Книга Monday Mourning — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

My thoughts shifted to Anne. I’m so very sorry, Annie. So stupid and so sorry. I should never have involved you.

An acrid smell began filling the air.

Dear God!

“Run, Tawny!” I screamed. “Get out!”

I wrenched and writhed, chest burning, pain cartwheeling through my head.

In minutes, Pomerleau was back, face etched with, what? Elation? Joy?

“The neighbors will call 911,” I shrieked. “You won’t get far.”

“You’ll be dead from the smoke.”

Pomerleau struck a match, and watched the small flame sputter and blossom.

“See you in Candyland.”

Her wrist flicked.

I heard a loud whup, felt heat behind me, then saw the room dance in flickering orange light.

37

THE FLASH OF FLAME WITHERED AFTER THE OPENING BURST, BUT choking black smoke began filling the room.

I couldn’t get to my feet. The ropes held me twisted backward, ankles bound to wrists. I rolled back up onto my knees.

My eyes burned. My throat grew raw. Though heat was building, my body shook. This fire would not burn itself out. I had to get away or die.

I tried to think but my mind was drifting, bringing up fearful images from other places, other days.

Chalky white bones in a woodstove. A carbonized skeleton in a burned-out basement. Two blackened bodies in a charred Cessna.

“Cut the crap, Brennan!” I shouted aloud. “Think!”

I drew a series of shallow breaths, coughed, repeated the litany.

“Think!” I yelled again.

My stomach heaved. I swallowed, spoke loudly again, this time to Tawny.

“Tawny! Can you hear me?”

Fire sizzled and popped behind me.

“Tawny!” I yelled again.

Back on my side, flexing and extending my hips and knees, I slithered across the carpet, each thrust wrenching my shoulder and abrading my face.

I was on my third push when a banshee shrieking rose from the armchair.

I froze, every hair upright on my neck and arms.

“Tawny!”

The keening continued, one high-pitched note of panic.

Mother of God! Was she burning?

“Tawny, can you walk?” I shouted.

The wailing faltered, gave way to coughing.

“Steady, soldier,” I said more to myself than to Tawny. “I’m coming.”

Three more thrusts and my body struck the chair. Gasoline and dust felt thick on my skin.

“Cover your mouth,” I panted, as loudly as I could. “If you can, get down on the floor.”

The coughing grew frenzied.

Pushing up against the chair with my shoulder, I rolled back onto my knees and tried to rock it again and again.

“Tawny! Get down!” I screamed.