Disclaimer: I don't own In Plain Sight. But how cool would it be if I did? ;)
Author's Note: Hopefully I'm done being sick. I am pleased to present the latest installment of Fish Out of Water. Cliffhanger resolution in 3, 2, 1...
Fish Out of Water
Chapter 13
"One more step and I'll fucking drop you," Marshall said coldly. Something in his tone got through to the thug, who hesitated; Marshall was deadly serious, and ready to fire.
His command hung in the air, authoritative and steady, and for a moment everything seemed to freeze around him. Halted in mid-motion, the three men eyed him nervously. Mary had a surprised look on her face, almost shocked; for her, the iron will that radiated from him was the most unexpected turn of events she'd experienced that night. Both she and her abductors waited, motionless, for whatever came next.
"Hands up, unless you want the big guy's brains all over the bowling lanes," he ordered, and at a nod from their leader, the men complied. Whatever they wanted from Mary, they clearly weren't willing to die for it.
"Mary," he called to her. "Come over here, get behind me, and don't block my line of fire."
She didn't have to be told twice; giving all three men a wide berth, she trotted quickly but steadily over to him. As she passed just behind him, he murmured softly so only she could hear.
"Silver truck, parked around the corner, it's unlocked. Go. I'll be right behind you."
She headed through the door as Marshall backed up slowly behind her.
As he moved backward toward the doorway, his feet caught in the debris that littered the floor. He fell hard on his backside. Fortunately, the gun in his hand didn't discharge, but the thugs recognized that the situation had just turned to their advantage and began to advance. Panicked, Marshall brought the gun to bear again, but his hands were shaking too badly to aim well.
With a quick glance around, he spotted a crate near him with an array of lit candles on it, one of several which lit the room. Falling onto his back, he kicked sharply against the crate with both feet, sending the candles scattering. A couple of them landed on the nearest of the few mattresses scattered here and there. The booze-soaked mattress, doubtlessly having had liquor spilled on it numerous times before, burst into flame; tendrils of flame raced across the floor along pooling threads of a recent spill, spreading fire rapidly though the detritus.
The men recoiled with shouts as the flames spread amongst the debris on the floor, blocking their path toward Marshall and the back exit; Marshall, having heaved himself up from the floor, was already hauling ass out the back. Once he breached the plane of the rear doorway, he paused, aiming the gun downward and letting the hammer down slowly. His breath rasped in his throat, aggravated by the black smoke billowing from the building. He bolted from the lot as the abandoned bowling alley went up in flames.
He caught up to Mary, who had managed to haul the driver's side door open even with her hands tied behind her, and had beached herself on the truck's bench seat. Heart pounding in his ears and fueled by the adrenaline rush coursing through him, Marshall pushed her into the passenger seat as though she weighed nothing. As he jumped in beside her, she turned and caught sight of the bowling alley. Her eyes widened at the smoke climbing from the structure, open flames now visible in a few places from the outside.
He gunned the ignition, the revolver on the seat between them, and took off into the night. He took random turns, reducing their speed once he deemed they'd reached a safe distance so as to avoid attention. He reached over, one hand still on the wheel, and tugged the gag loose from Mary's mouth.
"You okay?" he asked breathlessly.
"Shut up and drive," she croaked, her mouth dry from the cloth. Tears streaked down her face as the reality of her narrow escape hit home.
Marshall pulled at last into the parking lot of the park where they sometimes went with Brandi. It was the only place he could think of for the moment; he had no idea where Mary wanted to go. Her hands were still tied behind her back, he realized. In the haste of their escape, he'd forgotten entirely. He fished in the glove box for the utility knife he knew his father kept there, and made short work of the heavy cord that bound her. She sat back, rubbing circulation back into her hands and her chafed wrists.
"I can't believe you set the place on fire," she said at last, her voice soft and quiet.
"Oh God…" Marshall moaned, shoving the truck's door open roughly. He scrabbled over to some bushes and fell to his hands and knees heaving his guts out.
Mary climbed out after him, lingering at a respectful distance until he was done being sick. He sat back on the grass and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. She knelt beside him and watched him with concern, tentatively laying a hand on his shoulder.
"Do you think they got out?" he whispered, looking up at her. A tear streaked down his face, followed by another, both cutting faint trails through a smudge of sooty grime there.
"Does it really matter?" Mary asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. His concern for the lives of her would-be rapists had her suddenly on the defensive; she wasn't yet ready to face how close she'd come to a horrible fate, and she covered her discomfort as best she could.
"Yes, it fucking matters, Mary!" he exploded, the stress of the night looking for an outlet and finding one. "I might have just killed three people!"
"You say that like they didn't fucking deserve it!" she shouted back.
"That isn't the point! I just burned down a goddamned building with three people in it, and what does that say about me, Mary? It says I'm an arsonist and a murderer!"
"It was self defense or something! You know what they were going to do to me, what they'd probably have done to you if you didn't get away," she replied, gripping his arm.
Marshall barked a bitter, hollow laugh. "Yeah, because so many people defend themselves by setting buildings on fire."
"Look, if it's that important to you, I'm sure they got out. The front window of the place is broken out, so it wouldn't be that hard. And that place was set to be torn down anyway," she offered, hoping to calm him down. "I bet you just earned the owner a huge insurance settlement."
"You really think so?" he asked doubtfully.
"Yeah, I do," she murmured. "I doubt those guys will ever say anything about it either, because they won't want to admit what they were doing there."
Marshall nodded, roughly wiping tears away from his face as he struggled to get control of himself.
"I didn't expect it to burn like that," he said quietly. "They were coming after me and I kicked a crate at them to try to slow them down."
Mary nodded thoughtfully at his response. She wasn't that surprised; the place had been closed down because it wasn't up to the fire code, or so she'd heard. That, coupled with the interior abuse wrought by Mark and his partners and who knew how many others had turned the place into a firetrap. Of course, Marshall wouldn't have known about any of that beyond what was visible in the dimly lit interior, which he'd only seen for a few minutes.
"How did you find me?" Mary asked suddenly. "I mean, how did you even know something happened?"
"Brandi called me," he replied, his voice still shaky. He saw Mary's concern and added, "She's safe. I sent her over to her friend's house for the night. You can call over there in the morning."
She nodded, biting her lip and looking contemplative.
"Marshall…" she hesitated.
"What?" he replied tiredly.
"Thank you… for looking out for Brandi," she murmured softly.
"And?" he prompted.
"And… for saving me," she added.
"I should take you home," he said as he hefted himself off of the ground. Mary mirrored his actions but shook her head.
"I'm not going home. Brandi's safe, and I can't deal with Jinx right now. I'll probably just sleep here again," she gestured to the park.
"No, you won't," he bit out, his voice suddenly sharp. "We've been over that. You're not sleeping in the park anymore."
"Well, where else am I supposed to go?" she huffed, crossing her arms again.
"You could come home with me," Marshall offered tentatively.
"Your parents would be thrilled, I'm sure."
"They're out of town. Won't be back until late on Sunday."
Mary nodded slowly, a dubious expression on her face. "I guess that could work."
"It's better than the park," he affirmed as he led the way back to the truck.
Marshall sat on the floor and leaned against his bed, watching Mary sleep. His mother would notice if the guest bedroom was used, so his own room was the only place to put her… not that he minded. She had showered and borrowed one of his t-shirts to sleep in, and she'd been out moments after she'd curled up under the blankets.
He'd taken a shower himself, washing away the soot and the smoke smell that seemed to permeate everything; it was probably going to be in his nose for days, but at least he could get it off of him before he got the smell all over the house. The water that circled down the drain was more dirty than he'd thought it would be. Apparently his escape from the burning building had been narrower than he'd thought, and a gnawing worry about the fate of Mary's assailants returned to him.
After drying himself off and pulling on a clean shirt and a pair of pajama pants, he'd thrown his clothes in the washer. With any luck, his mother wouldn't question why he'd needed to do laundry, if she even noticed. He had thought to get Mary's clothes too, and had gone upstairs to retrieve them before he started the washload.
He had planned to go back downstairs, perhaps sleep on the sofa, but once he saw her, asleep in his bed, he couldn't bear to leave her. The clothes could wait, he supposed. The events of the night had been a disaster, and yet could have been so much worse. So he'd sat, watching her as she slept, the realization of how close he'd come to losing her warring with self-recriminations over his actions. There was a right way to do things, as his father often reminded him, and a wrong way; he'd undoubtedly taken the wrong path, and he had no idea what was going to happen to him as a result. Yet, here Mary was, safe and mostly unharmed, and wasn't that worth it? In all his father's talk of right and wrong, he had somehow failed to cover gray areas.
Marshall reached for her hand and held it in his own as she slept. Somehow, even though she was so plainly the source of this catastrophic upheaval in his life, on this night when he had deviated so sharply from the norm, stretched beyond all limits, she was also his lifeline. Holding onto her was the only thing that made sense to him, and her hand in his kept him from feeling like he was drowning.
A/N: Whew, that's a lot of action for one chapter! To my readers, as always, thank you for reading and sticking with this story! Let me know what you thought of this chapter, and stick around for the next update! =D