Читать книгу Picture Of Perfection - Kristin Gabriel, Linda Randall Wisdom - Страница 8

Smoke.

Thick and black, it blinded Gillian as she stumbled toward the door, her arms outstretched to feel her way along the wall of her bedroom. The smoke filled her nostrils and throat, threatening to choke her. She tried not to breathe it in as she sought escape, her eyes burning and thick with tears.

Almost there.

She could hear glass breaking somewhere in the ranch house and a strange rumbling beneath her feet. There was only smoke and darkness in her second-floor bedroom, no flames to light her way. She imagined those hot flames licking the floor below her, like a ravenous beast consuming everything in its path. The image frightened her, making her long for the comforting arms of her parents.

She tried to call out for them, but smoke filled her lungs as soon as she opened her mouth. Her cry was lost in a fit of coughing that made her chest ache. Surrounded by the smoky darkness, she felt a sense of hopelessness begin to seep into her veins, making her body feel so heavy that it was difficult to move.

Where was the door?

It took all her strength to extend her arms over the wall as she searched for the door frame. She felt as if she’d already walked several miles rather than just the few feet that led from her bed to the hallway.

Had she gone in the wrong direction?

No, surely not. It wasn’t possible to get lost in your own bedroom, was it? She paused, indecision clogging her brain. She was so tired. She just wanted to lie down on her pink shag carpet and go to sleep again, but the desperate need for air kept pushing her forward.

Her next step landed on something small and soft. It emitted a mournful squeak as her foot pressed it against the floor. The sound came from Morris, her favorite teddy bear. Gillian bent down and snatched him up, reveling in the familiar feel of him. He was like a signpost in the night, telling her this dark, scary place really was her home.

She held the teddy bear tightly against her chest. Gillian couldn’t let Morris burn. She’d had him for ten years, ever since she was born. She had to save him.

She had to save her parents.

Gillian kept moving, her chest beginning to ache as she took short, shallow breaths to keep from inhaling too much of the poisonous air. At last her hand hit the wood frame of her door.

She moaned in relief as her fingers gripped the brass doorknob. It wasn’t hot. Relief gave her strength as she tugged it open and staggered into the hallway, clutching Morris with all her might.

Gillian fell to her knees and began to crawl, recalling some faraway instruction that she was supposed to do this in a fire. In truth, she simply didn’t have the strength to stand any longer.

That’s when she saw him, standing at the end of the hallway. She opened her mouth to shout to the man, but nothing came out.

She looked down at the teddy bear in her hands, pushing on his furry belly with all her might. Trying to make him squeak loud enough for the man to hear so he could help her.

Instead, Morris smiled up at her and said, “You’re too late.”

Gillian awoke with a start, gasping for breath. A soft yellow glow emanated from the night-light near her bedroom door. It took her a moment to realize that she was safe in her four-poster bed, not in a smoke-filled hallway.

Sweat drenched her white cotton nightgown. It stuck to her skin as she rose from the bed, panic still clutching her. She tried to breathe, but couldn’t seem to suck in any air.

It’s just the nightmare, she told herself. You’re all right.

A moment later, her chest relaxed and precious air poured into her lungs. She clung to the oak bedpost, gasping for more. That was the worst part of the nightmare—the sense that she was suffocating on smoke and couldn’t breathe. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the fact that her parents had probably experienced that same suffocating panic, that same desperate need to escape.

Only they hadn’t made it out of the house alive.

Gillian took a deep, calming breath as her anxiety began to ebb. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. The fire that had killed her parents and destroyed her home happened over twelve years ago. Why was she suddenly dreaming about it now? For the last few months she’d been plagued by this same nightmare almost every time she closed her eyes.

She tore off her sodden nightgown, then stood in front of the open bedroom window. She welcomed the cool breeze as it washed over her body. Combing her fingers through her long, damp hair, Gillian knew she wouldn’t be sleeping again tonight. That was the worst of it. After one of her nightmares, the adrenaline pumping through her veins made sleep impossible.

She turned toward her bed and looked uneasily at Morris, the teddy bear that lay propped on a pillow. Half of his tawny brown fur was gone and one black bead eye. He was the only thing she’d had left after the fire.

That and the nightmares that now plagued her.

This one had been particularly creepy. Morris had never talked to her in the dream before.

You’re too late. That eerie singsong voice kept echoing in her mind. She didn’t know what it meant.

Too late to save her parents? That was true.

Too late to save herself? No, she’d been saved. But she had no memory of their horse trainer, Ian Wiley, rescuing her from the house before it had burned to the ground. She had no memories of the fire at all except for this nightmare that kept plaguing her.

Gillian had been trying to put the past behind her for the last twelve years, concentrating on her art and looking toward the future. Only now the past was haunting her and she couldn’t seem to escape it.

Which left her with one choice. After all these years, maybe she finally had to stop running and walk back into the fire.