Chapter 29 - The Ashes of Vanity
Vanessa’s face twisted into something inhuman. The final pillar of her delusion had collapsed. She knew there was no escape, no Montreal, no bearer bonds, no high society parties where she could show off the wealth her family had stolen from honest men.
"Then none of you get out!" she screamed.
She didn't aim at Richard. She didn't aim at me.
She turned the flare gun directly toward the floor of the catwalk, where decades of dry sawdust, timber shavings, and leaking hydraulic fluid had gathered in the corner beneath the roof stanchions.
"No!" I roared.
*THWUMP.*
The flare gun fired with a hollow, concussive report.
A blinding ball of chemical white and crimson magnesium slammed into the corner of the catwalk. Instantly, a column of white-hot fire erupted, feeding voraciously on the rotted timber and oil. Thick, black, choking smoke billowed toward the rafters, setting the dry cedar beams ablaze within seconds.
"Maisie!" I screamed.
The fire spread like liquid lightning, wrapping around the base of the iron stanchion where Maisie was tied.
Vanessa dropped the spent flare gun and scrambled toward the rear fire escape, completely abandoning the child to burn alive. But she was blinded by the sudden wall of smoke; she tripped over a tangle of loose electrical wire, her head striking an iron support pillar, and she slumped unconscious onto the steel grating as the flames began to lap at her designer coat.
I leaped onto the spiral staircase.
The iron steps were burning hot through the soles of my boots. Smoke filled my eyes, blinding me, stinging my throat with the caustic poison of burning plastic and old motor oil.
"Daddy! Daddy, I'm hot!" Maisie’s screams were growing weaker, muffled by the roaring furnace above.
I burst onto the catwalk. The heat was unbearable, blistering the skin of my face. The nylon rope holding Maisie had already begun to melt, fusing to her jacket.
"Hold on, baby! Close your eyes!" I shouted, dropping to my knees.
I pulled out my pocket knife, slashing desperately at the burning ropes. The blade sawed through the tough fibers, the sparks from the rafters showering down on my back.
With one final yank, the rope snapped.
I scooped Maisie into my arms, pulling her tightly against my chest, covering her face with the thick wool flap of my jacket.
"I've got you," I whispered, coughing violently as the ceiling groaned above us. "I've got you, Maisie. You're safe."
"Daddy, the lady fell!" Maisie choked out, pointing through the smoke toward Vanessa's motionless form.
I looked down at Vanessa. The fire had caught the edge of her fur collar, the synthetic fibers melting into toxic black sludge. The roof above her was splintering, heavy iron bolts popping free under the intense thermal expansion.
Every instinct in my body told me to leave her. She had tried to murder my daughter. She had mocked Maisie’s tears over a broken cake, had tried to bankrupt my family, had stolen everything she could touch.
Then I felt Maisie’s little arms tighten around my neck.
"Daddy, don't let her burn," my eight-year-old daughter whispered into my ear, her voice shaking with terror, yet completely free of malice.
I closed my eyes for a single heartbeat, cursing the mercy that my daughter possessed—a mercy that Vanessa Sterling had never deserved.
"Hang on to my neck, Maisie," I ordered. "Don't let go, no matter what."
I lunged forward, grabbed Vanessa by the collar of her burning coat, and yanked her backward across the grating just as a burning eight-by-eight timber crashed down directly where she had been lying, exploding into an inferno of sparks.
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Dragging Vanessa’s dead weight with one arm while clutching Maisie to my chest with the other, I staggered down the burning spiral staircase as the entire upper structure of the mill began to collapse in a roaring avalanche of fire.
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