a ton of CBD gummies to help her cope with her trauma. One day, stoned out of her mind, Rachel made an impulsive decision to buy a house that was priced well below market value. There was no way she could’ve known that this house would inextricably link her forever to the dead girl she’d found on the side of the road, the girl on fire.
This two-part story is fictional. Any resemblance to living people is coincidental.
Chapter 1: Rachel
As she ran up the last hill before the turn to her parents’ house, Rachel saw a sudden, explosive flash of orange about 50 yards ahead of her. What the hell? It was 5:30 in the morning, dark and cool on a mid-October day in Austin, Texas. Rachel jerked to a stop, nearly falling. In the darkness, she was just able to discern a grayish van speed away with a sickening screech of tires. For a moment, Rachel was too alarmed to move and just stood there, breathing hard. She could see that the orange flash was quickly turning into a fire. What if it spread and the surrounding houses got burned up? She took a last ragged breath and leaped forward, pumping legs that felt as if they were made of clay.
Chapter 2: Amanda
It seemed there was a dearth of houses on the market, so Amanda decided to work with a broker, someone named Patrick Sullivan whose information she saw on a for sale sign. They agreed to meet at a property on Shoal Creek, and Amanda had to park a block away because the driveway of the house was filled with debris. Otherwise, from the outside at least, the house was just what she was looking for, low slung and charming, small front porch with wicker chairs, big front yard filled with trees and flowers that gave the place a lush, tropical appearance. The broker must have had trouble parking, too, because he showed up on foot, a large burly man in an ill-fitting brown suit and trendy Nike sneakers. He certainly didn’t look like Amanda’s idea of a realtor, and she felt a little uncomfortable standing beside him as he unlocked the front door.