by C J Parsons
Carrie’s arms were starting to ache from Sofia’s weight. She gently transferred her to the other shoulder, checking to see whether she had dozed off. But her daughter’s eyes were open wide and her arms fastened around Carrie’s neck again as she resettled on the other side.
Josh laughed softly. ‘Ah, Tara, you’ve been playing the long game, haven’t you? Getting to know Sofia, winning her trust. But she’s not your child and she never will be. Not while I’m here to protect her.’
Tara jutted her chin. ‘I already have a child, thank you very much. I’m not in the market for another one.’
‘Ah yes. The famous son. What’s his name again?’
Tara’s brows dipped into a deep V. ‘Why? What’s he got to do with this?’
‘Go on. Say his name. If you can remember what it’s supposed to be.’
‘Peter!’ Tara shouted the name at the top of her voice, making Sofia’s arms tighten around Carrie’s neck. ‘My son’s name is Peter!’
A small smile curved across Josh’s face. ‘Well done.’
Tara made a choking noise. ‘You smug, lying piece of shit!’
Carrie ducked instinctively as something soared past her head towards Josh. The iPad. Tara must have had good aim because it hit him square on the shoulder. The impact knocked him off balance, the jolt travelling right through his arm, making his fingers fly open.
Josh dropped the lamp.
Time seemed to slow as Carrie watched it slip from his grasp, the glass-walled flame drifting lazily downward, as though it were sinking through water. When it hit the ground, there was a crack and the tinkle of glass. Fragments arced outward. Blue-and-white flames burst through the gaps, licking the surviving shards. Then the smashed lamp began to roll across the floor: a cylindrical cage of fire travelling slowly but inexorably towards the covered sofa.
Stop-stop-stop. Carrie prayed silently. Please stop.
But it didn’t stop – not until it had bumped against the sofa’s leg. The flame flared brighter as it caught the hem of the cloth, feeding greedily. The fire leapt upward, growing as it went, spreading across the seat. The smell of singed cloth filled the air as it raced sideways, towards the bottle, with its warning red diamond. Carrie didn’t need to be able to read the words beneath to know what they said. ‘Caution: Flammable liquid.’
For a moment, the three of them stood staring at the fire as though hypnotised, Tara’s arm still extended from the throw. The iPad lay on the floor beyond the sofa, its screen cracked and glowing.
The flames were higher now, advancing more quickly. Closing in on the kerosene bottle.
‘Run!’
Tara’s shout broke the spell. Carrie’s head whipped from side to side, searching for the nearest exit.
The front door.
She lurched towards it, staggering under Sofia’s weight, praying the kerosene bottle’s glass barrier could withstand the flames just long enough to let them reach the other side. The room seemed to stretch, the door retreating before her, impossibly far. Her overburdened muscles trembled in protest. She was struggling to maintain her grip on Sofia. But she was nearly there. The door was only about five steps away now. Four. Three.
That was as far as she got.
There was a sound, like the crack of a whip. A rush of superheated air and a bright flare of orange, as though someone had switched on a blinding light.
Carrie was thrown from her feet, back lanced with pain as glass fragments tore through her clothes, embedding themselves in her flesh. She kept her arms locked protectively around Sofia, elbows slamming against the floor as she rolled across it, the pain making her cry out. By the time she’d stopped moving, the sofa was a roaring mass of flame, pushing out a wall of heat that sucked the air from her lungs. Carrie tried to get up, but a wave of dizziness rode through her, sending her sliding to the floor.
Then everything disappeared.
She was drifting in liquid dark, weightless, completely at peace. All the fear and panic had floated away, leaving only a perfect silence that wrapped itself around her like warm silk. She surrendered herself to it, sinking through deepening layers of black.
‘Mummy, wake up! I’m scared!’
Sofia!
Carrie fought against the darkness, but it kept pulling at her, trying to suck her down, folding itself over her like quicksand.
‘Mummy, help!’
With a burst of determination, Carrie thrashed her way upward and broke surface.
She was lying on her back with Sofia’s face directly above hers, eyes round with terror.
‘It’s OK, sweetie. I’m right here. I’m going to get you home.’ It took a Herculean effort, but somehow she managed to drag herself up onto her knees with her daughter in her arms. She waited for a wave of dizziness to pass before planting a foot on the floor, using it to propel herself upright. Then she stood swaying, Sofia clinging to her neck. The room wheeled around her a few times before slowing to a stop. Carrie’s eyes were stinging from the smoke as she took stock of her surroundings. What she saw turned her insides to liquid. The fire had spread around the room, hopscotching from one furniture-shroud to the next, roaring up the filmy curtains along the front of the house to create a blazing barrier. They’d never make it out that way. They would have to leave the way they’d come: through the kitchen. But when she turned towards it, she made a terrible discovery; sparks from the curtains had colonised the cube-patterned rug, creating a rectangular island of flame that blocked their path. Smoke rolled across the ceiling.
There was no way out.
She looked down at her daughter. Sofia’s eyes were closed. Was that because of the smoke? Or to shut out the terror? Carrie kissed the top of her head thinking: Please, God, don’t let her die. Whatever else happens, Sofia must live.
Then, like an answered prayer, came the sound of Josh’s voice.
‘Don’t worry, everything’s going to be OK.’
She turned to find him standing, miraculously unharmed, at the far end of the living room. He extended an arm towards her. ‘This way.’
‘Where?’ Carrie asked desperately. ‘How will we get out?’
He pointed into the haze of smoke behind him. ‘Up the stairs, then out through one of the bedroom windows. It’s a bit of a jump, there might be a twisted ankle or two, but we’ll be OK.’ She squinted into the shifting clouds. Saw the shape of the archway. It must lead to the stairs. Getting to Josh would mean running through the gap between a burning armchair and the flaming sofa. But it was doable . . . just. And it wasn’t as though she had a choice; this was their only chance.
Then, from the other end of the room, came another voice.
‘No, Carrie, don’t!’
Eyes streaming from the smoke, Carrie blinked until she was able to make out a figure standing beside the now flaming wooden screen.
Tara.
‘Don’t go with him! You won’t make it. The smoke is too thick and the fire has already spread upstairs. But there’s another way. Follow me!’
Carrie froze, caught between Josh on her left and Tara on her right. Paralysed by indecision. Josh was still holding a hand out towards her.
‘Don’t listen to her, Carrie. She’s leading you into a trap! She lied to you about me with her fake iPad translations and she’s lying to you again now.’ His voice was hoarse from the smoke wreathed around him. ‘I can save you!’
She could feel the oxygen in the room disappearing, gobbled up by the fire. White spots were eating across her vision until she could hardly see. She was gasping for breath, growing weaker. Sofia started slipping from her grasp and she fought to keep hold of her. Her daughter had never felt so heavy.
She took a step towards Josh.
‘Don’t!’ Tara shouted over the crackle of flames. Carrie hesitated. She looked back over her shoulder. Tara was yanking at the bolt of the smal
l, timber door at the back of the room. It slid aside and she shoved the door open with her shoulder. Beyond was nothing but darkness. What was in there? A closet? Carrie’s head swam. Why would Tara want to lead them into a closet? It didn’t make sense. And if she really did know a way out, why hadn’t she fled already? Why was she still here?
‘Come on!’ Tara’s voice was raspy and she was swaying on her feet. ‘If you follow Josh, you won’t make it. Maybe he knows that. Maybe this is some sort of . . . suicide pact. Or maybe he wants to fix it so that the two of you are the only ones to make it out alive, so he can have you all to himself.’
Josh barked out a laugh that turned into a coughing fit halfway through.
‘Don’t bring your daughter within arm’s reach of that crazy bitch. She’ll grab Sofia and leave you behind to die.’
There was the sound of splintering glass as a window blew out. A piece of burning cloth flew past like a flaming kite. Tara was moving towards her through the smoke, past the burning screen. Stopping when they were only a few feet apart. ‘Carrie, look at me. I’m your friend. Trust me.’
She looked into Tara’s streaming eyes, the whites now an angry pink. But the irises were the same as always: green-blue, like a holiday sea. Just as they’d been that first day in the park.
It’s OK, love. I’ll help you find your daughter.
There was a deafening boom from the kitchen and the floor shook. The stove canister, Carrie thought dimly. There must have still been some gas inside it.
‘Carrie!’ Josh called hoarsely from the other end of the room. ‘I love you! Come with me before it’s too late!’
She looked at him, standing in the smoke with his arm out, memories blowing through her like leaves in a high wind.
Josh, smiling at her across the dining table.
Josh, wiping a blob of cream cheese from Sofia’s nose.
Josh whispering in the dark.
‘May I?’
The heat was unbearable and the air was getting harder to breathe. The room wavered. She was seconds away from collapsing. She looked from Josh to Tara and back again.
There was no time left.
She had to choose.
‘Shit!’
They were five minutes away from the Vineyard when Juliet saw the flames flickering against the night sky, staining it orange.
Alistair stepped harder on the gas, sending trees blurring past. She was on the police radio, calling for an ambulance and fire trucks, as they rounded a sharp corner at speed, slamming Juliet’s shoulder into the passenger door. She put away the radio and stared grimly through the windscreen at the unnaturally bright sky.
‘What do you think happened?’ Alistair asked, not taking his eyes from the road. ‘Could it be an accident?’
‘Two fires in the same house, with the same suspect?’ She shook her head. ‘Seems unlikely.’
‘Technically, he was never a suspect,’ Alistair reminded her. ‘You’re talking about one cop – and an inexperienced one at that – with a vague suspicion and no proof. And anyway, what would Skelter’s motive be for setting his own property on fire?’
‘Same as last time: to take out a rival for the affections of the person he loves most.’ A chill passed through her as she said the words. She pictured Sofia, abandoned in a flaming house. Her pain and her terror.
Another wild swerve as they lurched off the road and onto an overgrown driveway. They jolted along it, bouncing over potholes, then veered around a white car parked to one side: Carrie’s hatchback. A spark streaked through the air like a tiny comet before hitting the windscreen. Then another. They were nearly there.
‘It might have been Tara,’ Alistair said suddenly. ‘Using the fire to bump off Carrie and steal Sofia.’
‘That’s insane.’
Alistair swung around a particularly deep rut, face grim.
‘More insane than Josh trying to bump off Sofia so he can have Carrie to himself?’
Juliet opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again. He was right. They had two possible scenarios, each as fucked up as the other.
They burst free of the drive and into the open space beyond. Alistair let out a low whistle as the burning house loomed into view. The fire had clearly started on the main level, the heat shattering the floor-to-ceiling windows along the front, freeing tongues of flame that licked up the walls to ignite the floor above.
Juliet looked from the house to the SUV parked under a tree next to it in a careless diagonal. Josh’s car.
Christ, she thought. They’re all still in there.
The Mazda slammed to a halt in a spray of gravel. Juliet and Alistair jumped out and ran towards the house, only to be blocked by an invisible barrier of impossible heat. Juliet raised an arm, shielding her stinging eyes as she backed away, blinking until she could see again, searching the building for an entry point.
And finding none. The fire had consumed the entire main floor. Her gaze lifted to scan the level above. One of the windows was completely broken, letting smoke pour out. She could see orange flickering behind it. Could anyone still be alive up there? It seemed unlikely. She felt a tightening in her chest as her memory flashed up an image of Sofia.
Hello, Police Lady Juliet!
Dark eyes and a bright smile made of wonky teeth.
Then, above the roar of flames and the crack of breaking glass, came a new sound. A scream. Except it wasn’t like any scream Juliet had ever heard before. This was a primal note of pure agony: a long, keening cry that sliced right to her core. It was impossible to say whether it was male or female, adult or child; it barely even sounded human.
‘There!’ Alistair grabbed her arm and pointed towards an upstairs window.
At first, she didn’t know what he meant; seeing only more flames. Then her stomach gave a sickening lurch as she registered that the flames were shaped like a human body. There was the sound of glass shattering as the figure burst through the window, plunging like some terrible comet to land on the hard earth below. As Juliet and Alistair ran towards it, a blackened arm reached towards them, before dropping to the ground. They peeled off their jackets, using them to smother the flames, already knowing it was too late. They rolled the body over, both of them gagging at the burned pork smell. Too big to be a child, Juliet noted with relief. The face was shapeless, the flesh a volcanic landscape of fissures and charred flesh. But a familiar piece of jewellery had survived. A silver zigzag on a chain.
Josh.
The smoke thickened, forcing them backward, away from the house. The sound of distant sirens cut the air, the nee-naw-nee-naw of an ambulance competing with the one-note blare of a fire truck. She wondered fleetingly which would arrive first.
Not that it mattered. Her eyes rose to the building being consumed in front of her, exhaling smoke through gaping windows. Her heart throbbed painfully, as though bruised. No one could be alive in there. They had arrived too late.
Alistair must have been thinking the same thing because he said: ‘That poor wee girl. If only—’
‘Shhhhh!’ Juliet grabbed his arm. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Hear what?’
‘A banging, like a door?’ They both listened, but now all she could hear was the rush of flames and the warble of sirens. She shook her head. Just wishful thinking. ‘It must have been a beam collapsing or . . .’
But then the words stopped, because something was moving behind the veils of smoke draped around the house. Just a smudge at first, a darker patch within the shifting clouds. But then it came closer, solidifying, separating itself into three shapes. Human shapes. Two large and one small.
Juliet and Alistair ran forwards as Tara and Carrie lurched out into open air, faces masked with soot. Sofia was dangling between them, held by her wrists, feet dragging along the ground. As Juliet and Alistair reached them, the two women fell to their knees
and began coughing violently, tears streaming from their eyes and down their cheeks, clearing trails in the layer of black.
Sofia didn’t move.
‘Help her,’ Carrie rasped, as Juliet bent over the limp child, groping along her wrist in a desperate search for a pulse. The sirens were close now, sawing the air. And suddenly it did make a difference which came first – maybe the difference between life and death.
Juliet turned towards the mouth of the driveway, breath held, waiting to see what would appear there: a fire truck or an ambulance.
Please let it be an ambulance, she prayed silently. Please-please-please.
The sirens filled the night.
Thirty-eight
‘I went back there yesterday.’
Carrie turned sideways on the bench to look directly at Tara, placing a hand above her eyes to shield them from the sun.
‘Why?’
Tara took a sip of Evian, staring towards the swings.
‘I don’t really know. For . . . closure maybe? I wanted to see what was left of it.’
‘And what was left?’
‘Not much. A charred skeleton. Hardly anything survived. Aside from the wine cellar, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’ Carrie fended off the memory of the tumble down the stairs into darkness, the choking air and the desperate search for the trapdoor that would take them back outside, somewhere beyond the house. The fear that maybe there was no door, that it had been bricked up or Tara had misread the blueprints. That they were going to suffocate inside a brick cage.
She reached into the paper bag on her lap, taking out a sandwich.
‘Buffalo mozzarella and chargrilled vegetables. Yours.’ She passed it across before taking out her own (ham and Swiss on rye).
They chewed in silence for a while, watching the swings. Carrie had almost finished eating when Tara spoke again.
‘Did it surprise you, seeing him on the CCTV?’
Carrie considered the question as she swallowed her last bite of sandwich.
