Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #4: Books 13-16 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (best ereader for academics .txt) 📕

ambulance on the way that will take her to hospital, and Samuel, you had better pray she comes through, or you are in serious trouble. You are coming with me to the station. We have a lot of talking to do.”

Samuel swallowed. “To the police station?”

His father struggled onto one elbow, his mouth gaping. “I can’t go to the station. I’m sick. I have angina… You can’t.”

“Your physician will be there. You can and you will. Both of you.” Outside, I could hear sirens wailing far away, but drawing closer, and I knew Dehan had called for backup as well as an ambulance. I pointed at Samuel. “You, get your dad dressed and ready to come to the station. Do it now.” I pointed at his dad. “You, don’t move from this room.”

I followed Samuel to the bottom of the stairs and watched him climb them to the upper floor, looking at me over his shoulder. He still looked crazy, but like maybe he was calming down. I turned and leaned out the front door. The ambulance had pulled up and two patrol cars with it. Blue and red lights were pulsing, leaping off the wet blacktop. I turned back to look up the stairs.

Samuel was standing, looking down at me. He reminded me of his sister before. His legs were illuminated by the dull, gray light from the open door, but his upper body and his face was in darkness. I could see he had a bundle of clothes held in his right hand, but he was standing immobile. I said, “Come on, Samuel. Cut the crazy act and let’s get moving.”

He came down the stairs one heavy tread at a time, but stopped right in front of me, staring deep into my eyes. He said, “You don’t understand. She came from Satan. She brought evil to this house. She had to die.”

“Who did, Samuel? Celeste? Are you telling me that you killed Celeste?”

He shook his head and said again, “You don’t understand.”

He moved along the hall and stopped as he opened his father’s door. “I’m going to dress my father.”

“Make it fast, Samuel.”

He went in and closed the door.

I looked outside again and saw Dehan talking to the paramedics. They had a gurney they were wheeling toward the ambulance. I squinted and saw that Helen’s head was not covered. She was alive. They lifted the gurney into the ambulance, climbed in and closed the door. Then the ambulance was moving, wailing, heading toward the hospital.

Dehan approached the cops from the patrol cars, pointing up and down the road. I figured she was telling them to seal the area. Crime Scene would be on their way, but not, thankfully, Frank. This time, I told myself, nobody had died.

I turned and looked back at the door that had once been the living room door, but was now the old man’s bedroom door. There was silence. The whole damned house was silent. I wondered for a moment what it had been like for Celeste, a bright, intelligent young woman, imprisoned in this house, damned and condemned every day for having killed her mother, for being young, attractive and free of spirit; assaulted verbally, insulted, humiliated and damned to hell for wanting to experience life and love. There was no need to send her to hell, I told myself. She must already have been there.

Then the scream came. It was a scream, and a wail of grief and fear. I ran for the door and tried to push it open. It was locked. I hurled myself against it with my shoulder, kicked savagely at the latch. It wouldn’t budge. Then I saw the smoke curling under the crack and shouted, “Stand back! Stand away from the door!” as I pulled my piece for the second time that afternoon, took aim at the lock and fired. Then I kicked the door again and it smashed open.

The old man was curled up in the bed, covering his face with his arms, screaming and howling. Samuel was with him, clutching at him. He seemed to be trying to embrace him. His face was twisted with terror, but his voice was weirdly reassuring as he said over and over, “It’s going to be OK, Daddy! We’re going to heaven with Mom! We did the right thing! This is the right thing. We’ll be OK now…”

And all around the room flames flickered, billowing toxic smoke. They licked up the curtains, they smoldered in the arm chair, they made small explosions as they engulfed the sofa, and crackled and surged with blue flames as they crawled rapidly up the legs of the dining table and chairs. There was a soft roar of flames that grew louder as the room was steadily consumed.

I saw this all in a fraction of a second, and then I saw that the flames were creeping onto the bedcovers. I knew then that within minutes, the whole wooden house would be in flames, and I knew that within seconds, anybody in that room would be dead, first suffocated and then incinerated.

I ran in.

NINETEEN

I ripped the covers off the bed and grabbed the old man with both hands by the scruff of his neck. He was heavy, heavier than I had expected. Like all the Reynolds, he was big. Billowing smoke was filling the room, belching from the drapes and the upholstery on the furniture, snaking from the varnished wood. I heaved again and dragged Reynolds toward me. He clawed at my arms and my shoulders, wailing incoherent noises and coughing violently.

I heaved at him a third time. He seemed impossibly heavy. My lungs were demanding air. Then I saw that Samuel was across the bed, dragging at his father, screaming at him, “No, Daddy! You have to stay! This is our redemption! We have to be punished!”

The heat was