Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

herself and sobbing, her face streaked with tears and soot. I gazed around frantically, and still I didn't see Mommy or Daddy. Where were they? My heart began to pound harder and faster and my stomach felt like dozens of moths were loose inside and flapping their paper-thin wings.
    "Where's my mother?" I screamed. "Where's my daddy?"
    Some people heard me, but no one spoke. Mrs. Bradly simply began crying harder.
    "Hey! Stop!" a fireman cried as we ducked under the first set of security lines to charge up the lawn. Ashes danced in the air and the flames were so intense, we could feel the heat. Firemen were screaming to each other and pulling hoses this way and that, but the flow of water coming out of them seemed to have no effect. Defiantly, arrogantly, the flames snapped and spread, greedily eating through curtains and furniture. I could practically see it rushing down the corridors, licking and biting into every possible corner, a hot, burning, ravaging animal of hell consuming all that was once beautiful and historic, tearing down pictures and walls, sending chandeliers crashing into floors. Nothing could stand in the way of this fire or slow its relentless onslaught.
    Impatient, I pulled Jefferson along and went around to the far corner where I finally saw Uncle Philip standing by himself. His normally neat hair was wild. He had taken of his sports jacket and tie and his eyes looked so ablaze, it was as if the fire had gotten into him as well. Either he was mumbling to himself or he thought someone stood beside him.
    "UNCLE PHILIP!" I cried, running toward him.
    He looked at me, but he didn't speak. He seemed not to recognize me. His mouth moved spasmodically, but he didn't say anything. He looked up at the fire again and then at me, shaking his head.
    "Where's Mommy, Uncle Philip? Where's Daddy?" I desperately demanded.
    "Where's my Mommy?" Jefferson chorused, his tears flowing harder. He pulled himself closer to me and looked up at Uncle Philip.
    "Uncle Philip!" I screamed when he simply continued to stare at the fire, hypnotized by the flames and activity. He turned slowly this time and gazed at me for a long moment. Then, he smiled.
    "Dawn," he said, "you're all right. Thank God."
    "Uncle Philip, it's me, Christie. I'm not my mother," I replied, astounded. He blinked quickly and then his smile faded like smoke.
    "Oh," he uttered, bringing his hand to his cheek. He looked toward the fire again. "Oh."
    "Where are they, Uncle Philip?" I asked, much more desperately. Tears were streaming down my cheeks now and my throat ached from the smoke. The horrid odor from the burning hotel turned my stomach, and the heat from the towering flames fell over us so intensely it was as if we had fallen into the hottest summer day ever.
    "Where are they?" he repeated. I nodded. He shook his head in bewildered fashion.
    "Where?" I screamed and tugged hard on his arm. It drew him out of his daze.
    "Jimmy . . . was in the basement when the boiler exploded," he said. "The fire shot up the stairways and through the heat and air ducts. It popped out of every grate and the floor in the card room collapsed," he recited.
    "Where's Mommy?" I asked in a whisper.
    "I ran around getting everyone out, shouting, pulling, helping the older people. I think everyone's out."
    "Mommy and Daddy are all right?" I asked, smiling hopefully through my tears.
    "What?" He looked at the hotel again, but he didn't speak. He was lost in a trance once more.
    "Where's Mommy?" Jefferson cried. "Christie, where's Mommy?" He ground his small fists against his eyes and clung to me.
    "Uncle Philip?" I pulled on his arm again. "Where's my mother?"
    He simply shook his head.
    "Christie?" Jefferson moaned. "I want Mommy."
    "I know, I know. Let's go talk to someone else, Jefferson," I said, seeing there was no sense in talking to Uncle Philip. He was too confused to make any sense. I lifted Jefferson into my arms and carried him toward some firemen who were standing back and giving orders to the others. One wore a hat that read Chief.
    "Excuse me," I said.
    "Hey, you shouldn't be here, honey. Billy, get these kids behind the lines," he shouted to a young fireman off to the left.
    "Wait. I'm Christie Longchamp. My parents are owners of the hotel. I have to find out what happened."
    "Huh? Oh," he said. "Look honey, I don't know enough details yet. Apparently, a boiler blew and started this."
    "But where's my mother? Where's my father? Have you seen them?" I asked