BAAAAAAAAAM!
“Oh, dear. It sounds like he’s found Mr. Teller’s tools.”
BAAAAAAAAAM!
“Don’t be scared, Woof,” Duncan whispered. The dog trembled.
BAAAAAAAAAM!
“We’re going to be okay.”
BAAAAAAAAAM!
The last sound was followed by a creaking noise, like wood splitting.
“It will hold,” Mrs. Teller said again. But this time she didn’t sound so sure.
The pain in her arms faded as her circulation returned, and Fran concentrated on the road ahead—left foot right foot left foot right foot. She used to love running, and years ago her tracks graced every trail, road, and highway in Ashburn County. Since the accident Fran had restricted her jogging to the treadmill in the basement. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to leave Duncan alone any longer than necessary, but deep down she knew the real truth: running alone scared her. Fran remembered what it was like when something happened and there was no one around to help. She wouldn’t put herself in that situation again.
And yet, she’d put Duncan in that situation.
Their therapist, Dr. Walker, had told Fran that it would be good for Duncan to be left alone at night. It would help build his self-esteem. Fran had resisted, and Walker had broken her down her with jargon like enabling and transference. The next time she saw Dr. Walker he was going to learn some of her jargon, like broken nose.
Sound, behind her, and Fran glanced back and saw a figure pounding the pavement in her wake. Erwin. He seemed to have located his spine. Not that she could blame him. Less than an hour ago, Fran had been paralyzed with fear, unable to move. People handled crisis situations in different ways. Hopefully Erwin wouldn’t panic; she needed him.
The Pine Village sign at the entrance to her subdivision—framed in pine logs and set into a grass knoll surrounded by decorative stones and violets—was strangely dark. Ground lights normally illuminated it, but along with the streetlamps, they were out.
Fran veered onto Montrose Street, and every house on the block, every house in the development, lacked electricity. Except for the moon, the only light in the area came from over the hill, a disturbing orange flicker that made Fran push herself even harder.
When she reached the crest, her fears were confirmed. Her house, and Mrs. Teller’s, burned big and bright.
“Oh, no, oh, God, no …”
Fran sprinted down the hill, pain, exhaustion, and fear all pushed aside by the overwhelming need to find Duncan. She ran up to her house, but she couldn’t get close. The heat that came off it was like opening a five-hundred-degree oven, and a wave of hot air wicked away the water from her clothes and hair and sucked the moisture from her panting mouth. She tried to take another step closer, the temperature making her skin hurt, and Erwin held her back.
“It’s gone!” he yelled, Fran barely able hear him over the crackling, spitting blaze. She watched, horrified, as the roof collapsed, the flames reaching into the sky and doubling the height of her home. A plume of smoke billowed out through the front door, covering them with hot soot.
The front door. It was open. Duncan and Woof must have gotten out.
Fran spun, looking at Mrs. Teller’s house. Hers was in much better shape, fire on the porch and climbing up the west wall, but the house still intact. Duncan knew to go there if something happened. That’s where he had to be.
Fran rushed across the expanse of lawn, saw Mrs. Teller’s front door yawning open through the wreath of flame. She faintly heard Erwin yelling in protest as she dashed through the doorway and into the smoke-filled foyer, running directly into the man dressed in black who pounded on the basement door with a sledgehammer.
Erwin Luggs watched Fran dash into the burning building and knew he should go in after her, but his feet didn’t want to move.
Do it! You’re a firefighter, for chrissakes.
But Josh wasn’t here, he didn’t have any of his equipment, and he had a strong feeling that there was someone in that house, someone bad.
He felt something vibrate in his pocket and almost slapped at it in surprise before he remembered his cell phone.
His cell phone. He was getting a signal. Erwin dug it out and put it to his face.
“Erwin? It’s Jessie Lee. Where the heck have you been?”
“Jessie Lee! Baby, it’s great to hear your voice!”
“Erwin, I’m at the junior high and I put your name down on the lottery list. They’re going to call us any minute. You have to get over here.”
Erwin wasn’t sure what his fiancée was talking about, and normally when Jessie Lee told him to do something he was on it immediately, but while he had a cell phone signal he needed to call someone about this fire.
“Look, honey, I’ll call you right back.” He hit disconnect and then speed dial for Josh. Though the fire made it hard to hear, his effort was rewarded with a ringing sound. When Josh answered he almost whooped for joy.
“Josh! It’s Erwin! I’m at Fran Stauffer’s house in Pine Village! Her house is burning down and I need your help!”
“Erwin? I’m with Sheriff Streng. We’ll be there soon.”
This time, Erwin did whoop. Streng was still alive. Erwin’s chest swelled. His cowardice hadn’t killed anyone, and this information, along with the reassurance that Josh would be here soon, spurred him to action.
Erwin ran to the side of Mrs. Teller’s house and turned on the faucet for the garden hose. He dragged the hose to the front porch and aimed at the foot of the fire. The water vaporized on contact, hissing and steaming, but the flames began to slowly recede. Erwin waved away some smoke and called to Fran.
She screamed in reply.
Josh will be here soon, he thought. Josh always knew what to do.
Fran screamed again. Through the haze, Erwin saw her fighting with a man dressed in black.
Erwin’s bowels churned, and he felt like his legs wouldn’t support him. This was just like what happened with Sheriff Streng. He wanted to make this all go away, to turn back time and not pick up the phone when Josh called and told him about the helicopter crash. Everything would work out better if he wasn’t a part of it.
The man in black hit Fran across the face, and she fell to the floor. Erwin watched him lift something—it looked like a sledgehammer—and hold it over Fran’s head.
I shouldn’t be here, Erwin thought.
Then he surprised himself by running into the burning house.
Jessie Lee Sloan tried to dial Erwin again and got that annoying message about the cell phone customer not being available. She threw the phone in her purse, annoyed. Why did anyone in Safe Haven even bother with cell phones? They were a cruel joke.
“Is Erwin coming?”
Mrs. Melody Montague, whom Jessie Lee had as a second-grade teacher and who still taught second grade all these years later, leaned into Jessie Lee’s personal space. Her breath smelled like mentholated cough drops, and Jessie Lee didn’t like her any more now than she did at age seven when Mrs. Montague taught them how to draw Thanksgiving turkeys by tracing their hands. The drawings didn’t look like birds—they looked like palm prints—and when Jessie Lee said so she was given a time-out in the corner.
“He’s coming,” Jessie Lee answered without facing the elderly woman.
“Isn’t this exciting? I suppose we should all be mad at Mayor Durlock for using the Safe Haven coffers to buy Powerball tickets, but what a treat that he’s sharing it with the whole town. What are you going to do with your forty-thousand dollars?”