Midnight Whispers by V. C. Andrews
With relief bursting through me I turned in his direction. I saw Richard, Melanie, Mrs. Boston, Julius and Aunt Bet. They hurried in our direction. Jefferson sat up, his eyes widening, the sight of Mrs. Boston bringing him the most comfort.
"Where's Mommy?" he demanded.
"Oh honey child, oh baby," Mrs. Boston said.
"My mother?" I asked her. "Daddy?"
She shook her head.
Jefferson started to wail again, loudly this time, and his cry, shrill and sharp, got caught up in the same breeze that carried the ugly smoke away. Mrs. Boston scooped him into her arms and rained kisses of comfort over his face.
I stood up, my legs feeling like rubber, but my head so light I thought it was like a balloon and might snap off and be carried away with the smoke and Jefferson's screams.
"Christie," Aunt Bet said.
"Where are they?" I asked and held my breath. "Didn't they come out?"
She shook her head.
"WHERE ARE THEY!" I demanded.
"They found them together . . . in the basement," Aunt Bet said and bit down on her lower lip. Her eyes were red and swollen with tears. "Oh, Christie," she added and began to sob.
Then, my feet turned into air and so did my legs and my stomach and my chest and my neck until my head had nothing to hold it up.
I folded and fell softly, just like the balloons on my birthday, floating down, down, down. The world around me which had once been as colorful and as magical and wonderful as a soap bubble popped and everything went dark.
"She will be all right," I heard someone say. I thought I had my eyes open, but it was pitch dark. "Just give her some light, sweet tea and a little toast. An emotional trauma like this can be as devastating to the body as something physical. But she's young, she's strong. She'll recuperate."
"Mommy?"
"She's waking up," I heard Aunt Bet say.
"Yes. Keep the cold compress on her forehead a while longer."
"Mommy?" The darkness began to retreat. It fell back like the tide, and in its place, I saw the ceiling of my room and then the walls as my eyes moved slowly, hopefully downward, anticipating Mommy's concerned and loving face near me. But all I saw were Aunt Bet and Doctor Stanley, our family physician. He smiled and nodded, strands of his light brown hair down over his forehead and nearly over his eyes. As usual, he needed a haircut desperately. I once told Mommy that Doctor Stanley reminded me of a poodle. She laughed and confessed she thought so too.
"He's a very good doctor and a very nice man, but he doesn't take much care with his personal appearance," she admitted. I could hear her voice so clearly in my memory, I was sure she was somewhere in the room.
"Where's Mommy?" I asked, turning to look everywhere. I could barely utter words, my throat ached so; and my chest felt as if something heavy had been on it for hours and hours. When I didn't see her, I lifted my head from the pillow and instantly, the room spun. I groaned and closed my eyes.
"You have to take it easy, Christie," Doctor Stanley advised. "You've had quite an emotional shock and your equilibrium has been sent into orbit."
"I feel so tired," I said, or at least I thought I said it. I couldn't be sure anyone heard my words. But I felt Aunt Bet take my left hand into hers and I opened my eyes and saw her beside me. She smiled weakly, her eyes swollen from crying. She looked so much thinner to me, her nose sharper, her cheekbones and jawbone so much more pronounced. Her normally obedient hair was in revolt everywhere, strands falling every which way.
"Aunt Bet," I said. She bit down on her lower lip, her eyes filling with tears. "My mother and father . . . they never got out?" She shook her head.
I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. My body shook with new sobs.
"Now, now, Christie," Doctor Stanley said. "You've got to get a hold on yourself, dear. You don't want to get yourself so sick you can't be of help to your little brother, do you?"
"Where is he?" I asked quickly. "Where's Jefferson?"
"He's in his room, dear," Aunt Bet said. "Sleeping."
"But he'll be waking up soon and he will need you," Doctor Stanley said. "He'll need his big sister. Now you just get yourself some rest, try to take a little tea and some toast and jelly. You have a very difficult and trying few days ahead of you, Christie. A great deal has fallen on your young shoulders. Do you understand?" Doctor Stanley asked. I nodded. "Good. I'm terribly sorry for your sorrow and for this tragedy and I will be here to help you as much as you need it," he added.
I looked at him again. Mommy had liked him and had believed in him enough to trust him with our family's health. Mommy would want me to listen to him, I thought.
"Thank you, Doctor Stanley," I said. He smiled again and then he left.
"Tell me what happened, Aunt Bet," I said as soon as we were alone.
"We don't know every detail yet," she said. "Something exploded in the basement while Jimmy was down there. It caused an immediate fire. The smoke flew up into the rest of the hotel and set off alarms. Guests were ushered out. Philip was everywhere, charging down corridors, knocking on doors, screaming and helping people. Your mother and I helped clear the lobby and then we left together when we felt sure everyone had been evacuated. The fire was building so quickly, we could already see the flames toward the rear of the lobby.
"When we got outside, Dawn cried out for Jimmy and realized he hadn't emerged. She was frantic. The firemen hadn't yet arrived, but the police were there. One policeman tried to stop her from rushing back in, but she broke out of his grip and charged through the front entrance, screaming she had to get Jimmy. That was the last I saw of her," she added and began to sob silently.
"And afterward?" I said, determined to know it all.
"Afterward, when they were able to get into the basement, the firemen found them together. Your mother had reached Jimmy, but they had been trapped in a storage room. They died clinging to each other," she concluded and took a deep breath.
"Philip's devastated," she continued, now speaking like one in a trance. "He's wandering about the wreckage in disbelief. He's so angry, no one dares go near him."
I closed my eyes. Maybe, if I closed them hard and tight enough and squeezed my body until it hurt, I could drive away this nightmare. I would open my eyes in a moment and it would be morning, a bright, sunny late spring morning. Jefferson will be charging through my door any moment, I thought, and Mommy will come in after him, telling him to leave me alone and get dressed. Yes . . . yes.
"How's she doin'?" Mrs. Boston asked from the doorway and my dream-prayer died.
"The doctor said to give her sweet tea and some toast and jelly," Aunt Bet said sharply. "Get it immediately." She was never as nice to the staff as Mommy was and frequently spoke harshly to the servants. Mommy said it was because of the way Aunt Bet had been brought up. Her parents were so rich, she had always lived like royalty.
"Yes ma'am," Mrs. Boston replied.
"I don't want anything," I said defiantly.
"Now come on, Christie. You heard what the doctor said. You're going to need your strength," Aunt Bet advised. Reluctantly, I nodded. They were right; I couldn't bury myself in make-believe and refuse to face the truth. Jefferson needed me to be strong. But I felt like a small lost child myself, scared of tomorrow. How could I be strong enough for someone else when inside I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe?
"Do Granddaddy Longchamp and Gavin know what's happened yet?" I asked. "And Aunt Fern?"
Aunt Bet nodded. "I have Mr. Dorfman calling everyone who should be informed," she said.
"And Bronson and Grandmother Laura?"
"Yes. Bronson is beside himself. Thankfully, I think, your grandmother is too confused to understand."
"I'd better go see Jefferson," I said, sitting up again, this time more slowly. My body ached as if I had been running for hours and hours.
"He's still sleeping, Christie," Aunt Bet said. "I promise I'll let you know as soon as he awakens. Just lie here and rest,
I closed my eyes and fought the urge to sob and sob and sob until my throat ached badly. A short time later, I heard someone enter my room and opened my eyes to see Uncle Philip carrying a tray with my cup of tea and toast on it. Although his face was ashen with grief and mourning, he had brushed his hair, straightened his clothing, buttoned his shirt and retied his tie, the knot as perfect as ever. He set the tray down on my night table and smiled. His eyes were no longer glazed with confusion.
"How's my poor princess doing?" he asked.
"I can't believe my parents are gone, Uncle Philip. I won't believe it," I said, shaking my head.
He fixed his eyes on me and I watched them grow small and dark. His lips trembled and then he turned back to the tray. "You need something hot in your stomach."
"Where's Mrs. Boston?" I asked.
"She's busy trying to settle everyone down and get some meals together, so I offered to bring your tray up to you," he said. "Try to sit up and drink some of this and maybe eat a bite or two."
"I want to do what the doctor says, but I don't think I can swallow anything right now, Uncle Philip."
"I know," he said, nodding sympathetically, "but you have to keep up your strength."
I sat up and he brought the tray to my lap and sat down on the bed.
"Oh Christie, Christie," he moaned and took my hand into his. "A terrible, terrible thing has happened," he began. His fingers moved over mine as he spoke. "And we are all suffering because of it, but I promised myself, I promised your mother I would take care of you."
"You promised? When?"
"When she ran back inside," he replied. "She cried out to me and said, 'If anything happens to me, take care of my Christie.' "
"Mommy said that?" He nodded. "What about Jefferson?"
"Oh, Jefferson too, of course. Anyway, I will. From now on," he said, the blue in his eyes softening, "you will be no different from my own. I will love and cherish you no less," he added, holding my hand tightly.
"We're going to be all right," he continued, his fingers traveling up my forearm and then down as if he were searching for an invisible line. "We're still a family and we'll rebuild the hotel quickly."
He looked up, his eyes small and determined. "We've got insurance and we'll put it right to work. Oh, we won't be able to open the hotel this summer, but well restore it to just the way it was before this horrible thing happened. Of course, we'll modernize so that it won't ever happen again."
I looked toward the doorway because I heard a lot of noise. Richard and Melanie were speaking loudly, too. They sounded excited, but not like people in mourning.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Some of the staff are helping to move our things in," Uncle Philip said.
"Move in?" It never occurred to me that that was what would happen next.
"We're moving in whatever we can," he said. "Most of our things have been ruined by the fire. There was so much smoke. I wanted to get the other things out as quickly as I could." He smiled. "We're your family now," he said. "I would give everything not to have had this happen, but it has and we must do all the right things. After all, I'm a Cutler; I've inherited my grandmother's backbone," he added and straightened up as if to illustrate that literally. "She had a strength, a power to overcome any inconvenience."
"Inconvenience? This is more than an inconvenience, Uncle Philip," I snapped. No matter how great a woman Grandmother Cutler was thought to be and no matter what were her accomplishments, she would always remain the wicked witch in my mind because of the way she had treated Mommy.
"Of course. You're right. I didn't mean to make it sound small. What I do mean is to reassure you that I will always be here for you and we will build ourselves back and return to being the great family we were."
"Not without Mommy," I moaned, shaking my head. "Not without Daddy. We'll never be what we were."
"Of course not, but we've got to try. Your mother would have wanted us to try, wouldn't she? She wasn't the type to give up and crawl under the bed. She was too strong for that and I'm sure you will be, too. Am I right'?" He brushed the hair from my forehead just the way Mommy often did.
"Yes," I said, looking down. "I suppose."
"Good. You have inherited very strong genes, Christie. Just think of the terrible things your mother endured and look how beautiful and successful she became. And she didn't even have a family behind her the way you will," he added. "I'll be right beside you, every step of the way. Every crisis you have will be my crisis, too; every obstacle, my obstacle." He smiled. "I hope you will accept my help. I'll always be right here, as well as Aunt Betty and your cousins."
"Where will you all sleep?" I asked, looking up quickly.
"For the time being, Richard and Melanie will share the guest room Fern uses whenever she's here. There are twin beds in it. Whenever Fern comes, she can sleep on the couch in the den or in one of the guest bungalows untouched by the fire."
"And you and Aunt Bet?" I anticipated the answer and it made me sick inside.
"We're going to have to use your parents' room, of course. In a day or so, when you're up to it, you can go in with Aunt Bet and tell her what things of your mother's you want to keep and what we should pack and put up in the attic. I wouldn't want to see everything stuffed away, of course. Your mother had some very pretty things, some of which might fit Betty."
The tears began streaming down my cheeks.
"Now, now, Christie, don't make me tell you all these details. It's too soon. Look at what it's doing to you," he said and leaned forward to kiss the tears away from my cheeks. But I pulled back.
"I'm all right," I said. "I've got to look in on Jefferson," I added.
"Of course. I'm in the process of making the funeral arrangements," he said, standing. I looked up quickly.
"When will it be?"
"In two days. We'll bury them in the old cemetery, of course."
"My mother wouldn't want to be too close to your grandmother," I fired back with heat in my face. He stared at me a moment and then smiled coldly.
"Don't worry. She can't be too close. The closest spot that's left is mine. There's plenty of room in the rear. I'm sorry about all this, terribly sorry. I wouldn't bother you with any of it, but I think you're old enough now to accept responsibility and understand some adult things."
"I want to know everything," I retorted, "every detail of what happens and what's to be done." He nodded.
"Now that's the spirit I knew you had, the spirit she had. You've inherited more than just her beauty," he added, his eyes full of satisfaction. "You'll be just like her . . . you're just the way she was when I first met her—full of fire and spirit.
"Someday when our sorrow is not as thick, I'll sit down and tell you about those days." He sighed. "Well, I better see about the moving. Call me if you want anything. I will always and forever be here for you, Christie." He shook his head. "My little princess," he added and formed a small smile before he turned and left me trembling in my bed.
The phone began ringing and didn't stop for the rest of the day and night. Before I could go in to see Jefferson, he awoke and came to me. He stood in my doorway, his small fists grinding at his eyes.
"I want Mommy," he moaned and I looked up.
"Oh Jefferson." I held my arms out to him and he came running. Now it was I who was comforting him the way a mother would. I had suddenly been thrust into both roles: sister and mother forever.
"Where's Mommy and Daddy?" he asked. "Why didn't they come out of the hotel?"
"They couldn't, Jefferson. The fire was all around them and there was too much smoke."
"But why didn't Daddy try? Why?" Jefferson demanded, his sorrow beginning to change to anger.
"I'm sure he did try, but you
"I want to go find them," he decided. "Now. Come on, Christie." He got off the bed and tugged on my hand. "Come on."
"The firemen found them, Jefferson."
"They did? Then where are they?" he asked, lifting his small shoulders.
I knew Jefferson understood what death was. We had had a cat: Fluffy, who had been hit by a car the previous year. Jefferson had been devastated. Daddy buried her behind the house and we had a little ceremony. There was still a marker out there. Jefferson knew what had happened to Mommy and Daddy. He just didn't want to face it.
"They're gone, Jefferson. They've gone to Heaven together."
"Why? Why did they leave us?"
"They had to," I said. "They didn't want to, but they had to."
"Why?" he demanded.
"Oh Jefferson." I started to cry. I knew I shouldn't; I knew the moment I did, he would cry, too. The sight of me bawling frightened him. I sucked in my breath quickly and bit down on my lower lip. "You've got to be a big boy now. We have to help each other. You're going to have to do many of the things Daddy used to do," I told him. That idea stopped his tears, but he embraced me again and buried his face against my bosom. I lay there, rocking him until Mrs. Boston appeared.
"Oh, he's here. I went to see how he was. How's he doing?"
"He'll be all right," I said quietly. My voice was bland, lifeless, my eyes staring ahead, vacant. I felt like a mannequin, a skeleton of myself. Mrs. Boston nodded. Her eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying, too.
"Gavin said to tell you he and his parents are on their way," Mrs. Boston said.