Christmas Awakening

by Ann Voss Peterson

  She offered a pleading look and made a noise deep in her throat, words impossible to squeeze past the rag jamming her mouth.

  “You have something to say?”

  She fought the urge to flinch from the harshness of his voice. Instead, she forced her head to nod.

  He stepped beside her. Grabbing the duct tape, he ripped it from her lips.

  Her skin burned. The room blurred with tears. She coughed, spitting the rag onto the floor. “Why are you doing this?”

  He looked at her as if he didn’t understand the question.

  “I’ve never done anything to you,” she said. “I never would.”

  “I am not doing this to you.”

  Marie stared at him. His words made no sense. “Of course you’re doing it to me. You’re hurting me right now.”

  He shook his head as if she were the one speaking gibberish. “I am doing it to him. Like he did to me. I am paying him back.” As if that was all he needed to say, he turned and plodded from the room.

  There was only one “him” Marie could think of, but it didn’t make sense. Why would Josef want to hurt Brandon? Nothing the chauffeur was saying or doing made sense. She twisted, looking around the room. She had to find a way out.

  Her gaze landed on the old radiator along the wall. It was made of metal. Some pieces of it might even be sharp. It was her only chance.

  She pushed herself across the floor, a combination of scooting on the wood and moving her legs like an inchworm. Reaching the radiator, she positioned her back against its warmth and felt the bottom edges with her hands.

  Her fingers touched hard edges. Not exactly sharp, but if she had some time, if she could stall, she might be able to rub the tape enough to weaken it. She might be able to set herself free.

  She just needed time.

  Footsteps stomped in the hall, approaching. Josef bulled through the door, his arms filled with another load. More fuel for his bonfire.

  He threw the armful on the pile and turned to stare at her. “You moved.”

  “I needed to lean against the wall. My back is sore.” Marie didn’t have to act. The muscles in her back were sore. And with her ankles taped, she had a hard time sitting in the middle of the floor with nothing to lean on.

  Josef grunted. He started back to the door.

  “Wait!”

  He stopped and glared at her.

  “You said you were doing this to someone else, not me. That you were paying him back. Who? Who are you paying back? Brandon?”

  “Yes, Brandon.”

  “Why? What did Brandon ever do to you?”

  A shadow of something passed over his brutal face. Anger. Sorrow. “He took away my Lala.”

  Lala? “The woman whose ashes are in the wall vault? She has the tulip on her marker?”

  “Lala means tulip. She was my tulip. She and I were to be married. Now she is dead. Murdered.”

  The fiancée who died. Shelley and Brandon had both mentioned the woman, and how devastated Josef was when she died. “But I thought she was sick. Didn’t she die in the hospital?”

  “An infection. That’s what they said. An infection from the surgery.”

  She couldn’t follow. She knew Brandon provided health insurance to all his employees, just as his father had. She’d grown up on that insurance. So how could Josef blame Brandon for his fiancée’s death? “I don’t understand. It’s not Brandon’s fault she died.”

  He stared at her, his eyes hard, his boxer’s nose red with the burst capillaries of a heavy drinker. A man who’d tried to forget. A man in pain. “It is his fault.”

  She kept rubbing the tape. The man looked as though he was rapidly reaching the end of his patience. She didn’t have time to waste. “How?”

  “He made her have the surgery.” He walked from the room.

  Now she was really lost. He wasn’t making sense. Why would Brandon make anyone have surgery? Maybe Josef was suffering some kind of psychotic breakdown. Maybe Lala simply had a life-threatening illness and Brandon was there helping Josef through it. Maybe that’s why Josef blamed his feelings of helplessness and frustration on Brandon.

  She rubbed the tape, pressing it against the iron radiator as hard as she could. Moving it as fast as she could. It wasn’t working. The tape was weakening a little, maybe, stretching a little. But it wasn’t happening fast enough. She was running out of time.

  She groped under the radiator again. There had to be a valve somewhere. Maybe that would give her the sharp edge she needed. She touched something circular, ridged like the serrated edge of a knife, but not as sharp. It would have to do.

  The heavy footfalls returned. Josef carried an armful of gossamer draperies, something large and red underneath. He threw the drapes on the pile. Then she saw what else he carried. A fuel can. He twisted off the cover.

  The sharp scent of gasoline assaulted Marie’s senses. She had to delay him. She needed more time. “There’s something I don’t understand. Why would Brandon force Lala to have surgery?”

  “She needed to pay.” His voice growled low with anger. It shook with frustration. “She had no money. I had no money. She needed to pay, and I could not help her.”

  “She needed to pay what?”

  “For coming to this country. She needed to pay. Dr. Janecek would not let her come without the surgery. Without giving something to pay for her passage. He would not let her come to me.” A sob broke from his lips, deep and low and full of agony.

  The pieces fell into place in Marie’s mind. “The human trafficking? The mass grave? Lala was one of the people Janecek smuggled? He forced her to give him an organ to pay for smuggling her into the country?”

  Josef made a keening sound low in his throat.

  Marie’s head hurt. She rubbed the tape harder. Faster. Even though she’d tied the pieces together, what Josef was saying still didn’t make sense. “It was Janecek who did those things. It was him who forced Lala to have the surgery. It was him who caused the infection. Why do you keep saying it was Brandon?”

  He splashed gasoline on the draperies and rugs. “The Drakes. Brandon and his uncle. I break his uncle’s things. I try to make him pay. But he does not care about anything like I care for Lala. Brandon does.”

  She remembered overhearing Brandon talking to Chief Hammer about some vandalism at his uncle Cliff’s. That was Josef? None of this made sense. Why would he target the Drakes? “I don’t know about Cliff, but Brandon would never do anything to hurt you.”

  He shook his head. “He would. He did. I saw the ship. I was brought in, too. Before Lala.”

  “What ship?”

  “A big ship. It said Drake right on the bow.”

  “The ship used for smuggling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I lost my Lala. I must live alone. I will have no children.” He looked at the carved moldings at the top of the nursery walls. Tears wet his rough cheeks. “My life is dead, yet I must live on. Well, if I must, then Brandon Drake must, too. He will know how it feels.”

  The words she heard in the psychomanteum echoed in Marie’s mind. All Brandon loves will die. Was Brandon right? Were the people who cared about him marked for death? All to serve Josef’s need for revenge?

  “Charlotte?” She felt the tape give. Not entirely, but a little. Her hands trembled and burned. The odor of gasoline stung her eyes. She held Josef’s gaze and pushed on. She had to know. “Did you weld the spike near the gas tank? Did you crash Charlotte’s car into the wall?”

  “Lala came here to marry me. He took my wife. He did not deserve one of his own.”

  “And my father?”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared down at the floor. “I could not let him tell. I am sorry.”

  “And now me?”

  “You most of all. He loves you like I loved Lala. I cannot let him have you.”

  “You’ll never get away with this. The police will know you did this.”

&n
bsp; He brought his hands out of his pockets, something in his fist. He looked up at her, his eyes dead. “I am not trying to get away. I am going with you. I am going to be with Lala, where I belong.” He struck the match and threw it in the pile.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brandon noticed the orange glow in the sky before he could see the house. It pulsated beyond the twisted, bare branches of oak, sycamore and wisps of willow, radiating like the eerie light of a coming storm. He pushed the accelerator harder. The engine of Marie’s little rental whined. Its tires jolted over dips in the long drive.

  A curve in the drive rushed toward him. Gritting his teeth, he forced his leg to respond. He lifted his foot from the accelerator. Hot pain shot through his thigh and hip, pulsed up his spine. He jammed his left foot to the brake. The little car fishtailed around the turn. He steered into the slide. The car righted itself. Remembering to breathe, he hit the accelerator again.

  He’d lost so much time rushing back into the graveyard and finding Marie’s purse. Time he couldn’t afford to give Josef. But at least he’d found her cell phone and the keys to her car. At least he could call for help. At least he had wheels to get back.

  At first he hadn’t been sure where the chauffeur would take Marie. Then it came to him. Drake House. He could have killed her in the graveyard. It would have been easier. Cleaner. But his focus wasn’t simply on killing her. He wanted to kill her at Drake House. The place where he’d tried to kill her the other times. And where he’d chosen to kill Charlotte.

  All Brandon loves will die.

  The words were true, just as he’d feared. It was all about him. Not Charlotte. Not Edwin. Not Marie. Whatever Josef had against him was personal. He’d want to do it at Drake House. He’d want to bring it home to Brandon.

  The only thing Brandon couldn’t figure out was why.

  He fishtailed around another bend in the tree-lined drive. The trunk of a sycamore rushed at him. The car door missed the tree by inches.

  He stomped on the gas.

  He’d been so damn stupid. So stupid. He’d pushed Marie away. He’d tried to make her leave. He’d told himself he was protecting her, shielding her from a killer. But all he’d done was leave her alone and vulnerable. And tonight he’d brought Josef straight to her.

  He hadn’t protected her at all.

  The car broke from the trees. Nothing obscured the fire now. It licked from the front windows of the east wing. Black smoke gushed into the air and engulfed the balcony. It carried on the air and made him choke.

  He couldn’t be too late. He couldn’t.

  He stomped the brake and the car skidded to a stop. He shoved his way out the door. He pushed as fast as he could go, jabbing his cane into the ground, pulling his legs along.

  He shoved the front door open. Smoke hung in the air, making the grand staircase appear dim and gray. The fire was in the east wing. He’d noticed from outside. The nursery.

  He raced over the marble foyer. Clutching the banister, he half pulled himself, half ran to the top of the staircase.

  The air grew hot. His eyes stung and watered. Smoke thickened, choking out oxygen, making it hard to see.

  He groped through the dark hallways. Low. He had to get low to the floor. The smoke would be thinner there. He could breathe.

  He crouched down. It was easier to breathe, but he still couldn’t see. Tears streamed down his cheeks. His eyes felt as if they were burning out of his head. He groped the wall as a guide and crawled.

  He hoped to God Marie wasn’t in the nursery. The way the flames were leaping from the front windows, if she was in that room, she was likely dead.

  He couldn’t believe that. He wouldn’t.

  A loud thunk shook the house. A cough rose above the crackle and hiss of fire.

  A woman’s cough.

  Not from the nursery. It came from down the hall. He could swear it.

  He crawled faster. His leg screamed with pain, but he didn’t care. If he didn’t find Marie, if he didn’t reach her in time, he didn’t care about anything. Not his leg, not getting out of Drake House, not living until tomorrow.

  UNABLE TO REMOVE THE TAPE that bound them, Marie dragged her useless legs down the hall. She didn’t know where Josef was. Didn’t even know if he was alive or swallowed by fire. She’d made her move when he’d thrown the match. Adrenaline, survival instinct, what it was she didn’t know. But when the fire flared, sucking the oxygen from the room and imploding glass from the windows, she’d finally ripped the tape free. She’d pulled herself out of the room and down the hall. She’d gotten away.

  And she’d taken a wrong turn.

  Unthinkingly she’d turned down the hall, racing away from the fire instead of turning back for the staircase. And now she had to find her way back to one of the staircases before she was trapped.

  Smoke billowed around her, enfolding her in its gray darkness. She was all turned around. She couldn’t see, could hardly breathe.

  “Marie!”

  She gasped and coughed. How had he gotten here? How had he reached her? Tears ran from her eyes, but not from the smoke. “Brandon! I’m here!”

  “Move toward my voice. Stay low.”

  As if she had a choice. She scooched on her stomach, dragging her legs behind. Along the hall, back toward the heat, the fire. Toward Brandon.

  A shape came out of the smoke. Brandon? Was he here?

  Something smacked the side of her head. Hard.

  She slumped forward, her eyes blurring, her ears ringing.

  “Marie? Are you okay? What happened?”

  No. Josef was here. Josef had found her. And now he would find Brandon. He’d hurt him. He’d kill him. “Brandon! It’s Josef! It’s—”

  Another blow hit her and she couldn’t say anything more.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brandon could see shapes through the smoke. One crouching, like him. One lying flat on the floor.

  Marie.

  Growling deep in his throat, he launched himself at the larger hulk. He lashed out with his cane.

  The blow connected. Its force shuddered up the teak and into the handle. A masculine grunt rose above the din of the fire.

  Brandon swung again, fighting his way forward to Marie.

  Josef moved back.

  Brandon swung again. This time he missed, his cane whooshing through nothing but smoky air.

  Josef slipped around the side of the hall. He circled around behind Brandon.

  No.

  He couldn’t let Josef cut them off from the stairs. The man had a death wish. He must. He never would have stayed in the fire if he hadn’t intended to die along with Marie. He would do everything in his power to keep them from escaping. And now that he was between Marie and closest the staircase, he might succeed.

  Unless Brandon stopped him.

  Brandon struggled to his feet. Swinging the cane in front of him, he crouched low, following Josef down the hall, pushing him back. They reached the nursery door. The heat was intolerable, fiery as a blast oven. The smoke gushed out into the hall, too thick to see through despite the blinding light of the flames behind Josef and the blown-out windows all along the front of the wing.

  Brandon’s muscles ached, but he kept swinging. “Marie! Get out! If you can hear me, get out now!”

  Josef backed up under Brandon’s assault, retreating into the nursery.

  No, not retreating. He darted to the side and grabbed something from the room. Something long. He swung it at Brandon.

  Pain slammed into Brandon’s thigh. He blinked back the agony.

  The gray shape he knew was Josef drew back its weapon, angling to land another blow. Even though the thick cloud, Brandon could see it was a stick of some sort. A broken piece of furniture.

  Josef swung again.

  Brandon blocked the blow with his cane. He jumped back, out of the doorway. His leg crumpled under him and he fell to the floor.

  A larger crash rumbled through Brandon’s head, through the who
le of Drake House. The orange flames leaped. The nursery’s ceiling closed down on them, falling, crashing. A flaming piece of molding landed on Josef, pinning him to the floor.

  His scream ripped through the roar of fire, deep, guttural, full of agony. Flame jumped around him. Heat sucked air from the room.

  Brandon scurried back. He couldn’t help Josef. But he could still save Marie.

  Or die trying.

  The fire was hot. So hot. Smoke clogged his throat. Sweat dripped in his eyes.

  He closed his eyes and felt his way along the hall back to the spot where he’d left Marie. The trek seemed to take forever. His hands touched nothing but smooth floor and wall moldings. The heat seemed to close in behind him.

  His fingers brushed something soft. Silky strands of hair. He ran his hands over her, gripping the wool of her coat.

  She stirred.

  She was alive. Still alive. “Marie? Can you move? I need to get you out of here.”

  She made a sound, but he couldn’t decipher words. She struggled to her elbows. “Feet.”

  He ran his hands down her legs. Duct tape affixed her ankles. He couldn’t get it off, not without scissors or a knife to cut it. He’d have to carry her. “I got you. I’m going to lift you to my shoulder. I need you to hang on. Can you do that?”

  He felt her nod.

  He hefted her to one shoulder. She helped him shift her body into a fireman’s carry position, slung over his shoulders and behind his neck. She locked her hands around his left arm. He threaded his right between her bound legs. They had to move.

  Slowly, too slowly, he crawled down the hall. The nursery was engulfed in flame now, the air in the hallway too thick to breathe, the heat too intense to slow down.

  Josef’s screams had stopped.

  Brandon pushed the chauffeur from his mind. He had to focus. He had to get Marie and himself out, or they would suffer the same fate as Josef.

  He made his way down the staircase, half stumbling, half falling. He forced his feet to carry them across the marble foyer. He pushed his way outside.

  Sirens screamed from the highway.