by Gayle Wilson
“We’re okay,” Blythe reassured.
She pushed onto her feet, putting one hand on the wall of the house to keep her balance as she moved toward her daughter. She tried to keep her right foot in the center of the flashing, which, compared to the roof itself, was relatively flat.
She held out her free hand. “Come on,” she ordered as she pulled the little girl to her feet.
Afraid of what she’d see, she refused to look up at the window through which they’d exited. As she moved toward the front of the addition, she listened instead for the wail of fire trucks. There was nothing but the sound of the fire, devouring the rich heart pine from which the little house had been constructed.
Please, God, let me get her down. Don’t take her away from me. I’ll do whatever you want, if you just won’t let anything happen to Maddie.
When she reached the edge of the roof, holding tightly to Maddie’s hand, she stooped to look out over it. The concrete patio that had probably been constructed at the same time as the screened porch was directly below them. There was no sign of the fire here at the very back of the house. If she could get them down, they should be safe.
But there was no drainpipe. No conveniently placed tree. Nothing.
She couldn’t remember how close the trees on the other side of the addition were. She knew there were a couple, however. And shrubbery. But they would have to go over the peak of the roof to reach them.
She shifted her grip on Maddie, so that she held her wrist rather than her hand. It would be too easy for those small fingers to slip away from her.
“Where are we going?”
“To the other side.”
Maddie shook her head, tears welling. “I’m scared, Mama.”
Me, too, baby. Me, too.
“I’ve got you. I won’t let go. It’s going to be all right, Maddie. I promise.” As she made the pledge, she started up the incline.
Although she had to bend in order to maintain her hold on Maddie’s wrist, she managed to reach the peak with relative ease, using her free hand on the shingles for balance. Only when she reached the top did she realize that the real danger would be going down. How could she ensure that she wouldn’t slip on that slanting surface, carrying Maddie with her?
She eased down so that she was sitting on the peak of the roofline. She drew Maddie to her, relishing her small, solid warmth. The little girl was trembling like someone in a chill, but the act of comforting her gave Blythe hope. And it renewed her determination. After all, they had made it this far.
She looked again at the downward slope. Although it wasn’t steep, for someone barefoot and guiding a terrified four-year-old, it would be treacherous.
“You remember when Daddy used to ride you piggyback?” Blythe leaned back, sweeping Maddie’s bangs from her eyes, as she looked into her face.
The little girl nodded.
“Think you can do that again?”
“Up here?”
“Hold on around my neck and put your legs around my back. I’m going to scoot down on my bottom.”
In the silence that followed, Blythe could hear the fire again. She had no idea how long it had been since the alarm had awakened her. It felt like an eternity, yet there were no fire engines. For the first time she realized they might not come until it was too late.
With that incentive, she brought her other leg over the peak and, still holding onto Maddie, scooted down perhaps a foot. Her nightgown rucked up under her, but there was nothing she could do about it. The shingles would abrade her buttocks and thighs, just as they had her hands.
“Piggyback,” she said, trying to position the little girl behind her without losing the grip she had on her arm. “Put your legs around my waist and hold on.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You have to, Maddie. You have to.” Again she made her voice hard. Demanding.
She knew the child was at a breaking point, but she couldn’t deal with hysterics. Not up here. She had to get her off the roof now, even if it meant dropping her over the side as she had dropped her out of the window.
“Get on my back,” she said, pulling sharply on Maddie’s arm. “Do it now, Maddie. Do you hear me?”
Trembling arms fastened around her neck, almost choking her. She reached down and lifted her daughter’s legs to wrap them around her body. She had to push the constriction of the little girl’s gown out of the way, but finally the child was in position, clinging to her back, her cheek resting against Blythe’s neck.
She could hear Maddie sobbing, but she ignored it. She ignored everything except what she had to do.
Using her palms and her feet, she inched down the sloping roof. Given the size of the addition, it was a matter of less than a minute before her toes were at the edge. Then she realized that she wasn’t sure how to proceed from there.
Try to position herself, with Maddie still on her back, to dangle from the roof as she had from the window? But there was nothing here to hang onto. Even if there had been, she wasn’t sure that her arms could support their combined weight—not even long enough to extend her body over the edge.
Drop Maddie, as she had done before? The grass below would be softer than the roof, and she’d suffered no serious injuries from the previous fall. Of course, working on the slanting surface would be much harder than standing on the floor of the bedroom and lowering her out the window had been.
Her eyes searched the area below. Stripped by the winter of their leaves, the foundation plantings looked like stakes, pointing upward, ready to impale them.
The ground then, she decided. Even the dead brown grass would offer some cushion. And what choice did she have?
She glanced up and back. Tongues of flames shot out of the window she’d broken. They had only a couple of minutes at most before the fire would involve the rest of the house, including the place where they were sitting.
“I’m going to swing you off the edge, just like we did before.” She reached up, trying to pry Maddie’s hands from around her neck.
“No. No, Mama. I don’t want to.” The child’s denial was mindless. Panicked.
Blythe didn’t have time to reason with her. Ruthlessly, she pulled at the child’s right wrist, breaking its hold. In response, Maddie’s legs tightened around her waist as she clung like a limpet to what she perceived to be safety.
“Maddie, let go. We have to get down.”
A wail answered her. The wrist she’d captured was ripped from her hold as Maddie again locked both arms around her neck, threatening to cut off her supply of air.
“Look at it. Look up. Do you see the fire? We have to get off the roof, damn it. We have to.”
Uncertain whether her words would have any impact against the child’s fear, she reached again and pulled the clenched hands apart. This time she didn’t let down her guard and allow Maddie to free her wrist. This was life and death. And it was up to her to make sure the choice was not the latter.
Ever mindful of how near the edge they were, she tried to drag the child around in front of her. Realizing she wasn’t going to be able to do that one-handed, Blythe lifted her other hand off the roof, using it, too, to try to manhandle the little girl off her back.
Now beyond any threat that might coerce her to obedience, Maddie struggled desperately to maintain her position. Eventually Blythe’s superior size and strength won out. She wrestled the child forward, breaking the hold of those trembling legs.
As soon as she realized what was happening, Maddie lunged upward toward the peak of the roof, trying to escape. Blythe was forced to turn to keep hold of her daughter. As she did, her foot slipped on the shingles, sending her sliding toward the edge of the roof. Although the distance she traveled was small, her left foot dropped over, almost unbalancing her.
She let go of Maddie, throwing herself prone in an attempt to stop the downward slide. Moving carefully, she pulled the dangling foot back onto the roof and, then using her feet and hands, painstakingly inched her body up the
incline.
Although the exertion required had not been great, she was panting, breath sawing in and out of her lungs. When she finally felt secure enough to move again, she turned her head, searching for her daughter.
Maddie was sitting halfway up the slanting roof. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, which had been drawn up to her chin, her nightgown draped over them. Her eyes were the only dark spot in a face literally without color.
In the sudden stillness between them, Blythe was aware of heat beneath her body. The fire had apparently reached the porch. Once it broke through…
“We have to do this now, Maddie. You can’t fight me or we’ll both fall off.”
Or worse. She couldn’t say that, of course. The child had clearly moved beyond the reach of reason. Reminding her of the fire would only drive her further into hysteria.
Blythe pushed up, still moving carefully after the near disaster. She reached one hand out imploringly to her daughter.
For a long moment nothing happened. She had begun to despair when the little girl finally moved. With the same crab-like motion Blythe had used to make the descent, she edged down the incline.
Blythe took the child’s left wrist in her right hand. “I’m going to swing you off and drop you down on the grass. Bend your knees when you hit. You’ll be fine. I swear, Maddie, you’ll be fine.”
She expected resistance. Arguments. Something. The little girl nodded instead.
There was no time now to do anything other than swing her over the side and then let her go. One chance. One chance.
She took Maddie’s other wrist, pulling her around in front. Then, fighting to keep from falling off the roof, too, she swung the little girl over the edge, her shoulders screaming again with the strain.
She bent forward, her breasts touching her knees, in an attempt to hold Maddie away from the house. She took a final glance at the ground to verify that her daughter would fall onto the thick zoysia below. Then she closed her eyes for a final wordless prayer, before she allowed her fingers to release, dropping the child to the ground.
Blythe’s eyes followed her descent. For a long heartbeat, Maddie lay where she had fallen. Then slowly, more slowly than Blythe believed she could bear, she began to sit up.
“Maddie? You okay?”
Another eternity before the small blond head moved up and down. Blythe stifled the sob, knowing there was no time for tears, not even of relief.
“You have to run,” she said.
Despite the moonlight, the woods that stretched behind the house seemed dark and frightening. But if she sent Maddie toward the front, she wouldn’t be able to see her. She couldn’t be sure that the child wouldn’t go back inside the house to find a toy or because it had once been a place of safety.
“The woods,” she said. “Can you run to the woods and wait for Mama?”
“I want to wait here. You said you were coming.”
“I am. I’m right behind you. But you need to get away from the house. Away from the fire. Go on, Maddie. Just to the edge of the woods.”
She watched as her daughter reluctantly climbed to her feet. As soon as Maddie moved out of the way, she would jump down. Even if she broke an ankle, she’d still be able to get away from the fire. Even if I have to crawl…
“Go on, Maddie. To the edge of the woods and wait for me.”
As Blythe said the words, she raised her eyes to the thick pine forest that marked the property line. Something in the trees caught her eye. A shape, darker than the trunks themselves, was moving along the edge of the woods.
She blinked, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. When she looked again, whatever she’d seen seemed to have melted into the shadows. Still…
A movement below drew her gaze from the forest. Looking like a small, white ghost in her pale nightgown, Maddie was running across the back lawn toward those woods. Just as Blythe had told her to.
And she was running directly toward whatever—or whoever—had been moving there.
6
E yes straining against the darkness, Blythe searched the property line again. There was nothing there now but the trunks of the trees, standing stark against the moonlight.
She knew in her heart that she hadn’t been mistaken. Something had been moving among them. Something upright. Too tall to be an animal.
That thought was almost as unnerving as the other. Whatever was out there, she had to stop Maddie and then get the hell off this roof. In that order.
“Maddie? Maddie,” she screamed.
The little girl didn’t slow. Maybe she couldn’t hear above the noise of the fire, which seemed to have grown louder in the last few seconds.
Blythe looked down at the place where she’d dropped her daughter. The quickest way off the roof—and the quickest way to get to Maddie—would be to jump.
Behind her a whoosh erupted. A flare of heat, strong enough to be painful, assailed her back.
Without looking around, Blythe scrambled to her feet. Her body poised on the edge of the roof, she tried to remember everything she’d ever read or heard about how to fall.
Bend your knees when you hit. Roll. There was nothing else. That was the sole store of her knowledge. Too little. And way too late.
She bent her knees, mentally as well as physically preparing herself, and then leaped out over the edge. The ground rushed up, giving her no time to be afraid.
For a second after she landed, she was aware of nothing. Not of pain. Not even of the impact itself. All she knew was that she was lying on her side on the cold, wet grass.
Then everything seemed to flood her consciousness at once. The burning house, flames and sparks shooting upward into the night sky. And the more frightening realization that Maddie was running toward whoever had been standing in the woods.
Blythe rolled over onto her hands and knees. When she put her weight on her right foot to push off the ground, she realized that she hadn’t escaped the jump unscathed. Even if her ankle was broken, it wouldn’t be enough to keep her from getting to Maddie.
As she got to her feet, her eyes found the small, ghostly figure. Maddie was almost at the edge of the forest, the white nightgown outlined against its darkness.
Blythe began to run, too, her speed hampered by her injury. She didn’t waste breath on shouting, knowing now that she couldn’t be heard above the fire.
Far enough, Maddie. Stop and look back. Look at me.
Even as Blythe willed her daughter to stop, the little girl drew closer and closer to the line of trees. Blythe’s gaze searched them, trying locate again whatever she’d seen before.
When she did, terror squeezed her chest. Although the shadowy form she’d spotted from the rooftop had been moving away from the property, that was no longer the case. The child in the pale gown and the dark shape moving among the trees now appeared to be on a collision course.
“Maddie. Stop, Maddie.”
The words had no effect. As Blythe’s eyes shifted to the other figure, she realized that it at least had stopped. Watching her?
Ignoring the agony in her ankle, she tried to increase her speed. Surely Maddie wouldn’t go into the woods. Surely she had understood…
“Maddie!”
Despite the awkwardness of her hobbling run, Blythe was gaining on the little girl. Encouraged by that realization, her eyes again lifted to search for the figure in the woods.
The shape was no longer in the place where she’d last seen it. Her gaze trailed along the edge of the forest, trying to find that dark anomaly.
Eyes on the trees instead of the ground in front of her, she stumbled, pitching forward despite her frantic efforts to regain her balance. Even as she broke her fall with her outstretched hands, she looked up to locate her daughter.
Perhaps emboldened by her fall, the shadowy figure at the edge of the woods seemed to once more be moving toward the little girl. The light of the fire clearly illuminated what was happening.
Blythe scrambled to her feet, again
screaming her daughter’s name. Finally—unbelievably—the little girl turned, looking back across the yard. Looking directly toward her. Slowing. Stopping just short of the woods.
Still Blythe ran, adrenaline pumping so fiercely through her veins that she was conscious of nothing but getting to Maddie before he could. She caught the little girl in her arms, holding the small body against her own as she turned to run back toward the fire.
Its known horror was less now than the unknown that lurked at the edge of the forest. She threw a glance over her shoulder, but the shape seemed to have again melted into the shadows.
Then Blythe, too, heard the sound that had undoubtedly driven him back into the darkness from which he’d materialized. Faintly from the distance came a wail of sirens.
Finally. Finally.
By the time she’d reached the gravel driveway beside the house, which was now totally consumed by the conflagration, the first of the fire trucks had arrived, their sirens drowning out the noise of the blaze.
When the sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the drive, probably twenty minutes after the first of the firefighters, Blythe was sitting on the open back of the paramedic’s van. Someone had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, but she couldn’t remember who or when that had happened.
Perhaps it had been while they’d checked out Maddie, which she had insisted they do first. Or maybe it had been before the paramedic, who seemed hardly more than a kid himself, examined her ankle. He’d told her that he didn’t think it was broken, but she’d need to have it X-rayed to be sure.
Now her daughter was huddled in her lap, her legs again wrapped around Blythe’s waist. Despite the activity that swirled around them as the men fought a losing battle against the fire, the little girl hadn’t lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder.
Although Blythe had pulled the blanket around them both, Maddie’s body was occasionally racked by tremors. Not the result of the cold, but of the incredible stresses of this night. As soon as they got to Ruth’s, Blythe told herself, Maddie would be okay.
