Stranger in the House
Page 29
Buddy stared at Edward, and Edward stared straight ahead. “Mr. Stewart?”
“I don’t have to discuss anything with you,” Edward said stiffly.
The patrolman who was sniffing the air made a face. “Hey, Lieutenant,” he said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I gotta tell ya. I smell smoke. I think that house is on fire.”
I should never have let him go back in there, she thought. He’ll never get out alive. I’ll lose them both. I have to go after them.
Anna tried to stand but couldn’t. She couldn’t hoist herself up any higher than her hands and knees. Her head felt like a cannonball on her neck. She tried to crawl forward, toward the burning building, but collapsed almost immediately. Tom, she thought. Paul. She had to go after them.
Then she thought of Tracy. She still had a daughter, who needed her. Maybe God had left her alive for Tracy. “Please save them,” she whispered.
Anna groaned. Her arms trembled under her weight, and her wrists felt as if they could snap. She struggled up and sat back on her heels, her bruised knees digging into the ground. He had been gone too long. Too long. There were no human sounds.
The urge to go in rose in her again. Part of her wanted to plunge in and throw herself on the flames like a grieving widow on the funeral pyre. The idea was almost tempting. It would be a way to relieve the horror. “Tom,” she wailed. But she thought of Tracy again, and she knew she wouldn’t do it.
Somewhere in the distance the sirens of fire engines began their plaintive wail. Anna heard them keening, but in her distraction she did not understand that they were coming to her. The sound grew louder as they came closer, and then she realized it.
Suddenly, in the doorway of the windmill, a dark, crouching figure burst forth, carrying another. Anna let out a cry of relief at the sight of her husband, grimy and gasping for breath.
“Tom,” she cried, lurching to her feet. “Darling.”
Then she looked at the burden in his arms. The boy was utterly still, except for his head, which bobbed lifelessly as Thomas carried him from the fire. On parts of his limp body the flesh appeared to be smoking through charred tissue. His eyes were closed, his mouth thrown open as if he had been crying out for the precious air that never came.
Anna looked from the boy to her husband, and then she raised her hands as if to ward off a blow. She began to scream.
Thomas placed the boy gently on the ground and looked up at her.
“No, Anna,” he whispered, coughing hard into his hand. “He’s alive. He is. Believe me.”
Anna clapped her hands over her mouth and sank to her knees as Thomas bent over Paul’s body and began to try to resuscitate him. She watched, transfixed, as Thomas placed his mouth over his son’s and exhaled his own breath into him, turning his head to the side and listening for a response after each puff. On about the tenth breath the boy’s chest moved, and Thomas looked up and met her eyes.
“See,” he said. Anna nodded and closed her eyes. She placed one hand on the boy’s arm and the other on her husband. Thomas bent over Paul’s body again, holding his head back in preparation for breathing.
“Can you do that?” Anna demanded. “Do you have the strength?”
Thomas only nodded, not wanting to waste the oxygen. Once again he put his mouth on Paul’s and continued to breathe into the boy’s mouth, while Anna watched as the boy’s chest began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm and a semblance of color returned to his face. There was a commotion in the distance now as the fire engines and ambulance which Buddy had summoned on the police radio converged in the Stewarts’ driveway.
“Tom, look,” said Anna as Paul’s eyes opened and rolled around to her. Thomas straightened up beside her. They both looked worriedly down at the boy and smiled at him.
“You okay?” Anna asked softly. The boy nodded and then began to cough as if he would choke. “Tom,” said Anna, grabbing his arm, “I think he’s choking.”
“No, he’s got to get the smoke out.” Thomas gripped Paul’s hand as he coughed until the spasm ended. “He’ll be all right. You’re stubborn, right? You’re a fighter.”
Paul managed a feeble smile and wrapped his fingers around his father’s. Tom smiled at Anna. “I think he gets that from you.” Tom lowered his head to the boy’s ear and spoke softly. “We’ll get you to the hospital in no time, don’t worry.” Even as he spoke, the fire trucks and the ambulance came screeching up over the Stewarts’ well-manicured grounds.
Paul nodded and closed his eyes, which were bloodshot and still tearing from the smoke. Tom gazed down, studying his son’s haggard face. “I wonder what he gets from me,” he said with a sad sigh.
Anna put her arm around him and watched her son’s steady breathing. “Everything there is,” she said gently. “Every good thing there is.”