Chapter Twenty Six
Wilson ran to the front door with the key in his hand. He stuck the key in the lock and opened the door. Without the key, no one could enter, or exit, the house. Mother had made sure of that years ago when Wilson was young – when there had been two small children in the house – Wilson and a sister, a sister he did not remember. In that moment, Wilson determined he would do some searching and find out more about his sister.
Hungry flames crackled and roared in the kitchen. Wilson took one last look. The fire raged out of control. The house wouldn't last long. Wilson bolted out the door and slammed it shut, locking the woman in. The fire would consume her. It was God's will.
Wilson plodded down the porch steps, hard and fast. He saw a strange car in the driveway and wondered who it belonged to. Why was it here? Then suddenly, a man with a gun appeared. He pointed the gun at Wilson and shouted, "Get down. On the ground. Face down."
In spite of the gun, Wilson did not comply. He did not know this man or what he wanted. Wilson knew only one thing: he needed to escape. He ran toward the woods and the man fired. The bullet went wide and to the right of Wilson. That told Wilson the man wanted to scare him, not kill him. This knowledge gave Wilson the incentive to run harder.
# # # #
I saw a man run down the porch steps. He took off in the direction of the woods. Dad was after him in an instant. I ran to the front of the house. Still no light from the windows. Why? Painted? Boarded up?
I hefted the rock in my hand, stepped back, and went into a wind up. This was going to be a fastball to beat all fastballs. Every ounce of muscle and energy went into the throw. The rock struck the big living room window dead center and bounced off. I stood there dumbfounded. The window should have shattered.
I scooped the rock off the ground and threw it again. Heaved it with all the strength and power I had. It bounced off the window again. Didn't even make a crack or dent in the pane.
I ran to the front door. The man had come out of it. Maybe it was unlocked now. I should have thought of that before. My hand curled around the knob and twisted.
Dammit! Still locked tight. I threw my shoulder and hip against the door several times. No good. It didn't budge. I pounded the door with my fists and called Callie's name. Nothing. Nothing but the roar of the inferno within.
What now? I was frantic. Tears welled as I ran a hand through my hair and considered options. Then I saw dad. He had the man face down on the ground and spread eagle.
That's who I needed, the man. He had a key to the door.
# # # #
The pantry door shielded Callie from the flames, but this good fortune would not last. Ten feet separated her from the living room. Ten deadly feet she must dash before the fire destroyed the entire kitchen. No time to think, just go!
Callie threw open the door and ran. She ran with all her might. She ran with a terrified expression and love and hope in her heart. This was it. All or nothing. Life or death.
It is said that 'fortune favors the bold,' and in this moment of utmost need, fortune smiled upon Callie. She made it to the living room, a place of relative safety. But that was momentary, the fire was gaining ground fast and sweeping toward her with lightning speed.
Callie was not granted a second of happiness. She was on fire … her shoes and pants legs … those areas that had been soaked in gasoline. Perhaps because of all she had been through the past few days, she kept her head. She remembered the old school adage: stop, drop, and roll.
She fell to the carpet, put her hands over her face, and rolled. Searing heat encased her calves. Her feet were fine due to her tennis shoes. But rolling wasn't working. The flames had not decreased. If anything, they had increased. Despair reared his ugly head and Callie almost gave in to it until she saw the blanket draped over the back of the sofa.
Smother the fire!
She crawled to the sofa. A long, desperate crawl. But dragging herself along the carpet kept the fire at bay. Callie stayed focused on her goal. The sofa … the blanket. The pain in her lower legs grew, but she pushed on. The sofa … the blanket. And then she was there. With one hand, she yanked the blanket down and tossed it over her legs. She patted the surface and smothered the flames.
Exhaustion swamped her body and tears ran down her cheeks. She had won, but at what cost? She needed help. She couldn't continue alone. The odds were against her.
Alone. She felt so alone, so isolated. Remote and distant from the outside world, from people and help. She had endured so much … alone. She didn't want to continue alone.
The fire breached the entryway to the living room and flames swirled closer. That got Callie moving. She scrambled to her feet. Her legs felt weak. Charred pieces of jeans clung to her calves.
The stairs. Maybe she could make it to the stairs. Maybe the air was better on the second floor. Here the air was hot and smoky. It was almost impossible to breathe. She didn't bother with the front door, although she gave it one hopeful glance. The man had escaped through it, but he'd shut it behind him and locked her in. Of that she was positive.
Tears flowed again. What had she done to deserve this? She wiped at the tears as she staggered toward the stairs. Maybe, just maybe a neighbor had seen the fire and called the fire department. A small sound halted her steps. The sound of a key in the door. Could it be? Not the man, surely not the man. He would not return.
A deep voice cut through the smoke filled room. A voice she knew well and had loved deeply at one time.
"Callllie!" Emotion and desperation was heavy in his voice.
"Frank?" she gasped, her voice soft and weak.
# # # #
I saw Callie by the staircase and ran to her. I scooped her into my arms and ran for the door. She wrapped her arms around my neck and relaxed. She gave herself over to me completely. I understood her need. Get as far away from the house as possible.
I stepped onto the porch and yelled, "Dad, I got her."
Dad gave me a thumbs up. He still had the man, Wilson, on the ground. Dad's weapon was trained on Wilson and Wilson was still spread eagle on the ground. The only time Wilson had moved was when I searched his pockets for the key.
I carried Callie to the rental car amid the wail of sirens. The first fire trucks wheeled into the driveway and up to the house. I set Callie down beside the car. She looked exhausted. Her hair was limp and tears glistened on her cheeks. Her arms stayed around my neck, like she was afraid to let go … or perhaps she didn't want to let go. I didn't want to let go either.
I wrapped my arms around her and she buried her head in my chest and cried. I felt her shoulders hitch as she wept. Tears dripped from her cheeks and onto my shirt. I pulled her a little closer and held her a little tighter. Her body felt good against mine and a bunch of old feelings rushed to the surface. I pushed them down and whispered into her hair, "You're safe now."
Her tears soaked my shirt. I let her cry. She needed to get the emotions out, to cleanse herself, to somehow rid herself of the whole rotten experience.
An ambulance eventually showed up and I had to release Callie into the care of the professionals. The charred remains of her jeans hung from her calves and that concerned me. I knew she was in pain. She'd tried to hide it, but I'd heard the whimpers, soft moans, and sharp intakes of breath.
Once she was strapped to a gurney, I leaned over, smoothed back her hair and kissed her forehead. "Take care. I'll call Rob and let him know you're on the way to the hospital."
Her tears flowed freely as she clasped my hand. "Thank you, Frank."
And then she was gone. Safe and snug in the ambulance. I watched it back out of the driveway and head down the street. When the ambulance was out of sight I called Rob. He was ecstatic. I felt his happiness, his relief, and his disbelief.
"She should be at the hospital in fifteen minutes," I said. "I gave the medics your name and phone number. They know you're on the way."
"Hardy, how can I ever thank you?" There were tears in his voice.
"You don't have to. She's alive. That's thanks enough." Callie was alive. There was no better thanks than that.
A/N: Thank you Max and Guest for your reviews on the previous chapter. Hope this chapter is just as exciting. And no cliffhanger this time. ;)
One or two more chapters to go. Then I'll be working on "Captive."