What was that odd shimmer in the night sky?
Christy Reed crested the hill on the undulating rural road and peered at the eerie dome of light above the trees in the distance. On a chilly, clear November evening, the heavens should be pitch black save for the stars strewn across the inky firmament, not tainted by unnatural illumination.
The road dived again, the woods snuffing out her view of the mysterious glow. But the twinge of unease that had compelled her to head to her sister’s tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow intensified.
Pressing on the accelerator, she swooped through the dip in the road and shot up again.
At the peak of the next hill, her twinge of apprehension morphed to panic.
Flames were strafing the night sky—in the vicinity of her sister’s house.
Please, God, no! Not again! We can’t take any more trauma!
Smashing the gas pedal to the floor, she plunged down the hill.
Only then did she notice the police cruiser at the bottom, angled sideways, blocking access to the narrow road that led to the Missouri farmhouse her sister called home.
She flinched as the harsh, flashing lights strobed across her retinas. They screamed emergency. Disaster. Tragedy.
All the things that had changed her world forever six months ago.
Fingers clenched around the wheel, she sped toward the vehicle, screeching to a stop beside it.
As a uniformed officer emerged from the shadows and circled around to her side of the car, she fumbled for the auto window opener. Lowered the insulating sheet of glass. Inhaled the smoke-fouled air that leached into the car.
The coil of fear in the pit of her stomach tightened.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“I need to get down that road.” Her last word hitched.
“Do you live that way?”
“No. My s-sister does.”
Twin furrows dented the man’s brow. “What’s her name?”
“Ginny R-Reed.”
“Hold on a minute.” He pulled his radio off his belt and melted back into the shadows.
Christy closed her eyes and clung to the wheel, shudders coursing through her.
Please, Lord, let there be some simple reason Ginny wasn’t answering her phones or returning calls all evening! A dead cell. An emergency at work. Anything that’s not connected to this fire.
“Ma’am?”
She jerked her eyelids open.
“There’s a fire at your sister’s house. I’ll move my vehicle so you can get through. One of the officers at the scene will meet you.”
Her knuckles whitened as she struggled to suck in air. “Is she okay?”
He shifted from one foot to the other, the leather of his belt squeaking as he rested one hand on his gun. “I don’t know. But they’re doing everything they can to contain the fire so they can get inside.”
“You mean she’s still in the house!” Hysteria goosed the pitch of her voice.
“They aren’t certain of that. Give me a minute.”
Before she could respond, he jogged toward his car—putting as much distance between him and her questions as possible.
Because he didn’t have the answers . . . or because he didn’t want to deliver more bad news?
Please, God, let it be the former!
The instant the cruiser moved aside, she yanked her wheel to the right and accelerated down the woods-rimmed road.
The glow grew brighter as she approached, and fingers of fire stabbed the night sky above parched leaves not yet willing to relinquish their tenuous hold on life.
Her lungs locked.
This was bad.
Really bad.
Though she tried to prepare for the worst, her first full look at Ginny’s small, two-story clapboard farmhouse across a field of shriveled cornstalks destroyed the fragile hold she had on her composure.
The whole structure was engulfed in flames.
No, no, no, no, no!
Another uniformed officer appeared in her headlights, waving her to the shoulder before she could turn in to her sister’s driveway.
Swerving to the right, she bumped onto the uneven ground, flung open her door, and scrambled from the car. Despite the crisp chill of the late fall evening, the air was hot.
Too hot.
“Ma’am?”
She tore her gaze away from the fire to focus on the officer. Flashes of light darted across the woman’s face, giving her a macabre appearance.
“Why don’t you wait over there?” She inclined her head toward an ambulance parked halfway up Ginny’s driveway, off to the side. The paramedics were standing idle and silent at the rear door, watching the blaze.
Waiting for a victim to treat.
Meaning no one had yet rescued Ginny.
Unless . . .
Was it possible she wasn’t here? Maybe she had been called in to work for an emergency.
Please!
Christy squinted toward the garage at the rear of the house . . . and her stomach bottomed out.
The door was open—and Ginny’s car was inside.
Her sister was here.
But where?
Lifting her head, she scrutinized Ginny’s second-floor bedroom. The window was cracked open, as usual. Even on the coldest nights, her sister liked fresh air. There was no movement from inside, but maybe . . .
She grabbed the woman’s arm and pointed. “That’s my sister’s bedroom! She might be in bed. Can’t you get a ladder up there and . . .”
“Clear the collapse zone. Now!”
At the sudden barked order, the firefighters who’d been struggling to quench the hungry flames dropped their hoses and scattered.
Seconds later, a shudder rippled through the house. The siding buckled. Then, spewing sparks high into the black sky, the second floor collapsed into the raging inferno below like an ancient Viking funeral pyre.
Christy stared in horror at the consuming flames, the world around her receding.
No!
This wasn’t happening.
It couldn’t be.
But the roar of the voracious blaze and the surge of scorching heat against her face mocked her denial, searing the ghastly truth across her mind.
No one could survive a fire like this.
Ginny was dead.
Despite the waves of heat rolling off the collapsed house, a numbing cold gripped her. Tremors convulsed her body. Blackness nipped at the edges of her consciousness.
And somewhere in the distance, screams ripped through the air.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Christy squeezed her eyes shut and pushed her hands against her ears, trying to block them out.
But she couldn’t.
Because they were her own.