"Jean Luc! Beverly!" I hear Robert's frantic clamor as the four of us run.
They smelled it too: the burning, the smoke. Maybe they've seen what we haven't. And that in itself is shuddering as sheer anticipation and dread build and build.
A hand yanks me through the angled walls of the house as we follow their path to the back yard.
"Oh my God!"
There it is. My pulse is racing as adrenaline caries my legs faster than they've ever run through the vast expanse of the back yard.
"Wesley! Renee!"
The barn is blazing a fire like none I've ever seen before. There must have been accelerant, because a naturally occurring fire would never have ignited at such a savage, barbarous pace. The flames seemingly reach the heavens and mingle with the stars. They're taunting us, telling us of their lofty victory, their raven heist.
There's no one coming from barn; Wesley and Renee are nowhere to be found.
"Wesley!" I scream so loud that no sound comes at all. Tears don't register through the spasms of emotion as my legs start to fail, my pace slows, and gravity takes its own victory.
"Wesley!" I try again, as if I don't know any other name, or any other word.
The heat is overwhelming and ferocious as it devours everything like a hungry beast. Shards of red and yellow lick at the air, testing us, boasting of their power. The realization that no one could have survived sets in as I sink to the ground. Two arms come and hold me against a solid body that too is shuddering.
The thought of losing our son is unbearable as the both of us quake through utter grief at what looks like an almost certain outcome.
Robert keeps charging at the raging inferno, screaming is own son's name in supplication. Marie, though, like us, has accepted that her son…
My hands dig into the ground, nails filled with fresh, moist dirt as my anguish tears at me and my wet tears adorn the blades of grass. It can't be; it just can't be. He can't be gone. Not after all of this; not after everything that's happened. And, not like this.
Maybe they got out. Maybe they're fine. Saying maybe is a hopeless word, so I'll stop and resign myself to wait. To look. To pray.
I feel his arms leave me and before I can yell or scream, he's running again into the angry flare. Does he see something? Or is he just mad with grief?
"Jean Lu-c!" I pick myself up as I half-stumble, half-run in his and Robert's aimlessly erratic stead. "Jean Luc! Where are you going?!" I grab his arm but he shoves me off, honing in on his elusive and unseen goal.
"Jean Luc!" I hear the desperation in my broken cries. He doesn't answer me; no one does. And then I see it. I see something out of the calescent conflagration. But, my heart sinks in a moment of denial – could it only be my sorrow that's conjuring elusive and taunting images, or is it something more?
Reagan: I'll write you a script for some benzos :) here you go!
Samantha: thank you! You should go to France - just beware of the sultry disposition of the general populace :)
Sasha: You guessed it! Thanks for reading :)
Heather: Welcome, so glad to have you! Thanks for reading and keeping up with the story :)
Maddie: thank you! Love all the conjecture! :)