It would not budge.
Curt tried again, assuming he had lost his grip, but a second, then third attempt proved fruitless. Somehow, the handle had locked in place. He stood back, then kicked the door with force repeatedly. It still would not give.
The heat in the room was stifling. He could barely see as the smoke grew into a solid cloud. The harder he coughed, the more raw his throat became. He bent over, nearly succumbing to the lack of oxygen. He willed himself to rise, his chest aching, struggling mightily for each breath. Each inhale brought thick, deadly smoke into his lungs.
Curt turned toward the window and, with one hand keeping the shirt to his mouth, raised the Venetian blinds. Then he gripped the release lever at the bottom of one pane and lifted.
It wouldn’t budge. He tried again with all the force he could muster, yet it held firm. He tried the second window adjacent to the first with the same result. Both windows were stuck.
He was trapped.
In an agonizing effort of sheer determination, Curt dropped the tee shirt and felt his way through the snowy whiteness to his closet door. He drew in a deep inhale of smoke, and hacked again until he felt his face go flush. Then he swung the door open and somehow found the old aluminum baseball bat he had kept since high school. He pulled up, momentarily snagging it among the hanging clothes. With a tug, he ripped the bat free and staggered to the bedroom window. Barely able to stand, and coughing so badly that tears were streaming down his face, Curt reared the bat to the side and swung with all of his remaining strength, hoping that through his blurred vision he would strike the pane and break through.
Instead, the bat impacted the window frame, jarring it from his grasp and rattling to the floor. Curt lost his balance, and blackness consumed him.
****
Sixty minutes earlier Scott was home asleep at his empty house in Jacksonville. Empty, that is, except for Austin, who was nearly as much a child to Kay as Cody. If there had been any doubt as to Kay’s affection for the animal, it was cleared up earlier that night when she called from California, and her first question was to ask about the cat.
Scott woke at 2:48 a.m. to meowing and scraping. Through the darkness, he watched the solid blind swell, as if a balloon was underneath rolling from one end to the other. This was followed by rapid meows which escalated in volume. Austin was on the windowsill pacing.
“Austin! Stop!” Scott yelled, still half asleep.
The family cat ignored him as it generally did, and the chorus of meows continued.
Disgusted, Scott climbed out of bed. He went to the window and lifted the blind. Startled, Austin stopped and looked at him. Then the cat resumed his tempo, eying the dark front yard and street through the window.
It was dark outside, Scott realized; darker than usual. The streetlight across the way had burned out. He tried to recall if it had been on earlier that evening but could not remember.
Nevertheless, Austin seemed disturbed about something, and he lithely paced from one end of the windowsill to the other. His meows had dwindled to chatters now, still not conducive for sleep but better than before. Scott returned to bed, encouraged that Austin’s vigor had waned.
As soon as he climbed back under the sheets, Austin returned to full force, meowing louder than before, launching into a caterwaul that had the potential to raise the dead.
“You just lost bedroom privileges.” Scott rose again and pulled Austin from the window. He carried the cat to the bedroom door, tossed him into the hall, and closed the door. For a few seconds, Austin protested, scratching at the door. Then the meows ended.
“That’s better,” Scott said as he tumbled back into bed, enjoying silence once again.
It did not last.
Somewhere in another part of the house, Austin’s caterwauls resumed at the top of his lungs. Scott had never heard the cat go on for this long with such persistence. Did the animal miss Kay that much?
Scott tried to ignore it by burying his head under a pillow, but it was useless. The sound permeated the entire house. He got out of bed a third time, angry now. He walked into the hall, turned the light on, and proceeded into the living room, where he was surprised to find the cat under the blind at the large front window. Strangely, it was the first time Scott could recall Austin ever wedging himself there.
Something outside in the darkness had captured the cat’s attention; probably another cat or a roaming dog or maybe a small rodent in the front yard. The long blind bulged from one side to the other with Austin’s movement, and Scott went to the front door, stood on tiptoes, and looked through the window.
From what little he could see of the yard, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. He flicked the front porch light on and returned to the window, stretching up again to see.
A shadowy figure darted from his driveway and raced into the street. Headlights from a vehicle burst to life as a car’s engine cranked and a door slammed. The vehicle roared away, tires shrieking until they gripped. The sound of the motor quickly faded into the distance.
Stunned, Scott turned on the living room light. For a moment, he was indecisive about what to do. He went back into his bedroom, dressed, and went to the garage to grab a crowbar. He also found a flashlight and retrieved his cell phone from the kitchen.
Scott stepped outside. It was dead quiet. The moon was shrouded behind a veil of clouds. He stood on the front porch looking around, the flashlight beam roving across his front yard and into the street. In either direction, the street lamps glowed. It was only the light in front of his house that was out. Had it been broken out intentionally?
He turned and saw Austin pacing back and forth in the windowsill watching him, offering a single muted meow. Scott looked back toward the street. He moved slowly along the sidewalk leading to his driveway. Both his SUV and Kay’s Acura were parked in the driveway. They appeared untouched. His gut told him that the person he scared off was trying to steal one of the vehicles.
Scott examined the doors and windows of Kay’s car first. All appeared to be in order. A scurrying sound in the grass to the side of the driveway caused him to spin frantically. He aimed the flashlight to the ground but found nothing. His heartbeat notched up, and he gripped the crowbar nervously. When he was convinced the sound was not a threat, he continued to look at Kay’s vehicle. Satisfied it had not been tampered with, he moved to his Chevy Tahoe. It, too, appeared to be fine. All the windows were up and the doors locked. He walked to the rear, examined the tailgate, and found it secure as well.
It was possible thieves were looking to steal engine parts. He took a step toward the front of the vehicle then stopped when he spotted a tiny pool of fluid glistening underneath the back wheel well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Wednesday, August 17, 3:51 a.m. – St. Augustine, Florida
Sherri had gotten a call from Scott Marks fifteen minutes earlier. He had been trying to reach Curt unsuccessfully on both his home and cell phones. He was also unable to contact Marvin. Scott asked Sherri if she would go to Curt’s house to check on him. She could hear the concern in his voice, yet when she pressed him for information, he would not discuss it over the phone other than to assure her Curt’s life might be in danger. He promised to meet her at Curt’s house. Although she had only met the man that afternoon, she read something in Scott’s voice: a genuine concern for Curt’s safety. Sherri’s instincts told her not to waste time pushing for answers.
Sherri dressed, bound her hair in a ponytail, woke Tina and dressed her. Then they left the hotel, driving the quiet, empty streets of St. Augustine.
Minutes later, they neared Curt’s neighborhood.
Sherri gasped as she turned the corner and saw the yellow glow that filled the windows of Curt’s single-story residence. She accelerated, reached the front of his house, and slammed on the brakes. With shaking fingers, she awkwardly dialed 911 on her cell phone and rep
orted the fire. Then she turned to Tina, who was staring at the roof of the house where flames were peeking through.
Tina looked to her mother. “Is Mr. Curt okay?”
“Honey, Mommy’s going to go check. You stay in this car. I’m locking the doors. Don’t leave. You understand?” Her words came out breathlessly and sternly.
Tina nodded her affirmation.
“Don’t leave,” Sherri repeated as she leapt from the car. Once out, she used the remote to lock the doors. She ran to the front porch and tried the door knob, using her shirt like an oven mitt, but it was locked. She could feel the intense heat. Flames lapped through the door jam, and she could smell the pungent odor of burning wood.
“Curt! Are you in there?!” she screamed. The flames were too close for her to remain there, and she backed away.
She tore around to the left side of the house but was unable to see inside through the blinds that were drawn shut. The property had no fence, so she ran through the back yard, and found those windows too were shielded by blinds. Smoke was now pouring out of the roof as the fire stretched into the nighttime sky. The house appeared minutes away from being completely enveloped in flames.
“Curt!” Sherri screamed.
Now desperate, she continued circling to the other side of the house. Here she found one window where the blinds were open and a light was on. She cupped her hands on the hot glass and peered in, but the room was filled with smoke and nearly impossible to see through. Slowly her eyes adjusted, and she made out the bed and nightstand.
There was a mass on the ground in the shape of a body.
“Oh my God! Curt! Can you hear me?!”
The figure did not move.
“Curt!” She clawed at the screen with her nails and was able to snatch the framed screen completely away. She tried to push open the windows, but they would not give. The glass was too hot to keep her hands pressed to it. She anxiously looked around for anything to break through. The only object nearby was a garden hose. She doubted it would do the trick.
In the distance, she heard the wail of sirens. She turned back to look inside the burning room. There was no time to waste. Curt would be burned alive before rescue arrived. She had to get him out now.
Sherri raced back to the front porch where the door was on fire, burning with a sickening crackle and pop. She reached down and picked up the stumpy stone frog statue Tina had commented on the day before. It had bulk, and she strained to lift it.
She laboriously toted it back around to Curt’s bedroom window. Fire had invaded the room, and charred debris was dripping from the ceiling, which was only moments away from flashing and lighting the bed on fire. Curt remained motionless on the floor.
Sherri took several steps away from the window. With all the energy she could muster, she raised the frog overhead. Without hesitation, she ran toward the window and heaved the frog statue. The statue struck the window, crashing through and sending shards of glass spraying inward. Smoke instantly escaped through the opening. She knocked out the last piece of glass still stuck in the frame and lifted herself to the windowsill. Taking a deep breath and holding it, she swung over into the room, falling onto the floor.
Outside, the wail of the sirens increased as the engines neared.
The heat was otherworldly. Breath was knocked from her lungs when she landed on the floor. When she did recover, the smoke sent her into a coughing fit. She strained to crawl over to Curt, remaining low. “Curt! Are you hurt? Curt! We’ve got to get out!”
He still did not move. She feared he was already dead.
The room suddenly ignited in light. The bed was ablaze. Hot ashes rained down upon them as the smoke draped over their bodies. The raging fire licked along the walls and ceiling.
She jostled him hard. “Curt! Get up!”
A gurgling noise emanated from his throat, then his eyes flew open, and he began coughing uncontrollably. A look of confusion spread across his face.
“Thank…God,” she said, choking on the thick white air.
Sherri coughed again and helped him up. She could barely see the window through watering eyes. Awkwardly, the two lumbered toward it. Curt’s shirt sleeve caught fire, and Sherri quickly patted it out using a tee shirt she retrieved from the floor. The smoke continued to stream out through the open window causing both to cough hoarsely as they reached it.
To Sherri’s elation, two firemen arrived at the window and assisted Curt through. Then a third fireman helped Sherri out just as the bedroom ceiling gave way and collapsed, crushing everything in the room with a torturous crash. The impact forced a massive cloud of thick, black smoke out through the window as if the house had just sneezed.
****
Curt opened his eyes to a flurry of noise. He could hear men shouting and the steady churn of what sounded like a waterfall. He looked up to see a starry sky, but a drift of white was stuttering past and marring his view. His throat ached, and his eyes stung as he tried to wipe the pain away with his hands. His mouth was covered with a mask, and he realized he was being fed oxygen. He pulled the mask away.
“Curt, are you okay?” It was a female voice he recognized. He pulled his hands away from his eyes, and a dirty, blackened face appeared, hovering closely over him. It took a moment to realize it was Sherri Falco. She smiled, brushing her long red bangs back over her ears. Scott was suddenly kneeling beside her.
“You scared the crap out of us, man,” Scott said.
Curt suddenly remembered what had happened. “My house?”
Scott shook his head back and forth sadly.
“Damn.” Curt rolled to his side and sat up with Scott’s and Sherri’s assistance. He was on a stretcher in the grass. He coughed once, then again.
“Paramedics are nearby,” Scott said.
“I don’t need them. Nothing’s broken.” He ran a hand over his bristly light-brown hair. It was caked with a gritty substance. Ash and soot, he realized. He rubbed his eyes again. He looked to the house, engulfed in flames, with a dozen firemen surrounding it working feverishly. To his side, two fire tankers were parked in the street. There were four, long arching streams of water being shot from fire hoses into the blaze, but Scott was right. It was too late. His house was already a total loss.
Curt lowered his head. It was too painful to watch. “I thought I was going to die. How’d I get out?”
Scott stood and looked over at Sherri. “You would have been dead if it wasn’t for this woman. She broke the window and got you out.”
Sherri smiled. “Tina’s not going to be happy with me. I sacrificed your stone frog.”
Curt gave a beleaguered smile, and it made him cough yet again.
He looked up at Sherri’s black, smudged face. She truly was an angel. “I don’t know what to say....but...thank you for saving my life.”
“Figures,” Scott bemoaned as he started walking away. “You get saved by a beautiful woman. I get saved by our family cat.”
Curt gave Sherri a puzzled look, which she returned. “Don’t ask me,” Sherri said. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
Just then, a paramedic came over to tend to Curt.
****
Even though she had already been back to the car to check on her daughter, and a fireman was now keeping watch over her, Sherri took the opportunity to go see Tina. When a female reporter for the local newspaper tried to catch her attention, Sherri kept walking.
“Excuse me, ma’am?...Ma’am?” the reporter ran after Sherri.
Sherri turned.
“Can you tell us exactly what happened? Did you really save that man…Mr…um…?” the reporter looked at her notes, obviously searching for the victim’s name.
“His name is Dr. Curt Lohan,” Sherri said in a tired voice.
The reporter gave Sherri a sidelong look. “Curt Lohan? The local archaeologist?”
Sherri nodded.
“I’ve been meaning to ask him, is he related to—”
“No,” Sherri cut her off and climbed in the car before the reporter could ask another question.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Wednesday, August 17, 9:32 a.m. – St. Augustine, Florida
“How did you know your brake line had been cut?” Curt asked, as he toweled off his hair. He was wearing crisp new blue jeans and a stark white tee shirt Scott and Sherri had bought for him at the store. It was his only attire besides the smoke-laden clothes he had been wearing when he escaped his burning house. Sherri had transferred everything from the pockets of his dirty pants to his blue jeans.
After being interviewed by the fire department, and after a brief interview with several reporters—one who just had to bring up the “gunpowder magazine curse”—Curt had rented a room in the Radisson several doors down from Sherri’s and Tina’s room. Fortunately, his Mustang had been far enough away in the driveway that it did not suffer any fire damage, and although his keys were still somewhere amid the ashes of his house, Curt had a duplicate key stashed in his wallet.
Scott sat to the side of the hotel room bed at the small table. “I have Austin to thank. He woke me up by meowing nonstop in the window. I saw a figure run out of the driveway and jump into a car. I went outside to check our vehicles and found brake fluid on the pavement underneath the wheels of my Tahoe. It was a slow leak, but given that I was driving the highway to St. Augustine today, I could have easily been killed. Fortunately, they left Kay’s car alone, or maybe I scared them off before they got to it.”
Sherri thought a moment and said, “With the brake line barely cut, if you had crashed, it probably would have appeared accidental. That’s like something straight out of a CSI episode.”
Death in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 1) Page 16