~*~
Wren wanted to leave—now. She felt certain someone had been roaming the corridors, quietly listening to their conversations, watching them through the gloom. Every strange scuttling noise or unexplained rustle caused her heart to beat a little faster. Maybe it was mice or rats. Maybe even a raccoon or an opossum. But she wasn’t really buying it. Someone else was in the building.
The annex seemed airless and the darkness ominous. Because most of the windows on this floor had been boarded up, the corridors were shadowy and threatening. She silently thanked God again for preventing her from falling all the way through the damaged floorboards. There was no way she’d tell Deb about the incident.
Shuddering, she glanced over her shoulder at Allan. He had gone very still as he’d sorted through some old index cards. Wren took a few shuffling steps. A little cloud of dust rose, tickling her nose. She suppressed a sneeze. Surely this expedition was more to Judith’s advantage than his? He wasn’t writing about illegal baby selling.
“Allan, let’s go,” she pleaded, touching him on the arm.
“Wren.” He whispered her name. A slight frown marred his handsome features as he handed her one of the index cards.
“What is it?”
“Read it.”
Her eyes snapped wide when she recognized the name. Even though the light was dim, his face appeared to be a mask of mixed emotions: confusion, anxiety, even horror.
“Does it mean your mother was a patient here in the annex?” Wren whispered, leaning closer to him. Had Mrs. Partner had a baby here? If so, what had happened to the child? The implications were mindboggling. Wren glanced at Judith and then back at Allan. Her boss would not want his personal affairs to come to light in front of the reporter.
Allan lifted a shoulder and shook his head. Then he slipped the card into his pocket.
Judith turned. “Let’s go back down the corridor where you fell through the floor, Mrs. B.”
“No!” Wren and Allan replied at the same time.
“But I haven’t been down that way yet,” the reporter protested. “I want to see what’s there.”
“It’s not safe,” Allan insisted. “You saw that gaping hole in the floor. Be reasonable.”
Judith’s eyes turned hard as stone. “I intend to go by myself if I have to.” She brushed past Allan and Wren.
“We can’t let her go alone,” he said.
“She’s not my responsibility or yours,” Wren insisted.
That woman was as tenacious as the Jack Russell terrier her grandmother once owned. When Tipsy got something between her teeth, she wouldn’t let it go without a fight. Just like Judith.
“I want to leave now, Allan. Something isn’t right.”
“All right,” he said, reluctance in his voice. “But I’m going after her to tell her we’re leaving, that she’ll be on her own. Do you want to stay here?”
“No.” Wren tingled with fear. “I want the three of us to leave now—together. Don’t go after her. It’s not safe for you to go down that way either. Call her back.”
Allan gave Wren’s hand a squeeze, and a tingle of a different sort shot through her. The sensation took her by surprise.
He let go of her hand and took a step in the direction Judith had gone. “Judith, we’re going. Did you hear me? Judith!” When there was no response, he strode off after her.
Before Wren could protest, Allan’s tall frame was nearly swallowed by the gloom. She could see nothing but a shadowy figure and the bobbing circle of light to indicate his presence. Strong foreboding filled her being. The murky corridor reminded her of the food tunnel. She didn’t want Allan to make any more gruesome discoveries. The index card with his mother’s name typed on it, what could it mean?
A floorboard creaked from somewhere behind her and Wren shivered, her shoulders becoming rigid with fear. She spun around, raising her flashlight to illuminate the dark corridor. There was no doubt about it. Someone else was trespassing in the annex building—security personnel or cops would have made their presence known.
Wren tried to squelch her rising panic. She could hear raised voices in the opposite direction: Allan and Judith were arguing. She should join them. What a coward she was! Deb considered her to be like those gutsy heroines in the suspense novels she enjoyed reading. But that was hardly the truth. Wren was just plain scared.
The floor creaked again, but this time it was as though the intruder had stopped in mid-stride.
Wren froze. She strained to listen, to see. The hair on her arms prickled. Someone was standing there in the darkness watching her. She felt certain of it. In the bravest voice she could muster, Wren called out, “I know you’re there.”
There wasn’t a sound or movement in the dark.
She waited, forcing herself to breath normally. She was far too skittish for her own good. A whiff of an unmistakable odor wafted in the air. Her heart began to pound. A crackle, a pop. The annex was on fire!
~*~
Allan smelled smoke.
“Fire! We’ve got to get out! The annex is on fire.” Wren’s voice was frantic.
Judith, intent on poking her head into every closet, office, and ward on the third floor, spun around and hit him square in the face with the bright beam of her flashlight.
Her face appeared flushed and her eyes wide in the glow of his own flashlight. “I smell it. Do you?” she gasped. “The building is on fire! There should be a staircase this way.”
“No, I’m going back for Wren.” Beads of nervous perspiration broke out on his forehead and in the hairs of his moustache.
“But it will be quicker if we go this way,” Judith said, shining her flashlight in the opposite direction.
“I don’t care!” Allan made his way back towards Wren. If the reporter didn’t follow, that was her problem. The smell of smoke grew stronger every second. Heart pounding, Allan realized the old annex would burn like kindling. He would call 911 after they got safely out.
With his back and one arm sliding slowly against the wall, Allan picked his way carefully around the damaged floorboards.
He suspected someone had started the fire on purpose. Did the culprit hope to burn them to death or merely scare them out of the building? Or was this some sort of last-ditch effort to destroy incriminating evidence?
“Allan!” Wren’s cry sounded like a shriek.
“I’m coming,” he called back.
Suddenly, she darted toward him, clasping his free hand as they met in the hallway.
“Where’s Judith?” she gasped.
“Right behind me, or she was,” he answered.
Judith regarded them for a moment, breathing heavily from exertion, excitement, or both. “Hadn’t expected to get burned out, I can tell you that.” Turning to Allan, she said, “You’ve got enemies, Professor.”
Who could hate him so much they’d want to kill him and his companions?
“Or maybe it’s your lady research assistant,” Judith went on. “Someone wants her dead, perhaps.”
“Shut up!” he warned. Constricting fear coiled around his insides.
“It’s getting hot,” Wren said, coughing. “And the smoke is getting thicker. We’ve got to get out—now! Which way did we come up?”
“This way,” Allan said. Even as he led the way to the stairs, he could see a flicker of flames along the floor below. The smoke grew thicker and the heat more intense.
They couldn’t get to the first floor without passing through the burning second floor.
“I told you we should have gone down the staircase at the other end,” Judith snapped.
Seething with anger, Allan ignored her. He should never have allowed Wren to accompany him. He’d done just what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do—placed her at risk again. Despite the anger he felt toward Judith, his feelings of self-loathing at that moment were even stronger. He needed to lead Wren to safety first.
“Hold up a minute,” he told the two women. “I’m going down to see
if we can get to the next staircase, then I’ll come back for you. Don’t move.”
Wren’s eyes were wide with fear.
“Do you understand?” he asked. “I don’t want to lose you in the dark.”
Wren gave a quick jerk of her head and leaned against the wall.
Allan didn’t bother glancing at Judith Uravich. If she didn’t heed his advice, she could look out for herself.
Allan dashed down the stairs. Smoke roiled from one of the wards. Flames licked at the far wall, but the way to the next stairway appeared clear enough—if they hurried. Dashing back up the stairs, he covered his nose with his forearm and said, “We can make it. Let’s go.”
Wren was leaning against the wall, her head back, her eyes closed, lips moving. Annoyed, Allan grabbed her arm. Her eyes snapped open, and he propelled her down the stairs in front of him. “Now is not the right time for praying,” he rasped.
“It’s always the right time for praying,” she replied with a cough.
Wren’s unshaken faith stirred his anger and his wonder too. Did she really think God was aware of or that he cared about their predicament? The building was on fire. If they didn’t get out, they’d burn to death—if they didn’t die from smoke inhalation first. God hadn’t listened to his childhood prayers for his mother. He doubted God would listen to his prayers now. Perhaps God would listen to Wren’s prayers. Allan hoped so, for her sake as well as his own.
Smoke, thick and dark, swirled across the floor like steam escaping from a vent in the nether regions. Wren balked, apparently uncertain of moving ahead without being able to see where she was stepping. “Don’t push,” she hissed over her shoulder at Judith, who was bringing up the rear.
“Go on then. Stay close to the wall and you’ll be fine, but keep walking forward.”
Wren seemed to move slowly like a wind-up toy with dying batteries.
“That a girl,” Allan encouraged her, pulling her forward. “Keep coming. You’re doing just fine.”
As she choked for breath, he noticed his own breathing had become more labored. His nose was running, his eyes stinging. He was also sweating profusely—from fear or the intense heat. The one thought that kept going through his mind was that the old building might explode like a tinderbox. They had to get out—and fast. “Did you hear that?” He paused briefly on the staircase, but neither woman answered him.
Sirens in the far distance. Had someone called the fire department?
They could be charged with trespassing and maybe even arson. But they’d face that bridge when they came to it. The important thing was to get out of the burning building.
He thought he’d reach the second landing, but the darkness and smoke disoriented him. He hesitated, trying to get his bearings.
Wren and Judith bumped up against him.
“What’s the matter?” Judith gasped, her voice loud and urgent.
“I can’t see,” he said, choking. His throat was dry from breathing smoke. Although his desire to flee was strong, they had to be careful. He took a tentative step forward. When the toe of his shoe caught something and sent it bouncing down the stairs, he held his breath.
Wren choked violently and then gagged.
He had to get her out. As Allan clasped her hand more tightly, a shadowy figure moved in the smoke. The figure loomed—tall and menacing.
Wren gave a hoarse scream, clutching tightly at his elbow with both hands.
Allan gripped the flashlight like a weapon.
11
Detective Reed, his face now contorted by a coughing spell and a fierce frown, stepped through the smoke.
“Detective Reed, I’m so glad it’s you.” Wren gasped, embarrassed by her shriek.
“I should have known,” the man replied with a growl.
“Are you a police detective?” Judith choked out.
Ignoring this question, Reed said to Allan, “You’ve got to get out of here, Professor. The place is on fire, in case you hadn’t noticed. The fire trucks will be here any minute.”
“I’m disoriented,” Allan admitted, lowering his arm from his face. “I’m not quite sure where the next stairway is.”
“Follow me then,” Reed ordered. “We’re close to an emergency exit.”
Allan stepped back to allow Wren and Judith to precede him.
Reed’s partner, Torres, stood at the exit door, holding it open for them. A trail of smoke escaped through the open door into the crisp daylight of the late afternoon.
The fresh air was a blessed relief. Wren took several deep, cleansing breaths, which caused an unexpected spasm of coughing. She tilted her head back and gulped some more air, thanking God for seeing them all safely out of the inferno.
Sirens wailed, closer now as three fire trucks arrived on the scene, accompanied by an ambulance and two police squad cars.
“Take it easy. Slow, deep breaths,” Torres advised, coming up behind her.
Wren reached into her pocket for a tissue and wiped the sweat and grime from her cheeks and forehead. Allan and Judith were covered in dust, with streaks of sweat and filth on their faces and hands.
“I lost him,” Torres said to Reed, who joined them on the lawn. Reed ignored his partner’s comment and instead, fixed Wren and Allan with a scowl. Shaking his head with disgust, he turned to Judith. “And who might you be?”
“Judith Uravich,” she answered, raising her chin and throwing back her shoulders. “I’m an investigative reporter.”
Reed dragged his steely-eyed gaze from her smoke-smudged face and fixed it once more upon Allan. “And you came along to investigate with her, didn’t you?” he asked.
“She invited us along to see the annex.”
“Did you catch the man who started the fire?” Wren asked.
“Did you see anyone?” Reed countered.
Wren shook her head.
“How do I know one of you didn’t start the fire?” Reed demanded.
Allan gave a humorless laugh. “You know better than that, detective. Judith is here investigating a lead. Wren and I came along hoping to get more material for my biography of Dorothea Dix. Why would we want to burn the place down? We have no motive.”
“But there was someone inside the building other than the three of us,” Wren spoke up. “We heard him somewhere up on the third floor. We didn’t see him though. I think he was watching us, following us around. I don’t know whether he started the fire or not. He might have been a homeless person or a meth head—just curious about what we were doing in there.”
“But you didn’t actually see anyone?” Reed pressed.
Wren hadn’t seen anyone. Shadows didn’t count. And neither did intuition.
“How’d you know we were here?” Allan asked.
“A patrol officer noted your vehicles parked in the cemetery lot. He called in the plate numbers. Someone tipped off Torres. We figured you all were sticking your noses in where they don’t belong.”
“Research, detective,” Allan told him with a wry smile.
“Are we under arrest?” Judith asked brusquely. “Do I need to call my editor to get a lawyer? I have no intention of telling you who my sources are, so don’t bother to ask.”
Wren slid a withering glance in the reporter’s direction.
The abrasive woman was acting as if she wanted to be arrested. Maybe she did—it would be good publicity for her newspaper article and her book later on.
Torres, apparently observing Wren’s glare, gave her a half smile. “Miss Uravich, let’s step over here and you can tell me more about your…er…investigation.”
“You two stay put,” Reed ordered. He pointed two fingers, one at Allan and the other at Wren. “I’m not through with either of you yet.” He raised a hand and motioned for one of the paramedics to come over. “Let’s get you checked out, Mrs. Bergschneider. You could use some oxygen, I’ll bet, to clear out those lungs.”
“I’m all right,” she hastened to assure him. She was touched by his concern, nonetheless. W
ren declined the paramedic’s offer to examine her for injuries or burns, but she gratefully accepted the moist, disposable towel he provided. She wiped her face, hands, and the back of her neck, which was streaked with an amazing amount of dirty grit.
Allan took one too.
“Wait right there,” Reed told them. “Don’t move.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Allan assured him, wiping his hands on the damp towelette. When they were alone, he turned to Wren, clearing his throat before saying, “What I said back there, about you praying at the wrong time, I should have kept my mouth shut.” He added awkwardly, “I’m sorry. It was rude.”
His apology pleased Wren. She felt more than a little sorry for Allan. She had God and Pippi, Deb and Charlie, her parents in Ohio, Peter’s mother in Florida, and her church family. Allan had no one. “It’s all right, Allan, truly,” she reassured him. It was hard to be mad at the man now—especially since he’d taken her by the hand and led her to safety through the smoke-filled building. “There’s something I ought to show you.” Wren pulled a blue plastic rattle from her pocket, a blue ball with white stars sprinkled all over it. The handle, fragile with age, was partially broken.
Taking it, Allan shook it. He arched his eyebrows, recognizing the sound. “A baby’s rattle?”
“I think I’d better show it to Detective Reed, don’t you?”
“I guess you’d better,” Allan agreed. “Where did you find it?”
“At the bottom of the staircase when we ran into the detective,” she said. “I heard something rolling down the stairs. Later, I caught a glimpse of something in my flashlight beam. I bent down and picked it up when you told Detective Reed you were disoriented and couldn’t see the way out.” Glancing over at the two detectives, Wren lowered her voice. “Do you think Judith lured us to the annex for some reason other than helping her to explore the offices and maternity ward?”
“I don’t think so,” he replied, with a slow shake of his dark head.
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