“Don’t worry about me. Worry about the children.” Their lives couldn’t be the price of the legacy of hate between Stephen and Edward, played out on this property where they’d once lived together, and where their parents had died.
I made my way downstairs with Naomi and Rebecca, pausing a moment to call 911 on my cell phone, explaining where the compound was and which house was on fire. Then I helped Naomi with Rebecca as she bumped confusedly from one of us to the other. I could hear Kenneth opening and closing bedroom doors behind us, calling out in case any children weren’t already outside.
We were at the front door when I remembered that Rebecca had left the manila envelope with the DNA evidence in it upstairs. That was evidence the police would need if they wanted to prosecute Edward Carter. I’d been convinced not to call the police in the first place because I wanted to make sure that Rebecca wasn’t convicted of the crime. Now I knew who had done it and I couldn’t just let a murderer go free. I had to get those papers.
Naomi opened the door. The hot midday air felt refreshing compared to the smokey heat inside the house. It beckoned to me and I was so tempted to go into it. But I resisted the temptation and told Naomi, “I’ll be right back. I just have to go get something.”
“But—” Naomi started to say.
I didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. I hurried back to the staircase, so much smoke swirling now that I had to put my hands to the walls to make sure I knew where they were. I took the steps slowly, glad that there weren’t children rushing down past me. I counted steps to the second floor, then counted again to the third floor. I listened for any sound of Kenneth’s voice, but I didn’t hear it. I hoped he had headed outside after finding no one in the house.
I made my way down to what I thought should be the door that led to Stephen’s bedroom, opened it, and stepped back as the smoke swirled out. This was not the bedroom I recognized. I must not have gone far enough.
Not bothering to close the door behind me, I moved down the hallway to the next room. It was the third room that was the right one, which I might have remembered if I hadn’t been so addled by smoke inhalation. I stepped inside and could see the bed and the photo of Stephen with his entire family above the bed, fire licking up on the eastern side of the wall.
Where had Rebecca put the manila envelope and the pages inside it? I looked at the floor, but couldn’t see anything but the carpet smoldering. Was it back on the nightstand? Had everything already been incinerated?
This was what Kurt complained about when I investigated things. I was so convinced I could figure things out that I went to extremes, like coming back into this burning house. Like not calling the police in the first place. I should go back downstairs, let the police figure this out on their own. Surely the laboratory where Stephen had sent the DNA samples would have kept records and be able to produce a duplicate.
Then I saw the envelope tucked underneath the bed skirt. I bent over, picked it up, and collapsed. I coughed horribly, and couldn’t seem to clear my throat. Was I about to die here because I had been stupid enough to imagine that a piece of evidence against a murderer was worth risking my life?
I don’t know how long I lay there, but I heard a familiar, rough voice some eternity later and felt myself being picked up into the arms of my husband, who had arrived at last. Kurt was trying to carry me away, but I’d lost the envelope and the papers. I struggled weakly against him and reached for them. He didn’t argue with me, just grabbed what I’d pointed at, thrust it into my hands, and then picked me up again.
I sincerely hoped he didn’t end up with a herniated disc because of this. The whole ward would blame me, and with good reason. Of course we both had to get out alive first.
He carried me down two flights of stairs, then let me down once we were on the main floor, where the smoke wasn’t as bad. He put his face close to mine and kissed me firmly on the lips.
It was ridiculous and unlike Kurt and perfect.
“Shouldn’t we get out of here?” I asked after a moment, my voice hoarse.
He smiled at that, then held my hand (or possibly was just making sure that I couldn’t wander off again) as we ran out the front door.
Outside, I heard the sound of a siren approaching. Rebecca was on the gravel road, clutching her knees to her chest, sobbing something about the house. Kenneth was there, more smoke-smeared than he’d been before, but counting children with Naomi, who was holding tight to Talitha’s hand.
There was the crashing sound of the gate breaking down under the firetruck, and it occurred to me to wonder how Kurt had gotten in without a key, but I didn’t have the energy to ask the question. There was something symbolic about seeing the firetruck arrive in front of the burning main house, and looking up to see the gravel road open to the mountain. Everyone here was free now, free and safe and alive.