Texas Born (51 page)

The waves of intense heat were unbearable;
everything shimmered as though seen through rippled glass. She
heard a sudden Whoosh! and spun her head to her right. She let out
a drawn-out whimper. Dancing dervishes of flame were flicking at
one of the curtains; then it caught fire, a pillar of flame
shooting ferociously up the fabric, all the way to the ceiling.

'Oh, God!' She shielded her face with her
arms against the heat. 'I'm going to die,' she whispered to
herself, her teeth chattering noisily. 'My baby and I both are
going to die!' As if to emphasize this fact, she felt a sharp,
violent kick within her belly.

She buried her face in her hands, the tears
streaming down her cheeks. 'Oh, my God, my God, we're both going to
die the horrible death of my nightmares!'

And then, above the hideous roaring and
furious crackling, she heard another sound. A high-pitched staccato
series of laughs.

'Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!
'

It was a musical laugh, a well-modulated
scale rippling up and down the register.

Slowly she let her hands drop. Now even more
terror seized her in its grip.

Jenny!
That was her voice.
She
was somewhere close by.

Elizabeth-Anne turned her face toward the
door, forcing herself to look across the floor of fire. Behind the
flames, out in the relative safety of the hallway, stood Jennifer
Sue Sexton. Her face and body shimmered in the radiant waves of
heat like some terrible yellow-and-red mirage.

Elizabeth-Anne looked desperately around for
an avenue of escape. Somehow she had to get out of this inferno . .
. had to escape this terrible madness while there was still
time.

' 'Lizbeth-Anne . . .' Jenny singsonged in a
clear, mellifluous voice. 'You're going to die!'

'Nooooo!' The scream burst forth from
Elizabeth-Anne, the very cry of fear and terror which had been
welling up inside her even while she had been asleep. Now it burst
powerfully from within her, and with it she somehow gained the
power of movement. Gone now was the paralysis of terror. She
scrambled about the bed on her hands and knees like a caged animal
seeking escape.

The window! I have to get to the window! The
porch roof slopes down outside it, and I can slide off it, jumping
down to the safety of Main Street! Yes, the window . . .

. . . No, not the window! Not with the baby
I'm carrying. The impact of the jump would surely kill or damage
the unborn child as surely as if I remained trapped in this room
and we both burned to death.

'Oh, sweet baby Jesus,' she prayed, 'I can't
even jump out the window! I don't even know if . . . if I have the
courage to cross that burning floor!'

Jenny smiled crookedly across the room at
her.

'I've been waiting for this!' she sang. 'Oh,
but how
badly
I've been waiting for this!'

'You're mad!' Elizabeth-Anne sobbed in a
choked voice. 'You're a lunatic! Why didn't we all see it before?
You're stark, raving
mad!
'

'So I'm mad, am I?' Jenny chortled gleefully,
her eyes flashing. 'Well, I know what you're going to be shortly! A
pile of ashes! You and that precious baby of yours!' Her hysterical
peals of laughter reverberated above the roar of the flames . . .
seemed to fan them . . . seemed to intensify the hideous
devilishness of the nightmare Elizabeth-Anne was living.

'I've got to get out!
' Elizabeth-Anne
repeated over and over to herself in a desperate murmur.
'Somehow I've got to get out of here!
'

'You were always afraid of fire, weren't
you,' 'Lizbeth-Anne?' Jenny taunted. 'Oh, it's a fitting end for
you, isn't it? Poetic, I'd say.'

'Oh, God!' Elizabeth-Anne whimpered,
thrusting one hand in her mouth. 'Oh, God!' Her eyes darted about
wildly. Only the bed was not yet a sea of fire, but she knew it was
only a matter of seconds before it, too, would erupt into flames.
And then what? She scrabbled around the mattress, her hair falling
down over her face, her eyes wild with fear. She couldn't jump out
the window to safety; she couldn't even gather up the courage to
jump off the bed, race to the door, and go rushing out. She
couldn't!
Not through fire. Anything but fire.

This can't be happening
, she screamed
silently to herself.
No! It can't be! I'm dreaming. It's an
extension of my nightmares. That's all it is!

At that very moment the first tongues of
flame shot up around the bed, gorging themselves on the sheets.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pounded her
forehead with her fists.
'I've got to wake up! I've got to wake
up!''

' 'Lizbeth-Anne,' Jenny sang liltingly, 'it's
not going to help you to shut your eyes. 'Lizbeth-Anne, you're
going to
burn!
'

Elizabeth-Anne clapped her hands over her
ears. 'Stop it!' she screamed, shaking her head furiously. 'Stop
it, stop it, stop it!'

'How does it feel, 'Lizbeth-Anne? Is it
hot?
Is it
smoky?
Do you smell your burning flesh
yet? Is it like it was with the circus?'

'Stop it!'

'Oh, no, 'Lizbeth-Anne. This is far, far too
precious. And look, you're not the only one who's going to burn.
You're not going to be alone. Look here, 'Lizbeth-Anne! Look at
what Jenny's got!'

Elizabeth-Anne slowly opened her eyes. They
were stinging and gritty from all the smoke. She gazed at Jenny
through the haze of tears.

'See what I got, 'Lizbeth-Anne?' Jenny held
up a can. '' More
kerosene!
''

'Help me, Jenny!' Elizabeth-Anne pleaded, one
hand clutching her belly, the other one reaching out in despair.
'Oh, God, Jenny, please help me get out of here!'

Jenny laughed scornfully. 'Oh, no, you're
going to
burn!
You and that precious baby you're carrying!
See you later, 'Lizbeth-Anne.' She gave a little wave of her
fingertips. 'I've got to finish what I've started. I've got to go
douse the bedroom of that sweet little litter of yours. Three of
them, aren't there? All peacefully asleep, I noticed.'

Despite the roasting heat, Elizabeth-Anne
felt an icy, sickening panic shuddering through her bones. Jenny
was not only going to kill her—she was after the girls too! Somehow
she had to protect them from this maddened, murderous creature.

The rushing of her blood and the pounding of
her heart screamed through her body. Forgotten for the moment were
the floor of fire and the flames roaring angrily up the walls. She
knew what she had to do. The mother instinct in her was aroused,
and more than blood now pumped through her veins. The adrenaline
rushed potently through her too.

With a cry of rage Elizabeth-Anne flung
herself off the bed just as it went up in flames. She hurled
herself toward the open door, snatching up the first weapon which
caught her eye—Auntie's silver hairbrush lying on the dressing
table. She was not even aware of how much heat the handle had
absorbed. She only knew that somehow—by whatever means were at her
disposal—she had to stop Jenny, and quickly. She had to protect her
children. Nothing else mattered.

Jenny's mouth hung wide with surprise as
Elizabeth-Anne leapt through the flames, the brush held high. Then
it came arcing down with all the force and lightning speed
Elizabeth-Anne could muster. Jenny saw it coming, but too late. She
let out a shriek as the brush slammed down on her skull. Then her
eyes rolled upward in their sockets and she crumpled to the floor,
her hands letting go of the big square tin of kerosene. It thumped
down to the floor beside her.

Elizabeth-Anne raced down the hall to the
children's room.
'Regina! 'Becca! Charlotte-Anne!
'' she
screamed at the top of her lungs. And she told herself to
hurry.

To hurry before the fire spread even more,
cutting off their escape . . .

. . . before the can of kerosene Jenny
dropped got so hot it would explode.

The girls were already awake, jolted from
their sleep by her screams. They were sitting up in their beds,
clutching the covers against their necks. The moment she flung open
their door, they saw the flickering orange hallway outside and
stared at her with open- mouthed terror.

'Come
on!
' Elizabeth-Anne screamed at
them. 'What are you waiting for!'

At once they scrambled obediently out of bed.
She shepherded them quickly down the hall, past the blazing
conflagration that was her bedroom, past Jenny, who was lying on
the floor moaning, shaking her head fuzzily. Their footsteps
drummed a rapid tattoo down the stairs.

From upstairs came a mighty crash, and the
entire building shook. Chunks of plaster rained down on them.
Rebecca glanced up with a terrified expression.

'Hurry!' Elizabeth-Anne screamed.

Suddenly, miraculously, they were outside on
the porch. The night felt invigorating, fresh, and cool. Coughing
and gasping, they stumbled into the middle of Main Street, skirting
Jenny's big new Cadillac, fire- engine-red and gleaming, which was
parked right outside the café. They bent over and breathed deep,
noisy, grateful lungfuls of air.

Never before had fresh air tasted quite so
rich and sweet.

Elizabeth-Anne coded her arms around the
girls and pulled them close. They stood huddled together, gazing up
at the top floor of the café, their chins raised, their
sweat-soaked faces flickering.

'Mama? Why doesn't the fire engine come?'
Rebecca cried quietly.

'It will, darling, but I'm afraid it's too
late,' Elizabeth-Anne whispered. She shook her head, overcome with
an indescribable, inconsolable sadness.

The entire top floor was now a fiery pyre, an
inferno of wind-whipped flames, and as she watched, a flaming
timber beam crashed down to the ground floor with a massive shower
of yellow sparks. The first floor started catching fire too, the
old dry timbers of the house feeding the greedily roaring flames,
bathing Main Street with the blinding, flickering glare of a
noonday sun. Everything reflected the fire. The mirrorlike finish
of Jenny's car, the windows of the rooming house across the street.
From everywhere, people came running out of doors, and a crowd
swiftly began to gather, staring up at the blazing fire as if
mesmerized. In the distance, the clanging of the fire engine could
be heard, but the loudest noise was that of the raging fire
itself.

Elizabeth-Anne shook her head wearily. In
there, amid the holocaust, were all her family belongings, every
precious trifle and treasure, every photograph and bibelot, every
love letter Zaccheus had ever given her—the fire was consuming it
all with a marked disregard for financial and sentimental value.
The sense of loss she felt was immeasurable, and a lone tear
streaked down her cheek, the salt coolness making her scorched face
smart as if it were on fire. She sniffed and then wrinkled her
nose; she could smell the revolting odor of her own singed
hair.

She tightened her lips, suddenly angry with
herself. Her hair would grow back. Furniture and property could be
replaced. Things which were destroyed were not really lost—she
would forever treasure them in her memory. What mattered was that
she and the girls were alive. That was
all
that mattered.
Everything else was replaceable.

A sudden murmur swept through the crowd, and
Elizabeth-Anne turned quickly to look. A long gleaming white
Packard was pulling up on the other side of the street, its white
headlights cutting a wide swath. She recognized the car instantly;
so did everyone else. It was Tex Sexton's.

The car door slammed and Sexton got out. He
glanced up at the inferno. Then he noticed his wife's Cadillac
parked in front of the blazing café, and he craned his neck as if
looking around for somebody. Then quickly he rushed at the crowd,
pushing aside people, peering closely into the women's faces,
shaking others by their clothes. Elizabeth-Anne could hear his
voice rising:
'Jenny! Jenny!
Have you seen my wife? Have
you? Where is my wife?
Jenny!
'

Elizabeth-Anne closed her eyes.

Suddenly a gasp swept through the crowd.
Somebody began to scream; someone else pointed to the roof of the
café. The first scream was followed by another, and yet another.
Then a dead silence descended on the onlookers. Back lighted by the
fire, a lone figure was silhouetted on the roof, dashing about
madly, laughing hysterically.

'Oh, my God!' Elizabeth-Anne whispered in
agony, her lips trembling. 'Oh, my God, it's Jenny!'

She buried her face in her hands. 'Not again!
Must I witness a horrible death by fire again!'

'Jenny!
' Tex Sexton's voice boomed out
resonantly.
'Jenny! Come down from there!
'

Jenny staggered about, arms outstretched,
fingers splayed, as if she were trying to ward off the intense
heat. 'If you want me to come down, you'll have to come and get
me!' she sang out.

Sexton looked around desperately. 'Go in
there, somebody!' he yelled. 'Go in and save her! I'll give a
thousand dollars to the man who goes in and saves her!'

The crowd suddenly turned their heads
away.

'You! I'll give you two thousand!' Sexton
shook the man nearest him, but the man turned away wordlessly.

'Save her!' he implored someone else, but he,
too, turned away.

'Isn't there a man here who wants to earn ten
thousand dollars!'

Still no one spoke. Finally Tex took a deep
breath. Then he dashed to the house. There was a scream of agony
and then he was through the flames, fighting his way inside.

It was at that very moment that the can of
kerosene exploded and the house collapsed in upon itself. Everyone
drew back as the boiling, flaming timbers came crashing down, one
after the other, throwing showers of sparks hundreds of feet up in
the air.