The moment Sam used his daughter as a weapon time as he knew it ceased, it advanced not in minutes or seconds but in a series of heartbeats. They echoed in his ears drowning out everything else.
THUMP
The knife went wild flaying open the demon's cheek.
THUMP THUMP
It recoiled snarling.
THUMP
Sam felt his paralysis lift.
THUMP THUMP
The demon whirled toward the window still clutching the baby.
THUMP
Sam dove catching the hem of its jacket.
THUMP THUMP
Flames erupted where he had been standing.
THUMP
His fingers slipped. The window exploded.
THUMP THUMP
Sam heard the whoosh when the fire inhaled. Time caught up to itself. Lyssa screamed.
He craned his neck to see her backing slowly into the room the doorway engulfed in flames. They seemed to be following her across the floor, licking at the ruffle that edged the bottom of her little white nightgown. He pushed himself up grabbed her around the waist then cradling her against his chest he jumped from the second story window.
Sam hit the ground hard brutalizing his already broken left leg. He rolled tucking his shoulder in to blunt the force. He curled himself around Lyssa; momentum carried him down the short incline and onto the gravel driveway. He slid a few feet on his back until he hit the front tire of his Ford Aquatyc.
"Lyssa?" He sat up, pushed her just far enough away to see her face. Her eyes were shut tight. She whimpered clutching at him.
Sam hugged her close again. He quickly took in his surroundings, looking for signs of Meg and the baby. He noted the path his body had imprinted on the lawn, blades of grass already springing back up in places. Nothing. He saw nothing but he felt everything, the throbbing in his leg, the burning where the gravel had dug into his back, the despair of losing his child. The sins of the father…
"MEG!" He closed his eyes blocking out one sense to try and boost another. He strained to hear something, footsteps, a twig snapping instead….nothing, no sounds save for the crickets, his elder daughters soft weeping and the crackle pop of the fire eating his home. Eating the last eight years of his life. Lyssa began shaking, from shock or the cold.
"MEG!" Lyssa yelped. He felt bile rise into the back of his throat. Hot tears ran down his face leaving tracks in the dirt and soot.
He tried to stand found he could only do so while leaning on the car and off of his left leg entirely. He needed to search the rest of the yard, needed it like he needed air; he took a step and nearly crashed to his knees. Any pressure he put on his leg sent waves of blackness across his vision. He wanted to scream. He needed to scream.
Instead he reached into the wheel well of the S.U.V. and pulled out the magnetic key box. Police would be here soon. He didn't want to talk to them, wanted nothing more than to get to a phone and call the others.
Silently he prayed for the life of his youngest daughter while he opened the door of the truck and settled his eldest into the front seat. Carefully, so as not to jar his injured leg too much, he hopped around the front and got in behind the wheel. He took one last look at the home he'd ached for for so long. Then he started the engine and backed slowly out onto the street.