52. Chapter 51
Chapter 51
Layne
“Help me!” I shouted at Keaton as I pushed my shoulder against the chest-high, wooden dresser. It was way too heavy for me alone, even with all the adrenaline coursing through me. Though we weren’t too close to the fire, I could feel its heat. My throat and eyes burned from the smoke I inhaled with every breath despite the wet towel covering my nose and mouth.
Keaton broke out of whatever trance he’d been in and pulled at the dresser. Together, we managed to shove it into the hallway directly under the skylight.
Please, God, help us get it open.
Not even arguing with Keaton, I climbed up and reached for the round, domed glass. No handle. Come on, there had to be a way to open it. I pushed, but nothing happened. Pounded my fist against it. It didn’t budge. The glass was either laminated or tempered, which made it hard to break.
A tendril of panic tightened around my chest. What if we didn’t make it out? We’d either pass out soon, or burn alive.
Lord, we need You more than ever.
Keaton hauled himself up onto the dresser, and I moved aside to give him room. His whole body trembled, probably because of the height.
He rammed his fist into the light with raw violence.
Yes, come on!
He threw another punch, and another, and another.
Crack!
My heart leapt. The glass was giving way!
Several more punches, and Keaton’s fist finally broke through the window. A few shards rained down, more when he removed the rest of the glass.
“Let’s go.” He turned to me and grabbed my hips. Before I could protest, he hauled me up as if I weighed nothing.
I grabbed the ledge of the opening and pulled myself onto the roof. The fresh air flooding my lungs nearly made me weep.
But we weren’t safe yet. Flames licked the roof right behind me. Black smoke billowed into the blue morning sky.
Removing the towel from my face, I looked down at Keaton. He gripped each side of the skylight. Did his broad shoulders even fit through?
My question got answered when he pulled himself up with ease. He just fit.
Thank You, Lord.
I extended my hand, and he took it. Gripped it as if it were his lifeline.
Together we inched to the edge of the roof, from where we could see the pool twenty-five feet below.
Retching drew my attention to Keaton. Right then, he lost his breakfast, or whatever he’d eaten last. Could be the height or because we’d inhaled so much smoke. I felt queasy, too.
“Ready?” I asked.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he straightened. “I need a minute.”
“We don’t have a minute.”
His gaze darted to the pool, and for way too long, he just stared at it.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. I eased behind him. He was close enough at the edge of the roof . . .
Lord, keep him safe.
With that prayer, I pushed Keaton as hard as I could. He didn’t scream. Just windmilled his arms as he plummeted off the roof. He landed so hard on his stomach I winced. Although relief flooded me because he’d hit water and not concrete, it didn’t look good.
Sirens blared somewhere in the distance, but I barely noticed them as I took a step back, then lunged. My stomach heaved as gravity took over. I sailed through the air, twenty-five feet into the depths.
Water whipped at me when I cut through the surface. And immediately hit the bottom of the pool. Pain shot up my legs, then quickly ceased.
I surfaced. Looked around. Where was Keaton?
Wait, he was still underwater. No, no, no.
Holding my breath, I dove. Swam for the lifeless body sinking to the bottom. As soon as I reached him, I wrapped an arm around his torso and shoved off the ground. Thank God the pool wasn’t too deep, and the water helped me carry his weight.
We broke through the surface, and I inhaled a greedy breath. Kicking with my legs and paddling with my free arm, I dragged Keaton to the stairs by the shallow end. From there, I pulled him out of the water, across the concrete and all the way into the grass, away from the heat of the fire and the hazard of a collapsing house.
Despite the enormous amounts of adrenaline pumping through my system, a crippling exhaustion started to take over. My muscles started locking up. No, I couldn’t give up now. Keaton, he . . . was he breathing?
Kneeling in the grass, I lowered my ear to his nose.
Nothing.
I felt his carotid artery.
Nothing.
Oh God, please don’t let him be dead. Please!
Placing my hands over his heart, I started compressions hard and fast. One, two, three, four . . . At thirty, I pinched his nose and blew twice into his mouth. Then I went back to chest compressions. My muscles screamed as exhaustion rampaged beyond measure. I couldn’t keep it up much longer, but then Keaton would be gone.
Lord, please! I wanted to pray, but I had to focus on counting.
“Please don’t die,” I whimpered as Keaton blurred before my eyes. Tears flooded down my cheeks, mixing with pool water. “Please, Jesus, don’t let him die. He hasn’t been baptized yet.”
No idea why this suddenly was so important. Baptism wasn’t essential for salvation, but . . . I still needed him to get baptized.
My arms grew heavier with each compression, my rhythm slowing. No, no, no!
And then, my body stopped working all together. I collapsed next to Keaton in the grass, sobbing quietly. Why did I have to be so weak? Why was my body such a wreck? Now he was going to die. I’d found the love of my life, and lost it again.
“Layne!”
I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or if Wentworth’s voice was real. But then he appeared in my field of vision at the same time someone pulled me away from Keaton.
No, let me go! I wanted to fight the too-strong arms holding me, but I couldn’t even lift a finger anymore. I have to save him! I have to—
“Layne.” Tripp’s low voice was softer than I’d ever heard it before. “You have to get away from that burning house.”
“No! Keaton!”
“Wentworth is taking care of him. Paramedics are two mikes out.”
A wave of despair crashed over me when I saw Wentworth skillfully performing CPR on my unresponsive husband. Behind them, the blazing house crumbled. Sparks shot into the sky when my bedroom collapsed. The only part that remained standing were the outer walls made of stone.
Not sure how much time had passed when the paramedics arrived and relieved Wentworth with a defibrillator. Keaton’s body arched under the shocks, triggering another flood of sobs from me.
“Don’t look.” Tripp pulled my face into his chest, and I let him. He sat in the grass with me, cradling me.
My tears ceased. I had no strength left—not to cry, not to think, not to feel.
Suddenly, the mood changed. I lifted my head. “What’s going on?”
Tripp didn’t answer, but I saw Keaton being rolled around the house on a stretcher. Two powerful streams of water sprayed the inferno. When had the firefighters arrived?
I wriggled out of my brother’s grasp and stumbled to my feet. A few unsteady steps brought me to the paramedics wheeling Keaton through the yard toward the driveway.
“What are you doing with him? Where are you taking him?”
“Ma’am, step back,” one of the paramedics said.
“Please—” Once again, arms wrapped around me and pulled me back.
“Let them do their job, Layne.” This time it was Wentworth.
“But I want to go with him.”
“We’re losing him!” one of the paramedics yelled.
Wait, did that mean they’d brought him back?
And now he was gone again?
My heart once again shattered into a thousand pieces, but this time irreparable. Why, Jesus? Why do You allow this to happen?
Tripp stepped in front of me and grasped my shoulders. “We’ll follow them, okay? But they can’t work if you’re getting in the way.”
I watched as they loaded Keaton into the back of the ambulance, then slammed the doors shut. A beat later, it was already moving down the drive, sirens blaring.
“C’mon.” My brother led me to his pickup and helped me into the passenger seat while Wentworth got in the back. Then we sped down the tree-lined road, chasing the ambulance.