Rebecca's Ghost by Marianne Petit

Author:Marianne Petit
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, romance, suspense, paranormal, historical, tremaroli, long island authors, southern historical
Publisher: Marianne Petit

Chapter Fifteen

His son. Dear God. His son.

“William!” Frantically his gaze darted around the scalding room. Blazing heat seared his skin. Blinding, thick smoke stung his eyes and burnt his throat. He coughed.

Again, he called to his son. But all he could hear above the roar was the frenzied pounding of his heart.

Fear immobilized his mind. Fear that her words were true and his son’s life hung on his ability to find him.

He raised his arm to shield his eyes.

Flames danced along the window sconce from one heavy drapery to the other, then crept their way down toward the floor. Shimmering golden sparks popped as they came in contact with tasseled rugs. Igniting paper crackled, then shriveled to ashes.

Indistinguishable sounds gushed in from the hallway, battering him.

His heart pounded.

He glanced over his shoulder.

The doorframe looked like a gaping wall of fire and ‘twould serve as no means of escape.

Buckets of water were being thrown in from the hall. Splashes hit the back of his legs.

Hissing smoke rose from the charred floor boards.

Thank God, he had not changed into his nightclothes and still wore his boots. Already the soles of his feet felt warm.

A heated blast of flames erupted beside him.

Panic drove a rush of blood through his veins; set his body in motion. With long purposeful strides, he pushed himself deeper into the room where the flames had not yet gathered.

Smoke from behind him, wafted at his back. Creeping amber devils worked their way toward him.

Remembering Elizabeth’s words, he glanced around. In the far corner of the room where the flames had yet to gather, he spotted the clawed table.

“William!” He darted toward the long table and flung himself down on the floor as an exploding blast of heat and flames shot above him.

At the far end, tucked into a ball, William looked up and stared at him. His son’s wide eyes had a faraway look in them. His stone-faced expression appeared frozen with shock; remembered shock, reminiscent of another fire.

“Son. I am here. There is no cause for alarm.” He slid closer and reached out his shaking hand.

Would the boy bolt at his touch? Would he throw a tantrum and thus become uncontrollable to handle?

Philip’s eyes teared from the smoke as he stared at his son, willing him to take his hand.

The heaviness in his lungs constricted his chest. The smoke seemed to suck his body dry and strangle his throat.

Slowly, though he knew time was short, he moved closer and stretched out his arm.

Would his son grab his hand? Would he bolt from his hiding place and be engulfed in flames?

Fear imprisoned Philip as ferocious as the smoldering embers spreading like orange serpents in his direction. His fingers shook more intensely.

William didn’t move.

The fire did. Closer and closer, hopping from one window frame to the other the inferno spread.

Philip glanced to the unlocked window not far from William. If he hurried and his son cooperated, there was hope for escape.

Above the roaring flames, he heard William cough. He heard

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