Judgement By Fire (28 page)

The terrible
pounding of his heart was slowed as an icy determination filled him. His foot
pressed hard on the accelerator. First, he would get to Lauren and see she was
all right. Secondly, he’d find some way to stop Stephen.

And if Lauren
wasn’t all right, if his cousin had hurt her in any way….

*
* *

Stephen got up
from the spot where he’d been crouched beside Lauren and went quietly out
through the front door. For a moment, Lauren thought he’d left and hope was
blossoming in her breast that somehow the worst was over. Her heart sank as she
heard his return, and fear gripped her as the smell of turpentine invaded her
nostrils.

Stephen had
found the two large containers of turpentine, the cleaning and thinning liquid
she used when painting in oils, in her storage cabinet. Whistling off-key, he
began sprinkling it around the studio cottage. Turpentine fumes made Lauren’s
nose burn and her eyes water, and terror swamped her as she saw Stephen’s plan
with gut-wrenching clarity.

“My God,
Stephen, what are you doing? You’re going to burn us alive!” she screamed, pure
panic almost choking her.

He turned to
look at her, eyes dark with madness.

“Not us, Lauren.
Just you. Artists’ studios burn all the time, don’t they? All that paint and
turpentine. You’ve brought this on yourself, you know, through not inviting him
here as I asked you to. I would have waited until Jon came and you could have
been together. But don’t worry. You won’t be alone for long. You see, Jon is
going to die tonight, too. Only before he does, he’ll know that he’s also
responsible for your death. And a pretty horrific death, too.”

With a last
casual wave of his hand, Stephen grinned at her and left.

Lauren wildly
tugged at the handcuffs, but couldn’t free herself. The slick, sticky feel of
blood coated her hands and arms as the wicked steel bracelets dug in and tore
her delicate skin. Frantically she levered her shoulders against the banister
rail, hoping to dislodge it from its joint at the baluster. Sobs racked her
body and tears caused by fear and turpentine fumes blurred her vision.

Then she froze
in her struggles as she heard the back window shatter. Moments later the
kitchen curtains caught fire with a gentle whoosh, and she knew Stephen had set
the match that would turn her beloved studio into her funeral pyre.

*
* *

Jon had broken
all the speed limits, and probably a number of records, too, in his crazed
flight from Toronto. But since Lauren’s frantic telephone call, his foot had
been floored on the accelerator and the one thought hammering at his mind was
that he had to get to Lauren, had to keep her safe.

Because I’m in
love with her, I can’t lose her now!
The thought hit him as he made a fast
pass into another lane to overtake a sports car, venturing recklessly into the
path of a huge juggernaut, and caused him to pause briefly when he should have
been mashing his foot down on the accelerator. The truck driver blasted him
with a multi-note horn, the angry sound attracting the attention of the
longhaired young man in the sports car, who laughed and flipped Jon a thumbs-up
sign as Jon steadied the Jeep and glanced in his rear-view mirror. It wasn’t a
thumbs-up sign that the truck driver was flashing in his direction and judging
from his red, angry face, the words he was mouthing weren’t very pleasant,
either.

At the moment
Jon didn’t care. Drumming in his brain were the words,
I’m in love with her;
I’m in love with Lauren Stephens.
And like the knell at the end of the world,
I can’t lose her now!

Haunting him was
the terrible knowledge that, despite her own danger, Lauren had taken her one
opportunity to warn him of what was happening. With a sick feeling in his
stomach, he knew that in doing so she might have signed her own death warrant.
Helpless anger flooded through him, and he slammed an impotent fist against the
steering wheel.

Cutting in front
of another car, he saw the West River sign coming up, and earned a blast of the
horn and a surprisingly good-humored shake of the head from the laid-back
sports car driver as the Jeep swerved across to position itself in the exit
lane. It was then that he saw the smoke, saw the faint orange red glow in the
distance.

And he knew. He
knew with a certainty that brought bile into his throat, even before the cell
phone chirruped and Chief Ohmer’s tension-filled voice barked in his ear.

“Jon, we’ve had
a fire call…”

            “God, Oh, God, I
know, I can see!” Jon’s voice was a ragged sob as he slammed the phone down
onto the leather seat beside him.

He gunned the
accelerator, ignoring traffic signs and the angry shrieks from other cars as he
hurtled from the highway onto the quieter rural roads towards Haverford Castle.

Already he could
see the pall of smoke rising above the trees, and a distant dull orange glow
where flames were already spilling from the rear windows of Lauren’s home.

*
* *

            Lauren twisted again,
bracing her body against the baluster as she swung her feet up against the
banister rail. The movement was awkward because of the handcuffs that hugged
her firmly to the big oak pillar, and pain shot through her feet, jarring along
her legs and spine as she kicked against the banister. Loudly she cursed her
own habit of wandering around the studio barefoot and briefly imagined how much
easier and less painful it would be if she was wearing her hefty walking boots.
She laughed aloud, hearing the sharp note of hysteria in the sound. A coughing
fit took her as choking smoke began to curl towards her from the blazing
kitchen area.

           
Hysterics aren’t
going to get you out of this alive, kiddo,
the voice in her head told her
sternly,
and they’re not going to get you safely back into Jon’s embrace.

            The hysteria was
swept away at the thought of Jon and the danger he might be in. She had to get
through this for Jon’s sake. The memory of Stephen’s face as he promised that
Jon, too, would die that very day was punched into her brain. With all her
strength, Lauren swung around, throwing her torso backwards as her legs and
feet came up. The pain made her gasp but there was also a rough thrill of
victory as she managed to wedge her feet against the banister. With her back
braced against the baluster, she used every ounce of her failing strength to
push hard with her feet. Desperation made her strong and the wood gave a sharp
crack.

It’s working!
She exulted,
bracing herself for another effort. This time she screamed as her injured
shoulder joined in the cacophony of pain that paraded through her body, led by
her rapidly numbing hands and wrists. One more try!

            Focusing her mind on
Jon’s face, she used every ounce of fear-ridden strength to push at the
banister rail, her efforts forcing the dry oak to splinter and give way.

Lauren fell back
slumped against the oak pillar, gasping for breath. She was bathed in sweat and
her body screamed for rest but a glance over her shoulder told her that if she
stopped, the rest could well be eternal.

The open-plan
space was getting hotter and already flames were sneaking along the paths laid
down in the turpentine. Fire had taken hold in the kitchen, fanned by oxygen
from the broken window, and they were creeping hungrily towards the stairs
where she lay.

            She forced herself to
stand, the pain taking her breath away. One step, two steps, up the stairs and
she could drag her now almost numbed arms up, up and over the baluster, freeing
herself.

            Smoke, exhaustion,
and pain were her enemies now, and time. Time flowed so slowly in a distorted
way, so that it seemed like hours since she’d watched in horror as Stephen splashed
turpentine around the studio. She knew it had only been minutes but even that
was too long.

 Falling to her
hands and knees to be below the smoke, her vision darkened as pain shooting
through her body turned her faint. It took a mighty effort of will to begin a
slow, pain-racked crawl towards the front door. Behind her, there was a huge
whoosh as the flames victoriously feasted on her paint supplies and easel.

She had only
minutes at best before she met her death.

She heard a
sobbing sound, stopped to wonder if someone was close by, and then realized the
terrible sound came from her own lips.

            Almost mindless with
fear and pain, her entire world had coalesced into the tiny space before her
where the door handle beckoned her to safety. She grasped the metal door handle
only to fall backwards, clutching her injured hands to her breast after the hot
metal seared tender flesh.

But she couldn’t
stop. Not now.

 Painfully she pulled
the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, hampered still by the cruel
pull of the handcuffs. Muttering a prayer, she grasped the handle again. Her
lungs were screaming, sweat was flowing from her body, and her eyes swollen
almost shut from the smoke, the heat, and the vicious blows from Stephen’s
hands.

But on the other
side of that door lay clean sweet air. Friends. Jon. Life.

            With her last ounce
of strength, Lauren turned the handle and yanked at the door. It didn’t move.
Frantically she felt for the key that she left in the inside lock when she was
home, but her scrabbling fingers found nothing. The door was locked from the
outside.

            It was over.

Lauren sank down
with an anguished sob, her head against the now warm oak of the door, her lungs
screaming for air as smoke billowed towards her from the back of the studio. In
her mind, she heard her grandmother’s voice, reciting the prayer she’d taught
five-year old Lauren a millennium ago.

           
Now I lay me down
to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep…

            Jon’s Jeep barreled
into the Haverford Castle grounds just minutes after the volunteer firemen’s
truck and tanker. Yanking on the hand brake, he threw himself from the vehicle,
running hell for leather towards the door of Lauren’s home. Through the
windows, he could see flames and heavy smoke rising in an evil plume over the
rooftop towards the sky.

            Volunteer firemen
were scrambling into safety suits and pulling on breathing apparatus, their
chief barking out commands as he assessed the situation. Several police
vehicles came screaming to a halt, and Chief Ohmer leapt from one of them,
yelling as he saw Jon’s headlong rush to the studio. Heeding the Chief’s cry,
others reached out to try to restrain the tall blond man, but Jon shook off
their hands. This was his responsibility. He’d put Lauren in this terrible
danger, and it was his responsibility to get her out—or die trying.

It never
occurred to him to question whether Lauren was inside the studio. His heart
could hear her calling to him, could feel her terror and grief.

            Desperately he clawed
at the door, dimly aware that the doorknob in his grasp was already scorching
hot.
 Inside must be an inferno,
a voice cried inside him.
No one
could be alive in there!
He pushed aside his fear and hammered at the door
as he called Lauren’s name. All he could hear was the raging of the fire.

 Then from the
other side of the door he heard a faint sound like the mewling of a kitten,
almost drowned out by the roar of flames. Then the sound was louder, his own
name being called in answer to his cry. She was alive!

            In the fraction of
that second’s stillness as he listened, his eyes lit on the key that still
mated with the door lock. Horror rippled through him as he knew that someone—
Stephen!
—had
deliberately, callously, ensured that Lauren could not escape the blazing
building through the only available door. He grasped the key, heedless of the
heat that burned his fingers, and pushed open the door. It stuck, partway open,
and he glimpsed a torn jeans leg.

Within seconds,
he hauled a nearly unconscious Lauren to her feet and his heart contracted with
joy and relief as her arms, cruelly handcuffed, reached for his jacket and
clung on. Together, Jon half-dragging Lauren, they escaped outside into the
clean, fragrant air.

            Firemen rushed to
help. An ambulance had arrived and two paramedics took Lauren from his arms,
placing an oxygen mask over her face as they lay her down on a stretcher.

Jon heaved a
deep breath of relief as she gasped in huge gulps of air and coughed,
spluttering smoke-blackened mucus from her nose and mouth as her body tried to
cleanse itself of the poison. The paramedic quickly checked her over, noting
the bruises and cuts while Chief Ohmer knelt and gently worked on releasing
Lauren’s swollen, bloody wrists from the cruel bite of the handcuffs.

And all the
while she never took her eyes from Jon’s face while he, in his turn, held onto
her, afraid she’d slip away if he let go.

            Paul Howard, out of
breath, came rushing up to the group as Lauren pushed aside the mask and
stammered out the bare bones of her story, naming Stephen Wallace as her
attacker and holding on tighter still to Jon as she warned that his cousin
intended to kill him, too.