Completely still.
Too still.
Had she passed out from the smoke? From invisible gas?
Please don’t leave me.
The words filled my mind like déjà vu.
I crossed the room in three strides. “Wake up, Nora,” I said, grabbing her shoulders. “Your house is on fire. Wake up.”
There was a sudden gasp as her eyes flew open. And then she screamed.
“It’s me,” I said quickly, holding her steady when she tried to bolt away. “It’s Theo. Your house is on fire. We have to go. Now.”
She blinked hard, trying to understand.
I tugged her arm again, readying to lift her if she didn’t move in the next instant.
But then her eyes seemed to focus, and she scrambled out of bed, barefoot, following me without arguing.
We ran down the stairs. The smoke was thicker now, biting deeper in my lungs than it had a moment ago.
“We need to tell your neighbors,” I said, looking behind me to make sure she was right there.
“They’re out of town.” She coughed. “They asked us to take in their packages.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said. “They won’t be back ’til Tuesday.”
We made it to the landing and ran through the front door, down the steps, and across the street. Only when we reached the opposite curb did I stop and turn back, hearing the sirens wailing in the distance.
Then a crack split the night. A deep, splintering sound from above before the roof of the old Victorian home sagged inward.
A second later, a concussive boom tore through the air as part of the structure gave way, sparks shooting up into the dark sky.
Heat rolled across the street, and I stepped back, instinctively pulling Nora with me.
She stumbled into my chest, hands gripping my shirt.
If we’d been thirty seconds later?—
I swallowed hard, my arms tightening around her as that familiar, helpless, sick feeling clawed up my throat.
But unlike that horrific night two years ago, Nora was still here.
Her heart was pounding against my chest.
She was breathing.
I wasn’t imagining it this time.
I pressed my lips against the top of her head without thinking.
She was okay.
She was still here.