Bogeyman. Gayle Wilson
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threw back the quilts and scooped her up off the bed. Maddie clung to her neck, her legs automatically wrapping around her waist.
She carried Maddie into the hall, heading toward the stairs. In the darkness, framed by spindles at their top, she could see the glow of flames, already licking up the stairwell.
The most immediate danger was the smoke, which was already thick in the upstairs hall. Toxins would be released by the burning furniture, and the smoke itself would rapidly eat up the life-sustaining oxygen.
How long did that give her? Blythe wondered, reversing course. How long would there be air for them to breathe? How long did she have to try to find a way out?
Running now, she carried Maddie toward the window at the end of the short hall. One look at the two-story drop below it made her rethink that solution. She turned away, glancing over her shoulder at the glow from the stairwell.
Mentally she reviewed the windows on this floor. The one where she’d heard the tapping overlooked the roof of the screened-in porch. And apparently the fire had started on the other side of the structure….
She hurried into what had been Maddie’s bedroom. She leaned over the secretary, putting her forehead against the cold glass. Below stretched the gently peaked roof of the addition.
She bent, setting Maddie on the floor. “Lie down and stay down,” she ordered, in her I-mean-it voice.
She jerked the desk away from the wall as if it weighed nothing. Even if she decided the drop to the roof below was too great, once she opened the window, they would at least have fresh air.
She turned the metal latch at the top of the sill and then tried to push up the sash. No matter how much pressure she applied, the window refused to budge, not even when she bent, using the muscles of her thighs and buttocks. Either moisture had caused the wood to swell or it had been painted shut.
She looked back toward the hall, which was now thick with smoke. There had to be another way. Another window. Some other access to the roof.
Even as she mentally sought other possibilities, she knew there were none. The other windows on this floor offered a straight drop to the ground two stories below. And there was no guarantee that any of them would be easier to open than this.
Her eyes fastened on the small desk chair that had been shoved into the keyhole of the desk. When she’d moved the secretary, it had carried the chair with it.
Coughing, she jerked the chair free, holding onto the back of it with both hands. It seemed incredibly light, far too fragile to accomplish what she needed it to do.
“Keep your head down,” she ordered Maddie.
She moved back to the window, swinging the chair at the bottom half, the part without the wooden mullions. The first time the legs and seat hit the broad pane of glass, they bounced off.
The second time she swung the chair with all the strength she possessed. The glass cracked, and when she struck it the third time, it shattered.
She took a deep breath of the cold night air rushing in through the opening. Behind her, the fire crackled and hissed with the renewed flow of oxygen. The sound destroyed her sense of euphoria, replacing it with another burst of panic.
Using the chair and her hands, she broke out the shards that clung to the frame. Then she turned, picked Maddie up off the floor and started back to the window.
“Mama? What are you doing?”
“It’s okay,” Blythe said. “We’re going out the window. Just do what I tell you, okay?”
Against her body she felt the little girl’s nod.
Dear God, don’t let me lose her, too.
The broken window loomed before her. For a moment she couldn’t decide if she should drop onto the roof and then have Maddie jump down so she would be there to break her fall.
It took only a second to realize too many things could go wrong with that plan. She could be knocked unconscious by the fall. Maddie could refuse to jump. The fire could reach her before—
She destroyed the thought as she set Maddie on her feet. Then, putting her arms around the little girl’s torso, Blythe locked her hands around her back. She lifted her daughter and lowered her body through the open window.
The roof below looked much farther away than before. She would have to drop the little girl on the right side of the peak so that when she fell, she would roll down into the valley formed by the wall of the original house and the roof of the addition. If she dropped her on the other side, Maddie might roll off and onto the ground below.
Blythe edged nearer the right side of the window, ignoring Maddie’s sobs. One chance to save her daughter’s life. If she blew it…
She bent as far out as she could, so that her belly was pressed against the bottom of the frame. She could feel a piece of the broken glass that had clung to it slice her skin, but she ignored the pain, carefully positioning Maddie for the drop.
Blythe’s shoulders screamed for relief from the weight they held, but she ignored them, too. Instead, her left arm still around Maddie’s back, she managed to slide her right hand up until it was fastened around Maddie’s wrist. She closed her eyes, anticipating the strain on her shoulder as she held on to the small, dangling body with one hand while with the other she completed the same maneuver to grasp Maddie’s other wrist.
She thought she could feel the heat of the fire behind her. She could definitely hear it. Despite the length of the drop and the chance of injury, she had to release her daughter and let her fall.
Only chance…
“I’m coming, Maddie,” she said, pitching her voice to carry over the noise of the inferno behind her. “I’m coming. Just stay there, and I’ll jump down beside you.”
Opening her hands to let Maddie go was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. Heart in her throat, she watched as the small body, clad in its white flannel gown, fell. The little girl rolled over twice, coming to rest in the protection of the valley, just as Blythe had planned.
She waited just long enough to see Maddie raise her head to look up at the window. The intensity of the heat behind her allowed no further hesitation.
She put one leg over the frame, turning so that she could hold onto the inside edge of its sill with her fingers. That would allow her body to extend to its full length before she let go and dropped to the roof. Through the pall of smoke in the bedroom, she could see the glow of the conflagration that was now consuming the upper hall.
Only chance…
She let go, falling hard onto the side of the peaked roofline. As she slid down into the valley between the two rooflines, she tried to slow her progress by grabbing at the shingles, scraping her hands as well as her hip.
“Mama.”
She turned to find Maddie looking up at her, her eyes wide. In the moonlight, which seemed bright as day, there were no visible injuries. Even if there were…
“We’re okay,” Blythe reassured.
She pushed onto her feet, putting one hand on the wall of the house to keep her balance as she moved toward her daughter. She tried to keep her right foot in the center of the flashing, which, compared to the roof itself, was relatively flat.
She held out her free hand. “Come on,” she ordered as she pulled the little girl to her feet.
Afraid of what she’d see, she refused to look up at the window through which they’d exited. As she moved toward the front of the addition, she listened instead for the wail of fire trucks. There was nothing but the sound of the fire, devouring the rich heart pine from which the little house had been constructed.
Please, God, let me get her down. Don’t take her away from me. I’ll do whatever you want, if you just won’t let anything happen to Maddie.
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