Midnight Whispers (Cutler 4)

"There's Mother," Melanie said, pointing to where Aunt Bet stood with some people, but I didn't see Mommy or Daddy beside her, nor did I see Uncle Philip. I imagined they were with the fire chief. My heart sank, realizing how terrible they all must be feeling. What a horrible thing to have happen just before our summer season.

"Wow!" Jefferson whispered, his face filled both with awe and fear.

"What happened?" Julius asked the policeman who was directing traffic to the side.

"A boiler blew up in the basement and the fire spread quickly. That part of the hotel is quite old and had no sprinkler system," he added, smirking. "By the time the fire department could get up here, the fire had a good hold on the place."

"Where are my parents?" I wondered aloud now. No matter where I looked, I didn't see them. "Julius, take us closer."

"Yes," Richard commanded, sounding years older than he was. "Quickly."

"I have the owner's children with me," Julius explained to the patrolman.

"You can't drive any closer. You will have to park here," the policeman ordered, "and stay behind the lines."

Julius pulled over but almost before he came to a stop, I grabbed Jefferson's hand in mine and thrust open the car door. I pulled my little brother out behind me and shot across the road.

"Christie, wait!" Julius cried, but I couldn't listen to him or anyone. I was aware that Jefferson was gripping my hand tightly, but other than that, I could think of or see nothing but the fire.

I found Mrs. Bradly off to the side with other members of the staff, but not my parents. She was embracing herself and sobbing, her face streaked with tears and soot. I gazed around frantically, and still I didn't see Mommy or Daddy. Where were they? My heart began to pound harder and faster and my stomach felt like dozens of moths were loose inside and flapping their paper-thin wings.

"Where's my mother?" I screamed. "Where's my daddy?"

Some people heard me, but no one spoke. Mrs. Bradly simply began crying harder.

"Hey! Stop!" a fireman cried as we ducked under the first set of security lines to charge up the lawn. Ashes danced in the air and the flames were so intense, we could feel the heat. Firemen were screaming to each other and pulling hoses this way and that, but the flow of water coming out of them seemed to have no effect. Defiantly, arrogantly, the flames snapped and spread, greedily eating through curtains and furniture. I could practically see it rushing down the corridors, licking and biting into every possible corner, a hot, burning, ravaging animal of hell consuming all that was once beautiful and historic, tearing down pictures and walls, sending chandeliers crashing into floors. Nothing could stand in the way of this fire or slow its relentless onslaught.

Impatient, I pulled Jefferson along and went around to the far corner where I finally saw Uncle Philip standing by himself. His normally neat hair was wild. He had taken of his sports jacket and tie and his eyes looked so ablaze, it was as if the fire had gotten into him as well. Either he was mumbling to himself or he thought someone stood beside him.

"UNCLE PHILIP!" I cried, running toward him.

He looked at me, but he didn't speak. He seemed not to recognize me. His mouth moved spasmodically, but he didn't say anything. He looked up at the fire again and then at me, shaking his head.

"Where's Mommy, Uncle Philip? Where's Daddy?" I desperately demanded.

"Where's my Mommy?" Jefferson chorused, his tears flowing harder. He pulled himself closer to me and looked up at Uncle Philip.

"Uncle Philip!" I screamed when he simply continued to stare at the fire, hypnotized by the flames and activity. He turned slowly this time and gazed at me for a long moment. Then, he smiled.

"Dawn," he said, "you're all right. Thank God."

"Uncle Philip, it's me, Christie. I'm not my mother," I replied, astounded. He blinked quickly and then his smile faded like smoke.

"Oh," he uttered, bringing his hand to his cheek. He looked toward the fire again. "Oh."

"Where are they, Uncle Philip?" I asked, much more desperately. Tears were streaming down my cheeks now and my throat ached from the smoke. The horrid odor from the burning hotel turned my stomach, and the heat from the towering flames fell over us so intensely it was as if we had fallen into the hottest summer day ever.

"Where are they?" he repeated. I nodded. He shook his head in bewildered fashion.

"Where?" I screamed and tugged hard on his arm. It drew him out of his daze.

"Jimmy . . . was in the basement when the boiler exploded," he said. "The fire shot up the stairways and through the heat and air ducts. It popped out of every grate and the floor in the card room collapsed," he recited.

"Where's Mommy?" I asked in a whisper.

"I ran around getting everyone out, shouting, pulling, helping the older people. I think everyone's out."

"Mommy and Daddy are all right?" I asked, smiling hopefully through my tears.