A Knight in Central Park(27)

Gazing heavenward, Joe took a deep breath, drawing in a lungful of thick, woodsy smoke. Confusion along with relief swept over him.

Alexandra!

Joe sprinted for the fiery building, shouting Alexandra’s name as he went. Reddish orange tongues of fire leapt out at him as he neared the entrance. He knew Alexandra well enough to know she’d gone inside. She was stubborn and strong-willed. Nothing would have stopped her from entering the fiery building if she thought her grandfather might be inside.

Hastily, he ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt, then dipped it in a nearby trough. Using it to cover his nose and mouth, he ran through the door, moving quickly through the thick blanket of smoke. “Alexandra, where are you?”

“In here!” he heard her call from a distance.

He followed the sound of her voice, relieved to know she was alive. The thickest of the smoke floated above her head. Desperately, she clawed at the thick twine that bound her grandfather’s hands to the bedpost. She’d already removed the rope from his legs. The old man was unconscious, his bearded chin bent forward upon his chest.

Joe handed her the damp cloth. “Breathe through this,” he said, nudging her aside so that he could use his pocketknife to cut the last of the ropes. After the ropes fell loose, Joe bent to one knee, heaved the old man over his shoulder, and stood. Alexandra followed him out of the bedroom and into the smoke-filled hall. Flames snapped. Something popped.

Alexandra grabbed hold of his arm, nudging him forward. A portion of the roof collapsed behind them, startling them both. Unable to see through the smoke, Joe used the wall to guide him back to the main room where he’d first entered.

Alexandra hesitated when he led her toward the flames. “It’ll be okay,” he told her between coughs. With his free arm, he drew her tight to his side, flipped the cape over their heads and pulled her through the flames.

They literally flew through the charred door, jumped off the porch, and rolled to the ground. Joe held tightly to the old man, protecting his head, which left him helpless to ease the brunt of Alexandra’s fall.

He rolled to a stop and sat up, feeling bruised and battered. Alexandra was easy to find because the woman was on fire! Jumping to his feet, he grabbed Alexandra about the waist and rolled her in the dirt until the flames were doused.

“Are you burned badly?” he asked.

“No,” she said breathlessly.

They gulped fresh air as they watched her home cave in like a bad soufflé. Adrenaline carried Joe onward. He crawled to the old man’s side and put his head against his frail chest, relieved to hear the faint beat of his heart. “He’s alive.”

As the old man was pulled further from the crackling blaze, he coughed and gasped until Alexandra came to his side and cradled him close. She whispered into his ear, telling him all would be well.

Joe’s insides filled with relief. Everybody was alive, including Alexandra’s brother. Using his pocketknife, he cut the ties of his cape. He examined the garment, surprised to see that there were no burn marks. The cloak had been a burden in the tree, and yet had turned out to be quite useful. He laid the cape across the old man’s frail legs.

“Looks like he’s going to be okay,” he told Alexandra. “How about you? Were you bruised in the fall?”

“Nay,” she said, rocking her grandfather in her arms. “I am well.”

“I’ll check on your brother then.”

She nodded.

As Joe approached the big oak, he felt strangely disembodied, numb. Maybe logic was kicking in, reminding him that the events of the last hour had to be figments of his imagination, the result of too much research and too little sleep. He’d never been the daydreaming type. He never once had an imaginary friend. Haunted houses and tales of ghosts failed to frighten him when he was young. Vampires and monsters did not exist. But all the logic in the world was not bringing him back to Central Park.

He squinted upward into the shadowed darkness of the massive oak, impressed by the boy’s agility as the kid jumped easily from one limb to the next. “Are you hurt?” Joe asked.

“Nay,” the boy scoffed, tossing the ropes that had bound his legs. “I could have escaped without your help.”

The corner of Joe’s mouth turned upward. It was good to see that the boy was unharmed. Ungrateful brat, or not, it felt good to be alive.

The boy pointed over the hills. “Harig shan’t have gotten far. You should have no trouble catching up to him. You are going after him, are you not?”