Read Online Dying in the Dark by Sally Spencer - Free Book Online Page B

turn on the lights when, however brightly the house might be illuminated, she would continue to move around in a world which was eternally dark?
    Woodend switched off the engine, opened the car door, and stepped out into the chill night air. The street was deserted, but that was hardly surprising. The residents of the Crofts Estate would be safely indoors by now, their eyes glued to the flickering magic box which brought all the wonders of the world into the corner of their living rooms.
    He was already on the Rutters’ path – making his way along the side of the house – when the unimaginable occurred.
    The blinding flash – like a thousand suddenly flaring matches – came first. The deep angry boom and the scream of shattering glass followed almost immediately after it.
    For a moment Woodend was back in war-time France: landing on that Normandy beach under heavy enemy fire; seeing his closest comrades fall all around him; hearing the angry roar of the guns; smelling the stench of blood, fear and desperation.
    The past receded as quickly as it had arrived. His ears were ringing, his eyes were finding it hard to focus, but he knew where he was – and what must have happened.
    He sprinted down the path to the kitchen door. The window panes had gone – he could hear the glass from them crunching under his feet – and through what was now no more than a hole in the wall, he could see that the whole of the kitchen was on fire.
    He’d never get into the house that way, he told himself. If he tried, his eyeballs would fry before he’d even crossed the threshold.
    He retreated back to the front of the house. He didn’t test the front door to see whether or not it was open – there was no time for such refinements – but just lashed out at the lock with his boot. The door groaned, but didn’t give. He kicked again, and this time it burst open.
    A wave of hot air hit him. The hallway was thick with smoke, and beyond it he could just see the flickering flames.
    How’s the fire managed to spread so fast? he wondered. How the bloody hell has it managed to get so far so quickly?
    He lowered his head and plunged into the house. His eyes began to smart almost immediately, and he could feel the thick black smoke snaking its way to his lungs. As he made his way along the hallway, he forced himself to take much shallower breaths.
    And all the time he was thinking, ‘If Maria was in the kitchen when the explosion happened, then she’s already dead! If the baby was with her, then she’s dead as well!’
    So why was he wasting his time even
heading
for the kitchen? he asked himself angrily.
    If Maria was still alive she’d be somewhere else in the house – probably huddling terrified in a corner, probably clutching her poor frightened little child tightly to her!
    He would not have believed how hard it was to turn round – how simply rotating himself in thickening smoke could be one of the most difficult things he’d had to attempt in his entire life.
    The lounge/diner was to his right, near the front entrance. He opened the door and screamed hoarsely, ‘Maria! Maria! Are you in there? For God’s sake tell me if you’re in there!’
    Some light was seeping into the room from the street lamps outside, but he didn’t need that light to see – because the fire had already found its way through the serving hatch and was licking hungrily at the French window curtains and the three-piece suite.
    There was no one in the room, but that didn’t mean there was no one anywhere else in the house. Woodend’s stomach churned as he realized that there was nothing for it but to go upstairs.
    He flicked the switch at the top of the hallway, and through streaming eyes saw the landing light come on. The fire was already spreading up the hall – why
was
that happening? – and once he got upstairs there was absolutely no guarantee