Page 131 of Shattered Souls
A second later, the blaring of the fire alarm threatens to deafen me. Jumping into motion, I snatch the lamp from the bedside table. It’s a solid, metal design. Perfect for what I need. The alarm covers any noise I make as I quietly creep up on him from behind. Taking advantage of his distraction, I lift the lamp above my head and bring it down on his.
He goes tumbling to the floor in a shriek of pain, but I don’t stop. With a war cry, I bring the lamp down again.
And again.
And again.
Until blood covers one side of his face and his eyes are half closed, glazed over, and distant. Heaving and arms shaking, blood drips from the lamp as I stare down at his still form. There are bright red splatters across the back of my hand and even bigger blots on the cream-colored carpet, growing larger until they form a pool around his head.
Ignoring it, I fall to my knees, dropping the lamp as I feel around in his pockets. He said he was the only one with a key for the front door, and Ineedit. I check both pockets in his pants,coming up empty, before frantically stuffing my hands into the pockets of his suit jacket.
I groan aloud when I don’t find what I’m looking for. Turning, I quickly scan the room but don’t see any signs of a key. I can’t waste any more time looking. Aurora will have heard the explosion, and I can’t risk her leaving the room. This house is massive and it would be difficult to find her. She could get hurt if she goes wandering off alone.
Without the key, I race from the room. In the hall, I kick off my heels. My bare feet smack against the carpet, which is oddly warm against my soles as I pump my legs harder.
Reaching Aurora’s room, I skid to a stop, throwing open the door and hurrying inside. I know I don’t have a lot of time, especially without that damn key. I need to act quickly.
“Mommy!” Her eyes are wide with fear as she clutches the duvet to her.
“Everything’s okay, baby,” I assure her as I hurriedly wrap a blanket around her tiny body and haul her into my arms. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Arms wrapped protectively around my daughter, I rush from her room. Smoke is already gathering in the hallway upstairs, far quicker than I’d anticipated. It makes my eyes stream as I cough and splutter, squeezing my daughter closer to my chest.
Her face is buried in my neck, and I raise the blanket. “Hold this over your nose and mouth,” I order her.
“Mommy,” she cries, but does as I say. I tuck her face back into my neck, the smoke growing thicker until I can barely see through it to where the stairs should be. I crouch low, moving as quickly as I safely can until I spot the hazy outline of the banisters through the thick cloud of smoke.
One hand braced on the back of Aurora’s head, I keep the other on the wall as I descend the stairs. As we reach the ground floor, I regret not lifting something to cover my own mouth.I’m already feeling light-headed, and the lack of visibility is disorientating.
“We just have to get out of here,” I murmur, spinning in a circle. As I do, I catch sight of a wall of red. No, not a wall. Aninferno. Where the kitchen once was is now overcome by flames licking at the walls and ceiling. Hungry for more, the flames are already moving down the hallway, engulfing the entire back corner of the house.
Spinning away, I lose my balance as a wave of dizziness takes over. I stumble, grunting as I fall to one knee. Aurora sobs, her tiny body shaking with the force of it. It’s fear for her that forces me back to my feet. I move to the opposite corner of the house, putting as much distance between me and the destructive fire and suffocating smoke.
Hurrying into a den with a large eighty-inch TV on the wall and sofas crowding the small space, I slam the door closed. The smoke is mild here, and breathing heavily, I take a second to get my raging heart under control.
Settling Aurora into the corner of a sofa farthest from the door, I move to the only window in this room.
“God damn!” I snarl, thumping my fist against the glass when the damn thing doesn’t open. I can feel myself beginning to break. The tears are right there, my shoulders shaking with the restraint it takes to hold them back.
Not yet. Just a little longer.
Putting my back to the window, I scan the room for anything I can use to smash the glass. It’s a simply furnished TV room. There’s nothing here I can use.
A sob slips free.
“I’m scared, Mommy.”
At Aurora’s small, terrified voice, I rush over to her, crouching to her height. I brush a hand over her hair. “I know,baby. You’re being so brave for me. I’m so proud of you. I just need you to be brave a little longer. Can you do that?”
She seems to think about it, looking at me with tear-stained cheeks before she gives a slight nod. Giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile, I lean in and kiss her forehead. “My big brave girl.”
Standing, I do another sweep of the room as I swipe a hand through my tangled mess of hair. I’m desperately searching for something I missed before, but a second scan confirms there is nothing here.
I remember the heavy-looking candlestick I saw in the dining room earlier. That would be strong enough to break the glass. Staring at the door, I chew on my lower lip as a plan forms.
Yes, okay. It’s the only shot we have.
Turning back toward the sofa, I snatch up a throw pillow, hurriedly ripping out the inside stuffing until I’m left with just the cover. Clutching it in my hand, I crouch in front of my daughter. My stomach is in knots, but I know I must do this.
