Take Me Home (9781455552078) (25 page)

“I…I can't…I can't lose…” Olivia began but couldn't finish.

“I'll bring your family back to you,” he promised.

Or die trying…

Looking up at the burning house, Peter wondered how he was going to get inside. Flames surrounded the side door near the kitchen, making that a difficult point of entry. Running around to the front of the home, he took a few tentative steps up onto the porch; the fire was there, too, but it wasn't as bad. He was considering smashing out a window when he was startled by movement inside the house. Rushing to the front door, Peter pulled out the hem of his shirt, wrapped his hand for protection against the hot metal of the knob, and opened the door. Instantly, a wall of heat slammed into him. But that wasn't all.

Elizabeth Marsten stumbled into his arms.

Olivia's mother was a mess. Sweat plastered her usually immaculately coifed hair to her forehead. Streaks of dark soot and grime were smeared across her cheeks. Her eyes were narrow and bloodshot. Huge coughs heaved up and out of her chest from all of the smoke she had inhaled.

“Mother!” Olivia shouted as she ran to help Elizabeth down the porch steps. Gently, they eased her onto the dewy grass.

“Where are the others?” Peter asked insistently; if the situation were different, he would have been more patient with Elizabeth, more caring, but time was against them and he needed answers.

“Where are Dad and Grace?” Olivia echoed.

But her mother couldn't stop coughing long enough to answer.

“Are they still in the house?” Olivia prodded, her voice growing more and more frantic. “Tell me!”

“Your…your father…” Elizabeth began, her voice a wheeze. “He sent me…me down…down the stairs…while he went to…to get…” But that was as far as she got before another fit of coughing overwhelmed her.

“He went to get Grace,” Olivia finished.

She and Peter turned back to the burning house. Even in the short time since Elizabeth had exited, the blaze had gotten worse; flames rose all the way to the roof. The sound of a beam cracking cut through the fire's cacophony of sounds, another indication that the house was weakening, slowly giving way to the fire that was consuming it. Peter knew that if Olivia's father and sister were still alive, they wouldn't be for much longer.

Peter looked at Olivia. In her face, he could see panic, but also a flicker of hope, a belief that it wasn't already too late. He wanted to take her in his arms, to gently kiss her and tell her that he loved her, one last time. But he didn't. Instead, as he ran up the porch steps, shielding his face from the oppressive heat, through the front door and into the burning building, he could only hope that she knew how he felt, that even if he were to die tonight, he wouldn't have regretted a thing.

It had all been worth it to share his heart with her.

T
HE BURNING BARN
had been different. It had been angry, violent, and destructive, but it had been easier for Peter to see and move around. He had worked his way down the long, wide corridors, opening stalls and shooing the horses to safety. Here, inside the inferno that engulfed the Marstens' home, the space was smaller, more cramped, a warren of rooms. The choking black smoke burned his eyes and made it almost impossible to see more than a few feet. The other difference was the heat. At the barn, he'd doused himself with water from a duck pond before entering. It hadn't offered much protection, but it had been enough to keep the worst of the heat at bay, at least for a while. Now, it attacked him mercilessly. He could feel it reddening his skin and crawling into his lungs.

It was a living hell.

Keep calm. Use your head and don't panic. Remember what served you well on the battlefield.

Peter went to the stairs. Given the late hour when the fire had begun, everyone would've been asleep in their rooms. If John and Grace were still alive, he felt certain he would find them there. Every step was a struggle. The sound of breaking glass, cracking wood, and the steady roar of the blaze filled his ears.

Halfway up, he paused. There, on the small landing where the stairs turned at a ninety-degree angle, Peter peered through the smoke, hoping to see Olivia's family coming toward him. But there was nothing. Even as a pinprick of fear needled its way into his thoughts, warning him that he was heading for a certain death, Peter swallowed it down and kept going.

He was soon rewarded for his perseverance.

From the head of the stairs, a long hallway ran the length of the house; there was so much smoke that Peter couldn't see the window at the opposite end. Fortunately, he didn't have to. There, a couple feet away, was John.

Olivia's father was on his hands and knees, half of his body sticking out into the hallway, the rest inside one of the bedrooms. As Peter watched, John strained, as if he was trying to get to his feet, his arms trembling, before he suddenly collapsed onto his chest. He lay motionless.

“John!” Peter shouted, straining to be heard over the fire.

But there was no response.

Worst of all, Grace was nowhere to be seen.

Olivia couldn't take her eyes off the front door. Only a couple of minutes had passed since Peter had disappeared inside, but she kept expecting him to reappear at any moment, bringing her father and sister to safety; the anticipation was so great that she found herself holding her breath. But with every second that ticked past, her fear grew that she was about to lose the people she loved most.

Come on! Where are you, Peter?!

Her mother still lay on the wet grass beside her. Elizabeth's coughs had subsided enough for her to sit up. She, too, stared at the house.

“How…how could this have happened…?” she asked.

Olivia didn't respond; she had no answer to give.

In the distance, the shrill sound of a siren rose into the night. Moments later, Olivia heard the sound of someone approaching. Tearing her gaze from the burning house, she saw Billy running toward them.

“The fire truck will be here soon,” he said breathlessly. Looking at Elizabeth, he began to ask, “Where is—” but stopped, realizing how insensitive his question might sound. For a long moment, he was silent. Finally, he said, “Did Peter go in there after them?”

Olivia nodded.

Without another word, Billy knelt and began to tend to Elizabeth; her mother looked grateful for the attention and began talking about the ordeal she had faced inside the burning house. Olivia didn't hear a word she said; at that moment, she suddenly understood one of the many differences between the two men in her life. Billy was caring and dependable, even in the worst of situations. He was thoughtful and safe. Peter was different. Even with everything she had learned about his origins, about the secrets he'd been keeping, she still felt that she
knew
him, who he really was as a man; in the end, what mattered wasn't his nationality, but rather who he was on the inside. No matter what danger he faced, whether it was on a battlefield or when he ran into a raging inferno, Peter Becker never shrank from his responsibilities, from doing what was right. That Billy wouldn't follow Peter, that he wouldn't take the same risks, didn't necessarily speak ill of her friend; few would have done what Peter had. But Olivia couldn't deny that it made Peter the man she wanted, the one she loved. Because of that, she couldn't allow him to act alone.

“I'm going inside,” she suddenly declared.

“What?” Billy exclaimed. “Olivia, what are you saying? You can't go in there! It's too dangerous!”

A part of Olivia knew that he was right; one look at the way the fire was slowly but steadily consuming the house would have been enough to convince almost anyone of the foolhardiness of going inside, but she wasn't to be deterred. Calmly, she turned to look at Billy. “I won't sit here and do nothing,” she explained. “I can't play it safe. Not when the people I love need me the most.”

“Peter will bring them out,” her former fiancé replied, offering an argument she knew had to be difficult for him to make; either he believed what he was saying or he was grasping at straws, desperate to keep her from harm.

“He needs me,” Olivia answered. She had made up her mind; there was nothing anyone could have said to change it.

Still, that didn't stop her mother from trying.

“Olivia, no! It's too dangerous!” Elizabeth shouted; her daughter was surprised to see worry written so plainly in her face. “Stay here and pray that they come out.” Turning to Billy, she added, “Talk some sense into her, William!”

Olivia had no idea if he tried.

She was already running for the burning house.

Peter hurried to where John lay motionless. He dropped to a knee beside him, put a hand on the lawman's back, and shook him. Nothing. Smoke burned his eyes and tried its best to crawl down into his lungs. The heat was like a slap to his face. Peering into the room that Olivia's father had been leaving, he saw that the fire was growing stronger. Flames climbed up the walls. As he watched, the lace doilies on the dresser caught; the fire ate them so quickly that it seemed as if one moment they were there, the next they were gone. Peter knew they were running out of time to get out alive.

“John!” Peter shouted to be heard over the inferno. “Can you hear me?”

The sheriff didn't answer.

“Where's Grace?” he prodded. “Where's your daughter?”

This time, Olivia's father stirred. He mumbled something, but it was spoken so faintly that Peter couldn't make any of it out.

Peter assumed that John had been looking for his younger daughter when he'd been overcome by the smoke. Grace wasn't with him, which meant that he'd yet to find her. Since Peter hadn't met her as he'd gone up the stairs and she hadn't come outside with Elizabeth, she was still in the house. But where?

“Grace!” Peter yelled as loud as he could, hoping that he could be heard down the long hallway. “Grace! Are you there?”

But even if Olivia's sister screamed in answer, Peter doubted he would've been able to hear her; the fire was so loud that it wouldn't have mattered whether she was ten feet away or a hundred. Unless she stepped out where he could see her, he'd never know where she was.

That left him with a difficult choice to make.

John was in a bad way. He couldn't leave the man lying there, half-unconscious, while he went to look for Grace. But if he took John outside, odds were that he wouldn't have time to come back; with the way the fire was gaining strength, it'd be too late. He could either save John or try to find Grace. He didn't have time to rescue them both.

But then, as Peter struggled to decide which path to take, something tugged on his shirtsleeve, startling him. He spun around.

It was Olivia.

“What are you doing here?” he shouted. “I told you to wait outside!”

Peter was angry, yet happy to see her. He was mad because she'd disobeyed him, had run headlong into a dangerous situation, putting her life in jeopardy. But maybe it might provide an answer to his dilemma…

Olivia didn't respond. Tenderly, she placed a hand on her father's back. “Is he…is he…?” she asked, unable to say the one remaining word.

“No,” Peter told her. “He just inhaled too much smoke. But we need to get him out of here.”

“Where's Grace?

Peter shook his head. “I don't know.”

“We have to find her,” Olivia said, her voice panicked, as she began to rise to her feet. As he'd done earlier, Peter grabbed her by the arm, stopping her.

“I told you that I'd find her and I meant it,” he said. “But I need you to take your father outside. He can't make it on his own.”

Each of them grabbed John under an arm and lifted; with no small effort, they managed to get him to his feet. He wasn't steady, but with help, Peter felt certain he could make it down the stairs.

“Get him out of here,” he told Olivia.

She looked at him, her eyes wet from both smoke and fear. “Be safe.”

Peter nodded and turned away.

Right now, he was the only thing between Grace and certain death.

Peter made his way down the hallway, checking each room he passed. He was hunched over, his arm pressed against his face, his eyes burning; the smoke had gotten worse, thicker, as it tried to drag him down. The heat was brutal; sweat beaded his forehead and slicked his skin. He tried to push down the persistent fear that he was about to die, and instead tried to focus on finding Grace.

Don't give in…keep going…

With every room that Peter checked, he felt a twinge of hope flare in his chest, a belief that he was about to find Olivia's sister. But with each door he opened, he was disappointed. There was no Grace, only more fire, the flames consuming everything, deadly.

“Grace!” he shouted again and again. But there was never any answer.

Finally, he arrived at the last room.

Unlike the others, this door was shut tight; carefully, Peter turned the knob, pushed it open, and stepped inside. There, cowering behind a bed, her face a hysterical mask of tears, was Grace. When she saw him, her eyes grew wider and she scurried farther away; she was so frightened that she didn't see his arrival as a means to her rescue, but rather as another threat.

Though the urge to grab Grace and carry her to safety was strong, Peter knew it could mean both of their deaths; panicked, she might struggle or try to run away from him, even as the burning house crumbled down around their heads. He needed to calm her, to reassure her that coming with him of her own free will was the only way to live.

“Grace,” he soothed as he knelt a few feet away; all around them, the fire swirled, relentless. “You need to come with me. You need to take my hand.”

The teenager whimpered, but Peter was relieved that she hadn't tried to move farther away.

“Trust me,” he continued. “We don't have much time.”

“My…my folks…” she managed, her voice catching.

“They're safe. They're outside with Olivia,” he explained, inching closer. “Everyone is waiting for us.”

“I'm…I'm so scared…”

“I know. I am, too. But together, we can make it. I need you just as much as you need me.”

Slowly, his heart in his throat, Peter watched as Grace worked herself free of the fear that paralyzed her. With trembling fingers, she reached for his hand.

“We're…we're going to be…all right…?” she asked.

“I promise,” Peter answered, determined to make good on it.

When Grace's hand finally found his, she fell into his arms. Peter felt the girl's heart pound against his chest. Gently, he pried her away and looked into her eyes.

“Follow me,” he told her. “Whatever you do, don't let go.”

But then, just as they turned to leave, there was a sudden, earsplitting crack. Right in front of their eyes, the doorway crumbled, collapsing in a heap of burning wood, blocking their escape.

Beside him, Grace screamed.

They were trapped.

Olivia struggled to help her father down the stairs. He leaned heavily against her, forcing her to take the steps slowly. Heavy coughs heaved their way out of his chest. Only a few steps down, his foot slipped and he lurched forward; it was all Olivia could do to keep him upright.

“Take your time,” she told him, even though every instinct screamed at her to run out of the burning building as fast as she could.

Soon, the house she'd spent her whole life in would be destroyed. Flames devoured everything in sight, faster by the minute. The smoke was thick, the stench burning her nose. The heat was worse, utterly inescapable; she felt as if she was being smothered by it. At any moment, she expected the whole place to come crashing down. But as bad as Olivia felt physically, her head was even more of a mess; knowing that Peter and her sister were somewhere above, even further from safety than she and her father were, made it hard to think straight. Trying to navigate the burning stairwell would've been a chore under the best of circumstances; to be distracted meant courting certain death.

Concentrate! Do what Peter told you and get out alive!

Suddenly, just as Olivia and her father reached the landing, an ominous snap split through the cacophonous sound of the fire; there was barely time to think before part of the ceiling came raining down. Olivia jumped out of the way, pushed against her father, and sent them both tumbling down the remaining steps. Debris crashed all around them. Olivia's head and side ached from bumps she'd taken during the fall, but she pushed the pain away. Scrambling backward on her rear, she fought to escape. In horror, she realized that the hem of her skirt had caught fire and she swatted it out with her bare hands. Unwittingly, she sucked in a deep breath of smoke and began to gag. Her eyes watered. Panicked, she looked around for her father, but couldn't see him.