Chapter 18 - The House on Blackwood Road
The old Vale house had been empty for sixteen years.
Adrian remembered Christmas mornings there. His father’s office. His mother’s piano. A long staircase he used to slide down in socks.
Now smoke curled from the second-floor windows.
“Fire department is three minutes out,” Ortiz said.
Adrian was already running.
Claire grabbed his coat. “No.”
“Vanessa’s inside.”
“And you have a son.”
He looked at her.
For one brutal second, every choice hurt.
Then a figure appeared at an upstairs window.
Vanessa.
She slammed both hands against the glass.
Adrian ran.
Claire cursed and followed until Ortiz physically stopped her.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, smoke filled the foyer.
“Vanessa!”
A muffled scream came from upstairs.
Adrian pulled his shirt over his mouth and climbed.
The hallway burned near his father’s old study.
Vanessa was tied to a radiator in the guest room.
“Adrian!”
He kicked the half-closed door open.
“Where’s Richard?”
“I don’t know. He left me.”
Adrian cut the rope with a shard of broken glass.
A beam crashed in the hallway.
Vanessa started sobbing. “I’m sorry.”
“Save it for outside.”
They moved toward the stairs.
Fire blocked the landing.
Adrian turned toward the rear balcony.
The old French doors were jammed.
He threw a chair through the glass.
Cold air rushed in.
Firefighters shouted from below.
Vanessa climbed first.
A ladder rose.
Then Adrian heard something from the study.
A cough.
He looked back.
“Adrian, no!” Vanessa screamed.
He ran toward the sound.
Richard lay on the floor beside Thomas Vale’s old desk.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
Adrian dragged him by the shoulders.
Richard opened his eyes.
“Why?” he rasped.
Adrian coughed. “Why what?”
“Why save me?”
“Because I’m not you.”
They reached the balcony as flames rolled across the ceiling.
Firefighters pulled them down.
On the lawn, Claire ran to Adrian and hit him once in the chest before wrapping both arms around him.
“You idiot.”
“I know.”
“You absolute idiot.”
“I know.”
Then she kissed him.
Not romantic.
Not yet.
Terrified. Angry. Alive.
Behind them, police placed Richard on a stretcher.
His hand caught Adrian’s sleeve.
“Your father left one more thing,” he whispered.
Adrian leaned close.
May you like
Richard smiled weakly.
“A confession with your mother’s signature.”
