Shame

Her green nightgown identified her: Brunhilda.
    Under the house mother’s directions, the Kappa Omegas pulled the front hose over to the side and started spraying the pampas grass. At the same time, their neighbors on the west side were pulling their own hose into play. But the garden hoses didn’t seem to have any immediate effect on the torching pampas grass.
    Sirens approached. Two cars with lights flashing came to dramatic stops. Campus police. In the distance other sirens could be heard. But Caleb was more interested in Brunhilda. She was doing a head count, making sure all of her charges were present.
    “Where’s Dana?” she called. “Has anyone seen Dana?”
    The house mother didn’t get an answer she liked. She ran inside the door. Even over the alarms her voice could be heard yelling, “Dana!”
    Caleb almost didn’t notice it. With all the confusion it would have been only too easy to overlook the motion detector goingoff on the east side of the house. People had flocked to the sorority, but they were all moving toward the fire, not away from it. Someone or something had set off the detector on the side of the house opposite the fire.
    He ran across the street, had to sidestep a group of young males who were bemoaning the fact that they hadn’t brought marshmallows and beer, then ran from right to left along the front of the sorority house, making sure no one was emerging from the back. The east side had just gone dark again when he reached it. His appearance reactivated the motion detector. Caleb scanned the area but didn’t see anything.
    “Dana?”
    Brunhilda’s voice was near. Overhead a light went on in one of the upstairs rooms, followed by a scream: “Dana!”
    Caleb started running. He ran to catch the killer and ran to get away from the scream. I didn’t know, he told himself. I couldn’t have known. But he had. To save himself he’d been willing to gamble with the lives of others.
    He ran blind, headed south without consciously thinking about it. The way felt right, though. Caleb was sure that the killer hadn’t parked his car near the sorority. He would have parked a street or two away from it, and he would have scouted the terrain to plan his escape. That’s how his father would have done it. Caleb fought his way through fifty yards of brush, the remnants of a small, urban canyon, and came out at a fenced-in apartment complex.
    Another choice. He could go right or left or scale the chain-link fence. Caleb chose left.
    His stomach felt as if it were on fire. The cut had opened, and the wetness was spreading along his belly. His breathing was ragged, but he never slowed. He couldn’t. The killer had at least a minute’s head start on him, and the knowledge of where he was going. But as Caleb broke free to the street, he heard the sound of a car door closing.
    Caleb looked for the appearance of headlights or brake lights but saw neither. He tried to quiet his breathing. In the distance he could hear the sorority’s alarm and the sound of still more sirens.
    An ignition turned over, and an engine revved. Still no lights, but Caleb could see the car. It was almost hidden by the darkness and the shadows of a tree and its own color: it was black, a sedan. He ran toward it.
    The car pulled away from the curb but didn’t attempt to avoid Caleb’s rush. It wanted to meet him more than halfway. Accelerating, the vehicle headed for him.
    Caleb tensed, then made the conscious decision to leap for the windshield, to throw his body at the glass. He cared more about shattering the glass than shattering his bones. It would be his chance, maybe his only one, to reach for the killer’s throat.
    The car came at him. He tensed to jump, but self-preservation took over. Instead of launching himself at the car, Caleb threw himself to the right, belly-flopping on the pavement. The car braked and swerved, narrowly avoided running into the curb, then came to a stop a hundred feet away.
    Caleb raised himself from the asphalt. His chin and face were numb. He’d left a layer of skin behind on the street. He struggled to rise, but his legs kept betraying him. The car was sideways to Caleb. He couldn’t see the driver, was denied getting a good look by the dark night, the lack of lights, and the car’s privacy glass. But he could see the driver staring at him.
    The car’s engine revved. Taunting him. This time Caleb would be helpless to avoid it.
    The car revved again.
    Son of a bitch. Caleb