by Warren Adler
It was only then that she was distracted by the odor of burning. She heard her name being called, and then a hand grabbed her arm and lifted her along violently. Josh holding Emily, was moving past the dining room. She noted that the lace curtains had caught fire.
“It was Michael,” Evie cried. “He must have poured too much cognac on the baked Alaska.”
Victoria’s mind barely grasped the idea. A house being burned by baked Alaska?
“Michael! Where is Michael?” It was Josh’s voice, echoing through the house. It brought her back to reality.
“Michael,” she screamed. “Michael.”
“Everybody out,” Josh shouted.
Emily started to cry, and Victoria saw Josh caress her head and kiss her cheek. He handed her to Victoria.
“Take her out,” Josh ordered. “I’ll call the fire department.”
Emily screamed.
“Mikey!”
“Just leave.” His look was pleading. “Please, Victoria,” he added gently.
She ran out the front door and deposited Emily with Evie, who was standing outside and watching the flames, tears streaming down her cheeks, her body shuddering with sobs.
“He wasn’t supposed to light the cognac,” Evie blurted. “Emily was going to light the cognac. God, Victoria, I’m so sorry, so terribly sorry.”
“Don’t, Evie,” Victoria said. “It’s too late for that.”
“It was no accident,” Mrs. Stewart snapped. She stood beside them watching the flames spear out of the dining room window. “It’s all her fault. Her and that stupid concoction.”
“Dammit, Mother, won’t you ever quit? Even now?” Victoria cried, shaking her head in despair.
“Whose side are you on now?” Mrs. Stewart shouted. “And don’t think I’m ever going to forget about your little Boston caper.”
“I hope not, Mother,” Victoria said, her heart pounding with fear for her son. “I hope you never forget.”
“You see what’s happening here? Do you see what’s happening here?” Mrs. Stewart exclaimed. “This is a direct result….”
“Will you shut up, Mother?” Victoria shouted, almost on the point of another act of violence. In the distance, she could hear the wail of sirens.
“Find Mikey, Mommy,” Emily screeched hysterically. “Find my brother.”
“Please, God. Find my little boy,” Victoria wailed.
“He’s probably already out of the house, hiding somewhere. He knows what he’s done,” Mrs. Stewart said between pursed lips.
She saw Josh running from the house. As he came closer, she could see the glistening sweat on his face and his expression of agitation.
“Is Michael here?”
Victoria felt her stomach lurch.
“Oh my God,” she cried. “You didn’t find him?”
“I looked everywhere,” Josh said. “I called out. He didn’t answer.”
He cupped his hands and shouted in all directions.
“Michael! Michael!”
Emily aped his action, her little voice calling out in futility.
“Mikey! Mikey!”
“He’s still inside, Josh,” Victoria screamed. “I’m sure of it. You didn’t look hard enough.”
The sirens came closer, drowning out their shouts. Then the big trucks careened down the street and the firemen leaped from the trucks before they ground to a halt. Some ran into the house carrying axes and other equipment. Others unloaded the hose and dragged it to a nearby hydrant.
Victoria sprinted over to one of the firemen, Josh following. The flames were spreading through the lower part of the house and gusts of smoke poured out of the windows.
“My son is in there,” she shouted.
“We’ll find him,” the fireman barked as he joined the others to pull the hose toward the house. He shouted to the men inside.
“There’s a boy in there.”
One of the firemen raised his hand and made an “O” signal of understanding with his fingers.
The lead fireman pulling on the hose pointed it toward the house and soon a heavy spray was blasting its way through the dining room window.
“Find my son. Please,” Victoria screamed hysterically. The force of the water drowned out her screams. Unable to stand about without taking action, she ran through the open front door into the house. Josh followed swiftly behind her.
The fireman who was controlling the hose shouted a warning to the men inside as they moved further into the house. The smoke was intense as Victoria and Josh stumbled and coughed through the downstairs hallway.
“Michael!” Victoria screamed as loud as she could.
“Michael!” Josh shouted in unison.
A fireman brandishing an axe spotted them.
“Get the hell out of here!” he cried. Then he turned to one of the other firemen, who had now grabbed the nozzle of the hose and was directing the spray onto the dining room walls that were now on fire.
Josh grabbed Victoria by the arm and pulled her into the den, shouting Michael’s name. They moved through the smoke. The flames were beginning to crawl up the doorpost at the den’s entrance and were making their way forward toward the bookcases like some glowing snake.
For a fleeting moment an errant idea passed through her mind. Save the Victoriana. She looked up at the painting of Queen Victoria over the mantle, and then squinted through the smoke at her leather-bound book collection, her wide-brim hats, and the various knickknacks that had once been her pride. They had little relevance now. Her mother’s dictum ran through her mind. At that moment they seemed mere useless objects, junk.
“Michael,” she yelled as they moved through the den. “Where are you? Please, darling. I forgive you, sweetheart! Mommy forgives you. Daddy, too. Where are you?”
“Michael!” Josh shouted beside her as they moved through the room. “Answer us. Please, Michael.”
Again and again they called his name as spears of fire reached the bookcases and ignited the books. She saw her leather-bound sets erupting into flames. Josh’s collection of advertising art books joined the inferno. It took only seconds for the straw of her large-brimmed Victorian hats that lined the walls to explode and quickly disappear in the holocaust. The destruction made only a minor impact on her emotions as if it were somehow a necessary act to validate an inevitable ending.
“They’re in here,” someone shouted. Then she heard footsteps behind her and two burly firemen blocked their path.
“You have got to leave now,” one of the fireman shouted.
“We have to find our son!” Josh screamed.
“If he’s here, we’ll find him,” the other fireman said, grabbing Victoria’s arm. She tried to shake loose.
“I want my son.”
“Please, you’re endangering yourselves,” the fireman who held her pleaded.
She squirmed out of his grasp and ran through the room to the hallway. One of the firemen held Josh in a tight grip and began dragging him, kicking and protesting, out of the room.
“Get her,” Josh cried as they pulled him through the door. “Get my wife.”
Victoria was halfway up the stairs before she felt the pull on her ankle.
“Michael, where are you?” she screamed, panicked beyond reason now, kicking wildly, trying to tear herself loose from the fireman’s grasp.
“You can’t, lady,” the fireman cried. “Be reasonable.”
She held on to the banister, still screaming her son’s name. Another fireman came forward and grabbed at her hands, loosening her grip, finger by finger.
“You’re not helping us, lady,” the fireman pleaded. “You have got to get out of here.”
Finally, her grip on the banister was loosened and she felt herself being pulled down the stairs. Once she began to face the reality of being overpowered, she st
opped all resistance.
The fireman led her out of the house to the front lawn, where the others were waiting. Josh put his arm around her shoulder. She did not shake him away. She looked toward the house. The flames had spread to the kitchen and smoke poured out of the now-smashed windows of the upper floors. She noted that Emily, embracing Tweedledee, was whimpering in Evie’s arms.
“Please God, find him!” Victoria cried. “Find my son.” She felt hollow and inert as she continued to observe the burning house.
“I’m sure he’s okay,” Mrs. Stewart said as she moved closer to them. “Probably just scared and feeling guilty, and hiding somewhere around here.” She waved her arm to take in the street.
“Guilty?” Victoria said, suddenly energized. She turned to her mother.
Mrs. Stewart looked at her and nodded her head.
“Of course, guilty,” she said. “Is there any doubt about that?”
“I can’t listen to this, Mother. Can’t you just stop?”
“I’m merely stating what is obvious to all of us.”
“I can’t stand this anymore!” Victoria cried, turning her gaze from her mother.
“Where are your brains? Haven’t you the slightest bit of sensitivity and understanding?” Josh said angrily. He was enraged. “Our son is missing. He could be in there, in terrible danger. What kind of an unfeeling bitch are you?”
“I hadn’t meant….” Mrs. Stewart began making a futile effort at contrition. Failing that she shook her head. “You men….” She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, staring at her daughter. “The truth always hurts,” she said.
Suddenly, Victoria balled her hand into a fist, and in a blind fury, swung out. She struck her mother full on the side of her head. The woman went down like a rock. Not satisfied, Victoria started pummeling her on the ground until Josh pulled her away.
“No, Victoria,” he said. “No.”
He bent down beside Mrs. Stewart. The woman sat on the grass rubbing her head.
“Did you see that?” she cried.
Josh tried to help her up.
“Get your hands off me,” she cried.
“Okay. Then just sit there and keep your goddamn mouth shut,” he ordered.
She struggled to her feet. Victoria felt no pity for what she had done. Instead, her eyes were glued to the burning house.
The fireman continued to fight the blaze. It was dying down now. The lower floor appeared in shambles. Smoke continued to pour out of the upper floors.
“It’s all my fault,” Victoria said. She had moved closer to where Josh was standing now. “It’s punishment for doing what I did.” A sob escaped her. “For making that stupid tape.”
“Not now, Victoria,” Josh muttered. “This is not your fault.”
“I’d forgotten I hid it in my closet where Michael found it. I’ll never forgive myself,” Victoria sobbed.
“For God’s sakes, Victoria. Not now.” Josh cried.
She glanced at him, her eyes flickering with pain, then turned away, her gaze concentrated on the house. The area was filled with the acrid smell of dampness, burnt wood, and smoke. In the distance she could make out the sound of an ambulance siren. Then she saw a fireman come through the door cradling a small body in his arms. They both rushed toward him.
“Michael!”
The fireman kneeled to the ground and gently laid the child on the grass. Michael lay lifeless, his face cherry red, his upper body wrapped in what she recognized as her plaid pleated skirt, the one she had worn during that fateful day with Mr. Tatum. The memory assailed her like a kick in her chest.
“Found him hiding in an upstairs closet. Damnedest thing, as if he didn’t want to get found,” the fireman said, removing his hat and wiping perspiration from his forehead with the arm of his coat. Victoria reached over to touch him. The fireman held her back as the crew from the ambulance came forward.
“Please,” the fireman said gently. “Let the medics take charge.”
“It’s the carbon monoxide that makes his face red,” the fireman explained gently. “Smoke got him, but he is alive.”
“My baby. My poor baby.”
One of the medics clamped an oxygen mask over Michael’s face. Another brought a stretcher. They lifted him cautiously and laid him gently on the stretcher.
“Will he be okay?” Josh asked the medic.
“We’ll do everything we can,” he replied as they moved the stretcher toward the ambulance.
Victoria and Josh followed beside the stretcher. In the ambulance, she kneeled beside her unconscious son.
“May I hold his hand?” she asked. The medic nodded.
She brought his hand up to her mouth and kissed it. It felt cold and lifeless. Josh, kneeling beside her, gripped her shoulder.
“Oh God, please,” she cried, lifting her tear-stained face upward. “Have mercy on this child.”
The ambulance door closed behind them. The siren began to blare and the ambulance moved down the street, picking up speed. They moved to the other side of the ambulance to give the medics room to work on Michael. One of them, a balding young man, pressed a stethoscope to the boy’s chest and listened while another medic, a young woman, held the oxygen mask in place over his face. Victoria watched, whimpering, her cheeks wet with tears. Josh sat beside her opposite the stretcher where the boy lay. The medic completed his examination, then prepared an injection and quickly plunged the needle into Michael’s arm.
“What do you think?” Josh asked the young paramedic. Victoria looked into the young man’s eyes.
“The truth,” she whispered.
“Touch and go,” he answered, shaking his head.
“There’s always hope,” the young woman said with obvious sympathy.
Victoria looked toward Josh.
“I wish it was me instead.”
“Not you,” Josh mumbled. “Me.”
The blare of the siren grew louder as the ambulance sped into the night. On the floor next to Michael’s body she saw the plaid skirt, looking at it with horror. Then she remembered that she had wrapped the tape in it and placed it in the back of the shelf of her closet. Her eyes met Josh’s.
“So it wasn’t you who found it?”
He shook his head and both parents turned their gaze on their stricken son.
Chapter 18
Victoria and Josh sat in the waiting room of the hospital, barely speaking. Two days had passed and Michael was still comatose. The prognosis was guarded, although the nurses who tended him around the clock were optimistic.
“I’ve seen them come out after weeks and be right as rain,” one of the nurses, a gray-haired woman with a confident air, told them. Her remarks were soothing, but unconvincing. Josh stared at his son, helpless and still, a small white apparition under the sheets, tubes inserted in his nostrils, his tiny chest rising and falling with the rhythm of a respirator attached to him. A bag of liquid hung above the boy with an IV inserted into his arm.
Neither Josh nor Victoria could look at him without tears spilling over their eyelids. Guilt and despair gnawed at them. Josh blamed himself for igniting the fuse that led to this horror. Words failed him. Besides, he was certain that Victoria believed he had orchestrated the events that had led to this tragedy. And yet, through his grief he could not grasp the idea that it was without doubt the children who had set them in motion.
Despite his innocence in that regard, Josh could not shake the idea of culpability. He felt like a murderer.
Since their house was in shambles, they had checked in to a Holiday Inn within walking distance of the hospital. Josh had arranged for three rooms, one for Victoria and Emily, another for Evie, and one for himself.
They had packed off Mrs. Stewart without further complications. The aftermath of Victoria’s physical attack and his exposing her meeting with her father had,
inexplicably, made only minor dents in the woman’s demeanor. It was obvious to both Josh and Victoria that the bitterness over the years had atrophied her emotions. Nothing could ever change her attitude.
The reality was that Victoria and her mother were bonded together in a love-hate relationship. Even Victoria’s awareness of its destructive nature was not enough to sever it.
“Were you able to get any sleep?” he asked Victoria as they had breakfast with Emily in the cafeteria on the third day of their ordeal. They were obviously in silent agreement to show no animosity in front of their daughter. For the first two days they had barely spoken, the shock of their circumstances too raw for any but the most mechanical dialogue, but their proximity as a family seemed to be comforting to Emily.
Emily, looking exhausted and pale, sat beside them, a bowl of oatmeal before her in which she was showing little interest. As on the previous two days, they had risen early. Josh was thankful that Evie was still asleep and Victoria would not have to observe her imbibing her usual hearty breakfast. Nothing, no joyful or tragic event, ever stood in the way of Evie’s appetite.
Victoria answered his question with a negative shake of her head and offered no inquiry about how he had gotten through the night. Nevertheless, he volunteered.
“Me neither.”
He had checked on Michael’s condition at intervals, discovering in talking to the nurse on duty that Victoria had done the same. Both Josh and Victoria had assured Emily that Michael was recovering nicely, although they each suspected that she had her doubts. By then, he had lost all faith in the possibility that he could hide the truth from his children, any truth. Children knew. It had become an axiom in his mind. He had discovered through the experience of the last few weeks that the adult world hadn’t a clue about what went on inside a child’s mind.
“When will Michael be all better?” Emily asked them.
“Soon,” Victoria replied.
“How soon?”
“Very soon.”
