Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
The car lands, a bone-rattling thud, and suddenly I’m choking, my lungs burning, the air thick with acrid smoke, oil, and something metallic—blood, everywhere, pooling on the dashboard, streaking the cracked windshield. I turn, my vision swimming, and see Hugh, his body slumped. I turn him over. Blood trickles from his temple, matting his hair, but his gray eyes are open, unblinking and staring blankly.
He’s gone. He’s dead.
Panic claws my chest, raw, suffocating. I begin to scream the terrible shock and sorrow.
“Hugh! Hugh!” But the smoke chokes me, searing my throat, my voice a ragged gasp. My hands shake as I reach for him, my fingers brushing his still arm, cold, limp. I’m crying, tears streaming, mixing with the soot on my face, and I’m choking, coughing, my lungs screaming for air, my body trembling, my mind spiraling. But in that last, desperate moment, before the darkness closes in, a hand grips my shoulder, shaking me hard.
Urgent.
I jolt awake, my eyes snapping open, my cheeks wet, my body shaking, and my skin hot and slick with sweat. The room is stifling, the air thick, but I’m in my bed, in my cottage. The quilt is twisted around me. To my shock and confusion, Hugh is alive. His eyes are wide with fear, and his face is pale with horror, but he is alive. Feeling his hands on my shoulders and seeing him alive makes relief crash over me, so fiercely that I can’t breathe.
“Oh my God, Hugh,” I sob, throwing my arms around him. I hug him tight, and bury my face in his chest, his shirt damp, his heartbeat strong, alive, grounding me. “You’re okay,” I cry, my voice breaking, my fingers clutching him, needing to feel him, to know he’s alive.
“Quickly,” he says, his voice low, urgent. “We have to leave, now.”
His hands are firm, pulling me up. I’m confused, my mind still tangled in the dream’s terror, but I let him drag me out of bed, my bare feet hitting the floor, my nightgown clinging to my skin. What’s going on? There’s smoke everywhere. I begin to cough. We stumble to the top of the staircase, and then I see it—the downstairs is a sea of flames, orange and red, licking up the walls, devouring the new pink sofa, the air shimmering with heat, crackling with the roar of fire. My heart stops, my dream’s horror bleeding into reality, and I freeze, my hand gripping Hugh’s arm, my breath shallow, because we’re trapped, because we’re going to die, just like I saw.
“What - how?”
He feels my panic, and his eyes meet mine. “It’ll be fine, I’ve got you.” His voice is steady, a lifeline.
He pulls me back into the bedroom, and grabbing the patchwork quilt from the bed, he drapes it over us. Then he wraps his arm around me, tight, protective.
“We’ll go as one and only as fast as you can manage, okay?”
I nod and we move together down the stairs, the heat searing, the smoke stinging my eyes, my lungs burning as I choke back the coughs. His arm is a steel band, guiding me, his body shielding mine, and we run, the flames roaring, the wood creaking, the air so hot it feels like my skin will blister. We burst outside, the cool night air a shock. Hugh throws off the quilt, its edges smoldering, partially aflame, but we’re out.
We’re alive.
We collapse on the lawn, the grass damp under my legs, and he’s on me, his hands frantic, checking my arms, my face, his voice urgent.
“Are you okay? Lauren, are you okay?” His eyes search mine, wide, desperate.
I nod, my voice trembling, “I’m fine, I’m fine,” but I’m not, not really.
I check him too, my hands shaking as I touch his chest, his arms, searching for burns, for blood, but he’s whole, unharmed. Then I start sobbing, the relief and terror crashing together. I hug him, my arms tight around his neck, my face pressed into his shoulder, and I can’t stop crying, my body shaking, my eyes fixed on the cottage, flames pouring from the windows, the roof glowing, my home, my new start burning to ash.
But nothing matters except that we are both alive.
Hugh pulls away, his face hard, just as Knox runs over with a phone. “I’ve called the fire brigade, m’Lord.”
Hugh grabs the phone and calls someone else, his voice sharp and furious. I sit, numb, staring at the inferno, the crackle of wood, the shattering of glass, a chaos that drowns out everything but the pounding of my heart. More people arrive, shadows in the dark, trying to douse the flames from the outside tap, but it’s futile. The fire is too fierce and too hungry. How the hell did this happen? What went wrong?
The fire engine arrives, not with wailing sirens, but with its blue lights flashing. In record time, they swarm the cottage. Their hoses blast water and make the flames hiss angrily. In less than an hour, the fire is out. I watch, helpless, as smoke curls into the dawn sky, the air heavy with soot and loss.