Chapter 10 - Fire and Ashes
Z
When Lorraine lunged across the dining room table, the instinct that took over my body wasn't fear; it was pure, unadulterated maternal rage.
I ducked sideways, clutching Aria tight against my left shoulder, and shoved a heavy oak dining chair directly into Lorraine’s shins. The chair caught her at full force. She stumbled, her hip crashing hard into the mahogany table, and the iron crowbar slipped from her numb fingers, clattering loudly across the hardwood floor.
"You bitch!" Lorraine screamed, scrambling over the broken wood splinters to grab the iron bar again.
I didn't wait for her to recover. I turned and sprinted down the narrow corridor toward Aunt Eleanor’s study at the back of the house—the only room with a heavy, solid-core oak door and a manual internal deadbolt.
I threw myself inside the study, slammed the heavy oak door shut, and threw the brass deadbolt into place just as Lorraine slammed her entire body weight against the outside panel.
BANG!
The thick wood groaned, but the deadbolt held.
"Open this door!" Lorraine screamed from the hallway, beating against the wood with her bare fists. "Open it, Claire! You can't hide in there forever! I'm going to burn this whole house down with you and that baby inside!"
Inside the dark study, lit only by the faint glow of the snow reflecting through the window, I laid Aria down inside a low wooden desk drawer padded with my fleece jacket.
"Shh, baby, stay quiet," I whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her warm forehead. "Mommy’s got you."
I looked around the dark room for a weapon. My phone had zero signal—Lorraine had been right about cutting the main fiber line, and the storm had knocked out the nearby cell towers. I was completely on my own.
Suddenly, I smelled it.
A sharp, acrid, chemical stench wafted under the gap beneath the study door.
Accelerant. Charcoal lighter fluid.
Lorraine wasn't bluffing. In her total mental collapse, she was pouring lighter fluid along the hallway floorboards, prepared to burn Aunt Eleanor’s house—and everything inside it—to ashes.
CLICK. CLICK.
The distinct sound of a handheld butane lighter sparking echoed through the wood paneling.
"Let's see how smart your lawyer is when you're all smoke!" Lorraine laughed hysterically from the hallway.
I didn't hesitate. I reached over to Aunt Eleanor's heavy brass desk lamp, unplugged it, and wrapped the thick cord around my hand. Then, I grabbed the heavy, solid-brass fireplace poker sitting beside the brick hearth.
I unlocked the deadbolt, pulled the door open with explosive force, and stepped out into the hallway just as a line of bright orange fire ignited along the rug.
Lorraine turned, holding the flaming lighter in one hand and the heavy crowbar in the other, her face illuminated by the rising yellow flames.
"There you are—" she began.
I didn't let her finish. I swung the solid brass fireplace poker with everything I had left in my body, striking the crowbar right out of her hand. The iron bar flew out of her grip, smashing through the hallway glass cabinet.
Before she could react, I stepped through the smoke, grabbed the front of her wet coat, and shoved her backward with absolute momentum.
Lorraine tripped over the burning rug, crashing hard onto her back in the middle of the hallway. The lighter flew from her hand, rolling away across the floor.
I immediately grabbed the heavy wool fire blanket Aunt Eleanor had kept mounted in the hallway closet for decades, threw it over the igniting rug, and stomped out the flames before they could catch the dry wooden wall panels. Smoke filled the corridor, making my eyes burn and my throat raw, but the fire was dead.
Lorraine groaned on the floor, trying to scramble up on her hands and knees.
I stood over her, breathing heavily through the thick smoke, holding the heavy brass fireplace poker pressed directly against the center of her chest, pinning her back down to the floorboards.
"Don't move," I gasped out, my voice deadly quiet. "If you move so much as a finger, Lorraine, I swear to God I will use this."
Lorraine looked up at me from the floor. The madness in her eyes suddenly shattered, replaced by a cold, pathetic terror as she realized she was completely beaten. The fire was out, her weapon was gone, and the pregnant girl she had slapped in a kitchen four months ago was standing over her like a dark vengeance.
Suddenly, flashing red and blue lights illuminated the icy front windows of the house, cutting through the swirling storm outside. Heavy boots thundered up the front steps, and the front door was kicked open with a violent crash.
"POLICE! HANDS IN THE AIR!"
Detective Hale and three uniformed officers poured into the smoky hallway, weapons drawn. Behind them stood Maya, holding a satellite emergency radio, her face pale with terror.
"Claire!" Maya screamed, running down the hall through the lingering smoke.
"I'm fine," I said, my voice remarkably calm as I lowered the brass poker. "She's on the floor. Get her out of my house."
Officer Grant dropped to his knees, roughly pulling Lorraine’s arms behind her back and snapping heavy steel handcuffs over her wrists. Lorraine didn't fight anymore. She wept pathetically, her face pressed against the soot-stained floorboards as the officers dragged her toward the door.
Detective Hale looked at the burnt wool blanket, the broken glass, and the brass poker in my hand, then looked at me with profound respect. "How did you know to hold the room?"
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"My aunt built this house to last," I said, turning my back on Lorraine without giving her a single backward glance. "And so did I."
I walked back into the study, lifted Aria out of the padded desk drawer, and held her warm, safe body against my chest. Outside, the blizzard was still howling, but inside the smoky hallway of Aunt Eleanor’s home, the terror was finally, irrevocably over.
