“Help me,” she cried to herself. “Dearest Mary, help me to help my child!”
Her hands clenched and unclenched, the nails of her fingers biting deeply into the flesh of her palms, as she struggled to keep from fainting.
“Dearest Mary, Mother of God,” she whispered chokingly.
The telephone rang, barely audible beneath the sounds of hysteria surrounding her. She felt something that was dying inside herself flicker back to life, energize her numbed, inert body into action. Finding her legs, she turned and stumbled out of the room and headed for the telephone in her bedroom, where the bellowing screams followed her with increasing intensity.
“Has the doctor reached you, Mrs. Templeton?” the woman’s voice asked.
“What? No!” Janice snapped back.
“Well, he’s en route from the hospital and will call you the moment he gets home—”
“HOTHOTHOT HOTHOT!” The screaming voice suddenly grew stronger, and the patter of naked feet emerged into the hallway, running—
Janice froze. The door! She had left the bedroom door open!
There was a flicker of silence—a heartbeat’s suspension of all sound—followed by the awful noise of the small body tumbling down the staircase, descending to the floor below with a scream that coincided with Janice’s scream as she dropped the phone and plunged headlong into the hallway and up to the railing. Her hands clutched the fanciful balustrade to steady her weak and trembling body.
The child had landed in a light, crumpled ball of flesh and flannel and was just getting to her feet as Janice forced herself to peer over the railing. Miraculously, the fall seemed not to have injured her seriously, for she was up in a flash, scampering and twittering about the living room, reviving the same plaintive diatribe: “Hothothothot daddydaddydaddy hothothot—” Driven by the same desperate need to escape the torments of the all-consuming flames that still burned hot and bright in the foreground of her unconscious, she rushed toward the long bank of windows overlooking the rain-soaked city and began making her fearful, fretting obeisances at them.
“Daddydaddydaddy daddydaddydaddy hothothothot!”
Janice descended the stairs, clinging to the railing, feeling her way down with her hands, unable to tear her eyes away from the frightening apparition below.
Ivy was now standing before the near window, in profile, whimpering in terror, her bleeding hands making undulating, praying-mantis motions toward the dreaded glass, seeking, yet repelled by its proximity. Descending closer to her, Janice could see that she had not escaped from her fall entirely unharmed. The left side of her face was badly bruised, and a thin line of blood trickled from her nose.
A sudden misstep. Janice fell down the remaining three steps, descending to the wooden floor and landing heavily on her hands and knees. The clatter and noise of the fall and the accompanying scream elicited no reaction whatever from the child, whose agonized and haunted eyes remained totally locked in the grip of her own terrible plight at the window. “Daddydaddydaddy hothothothot!”
Spears of pain shot up through Janice’s legs, drawing sobs from her lips, yet she did not seek to rise from her knees.
—It was correct that she be on her knees, for wasn’t this the attitude of penance, of contrition and confession, and acts of reparation?
Forcing her body upright, so that her full weight might be brought to sustain itself on the points of her sore and aching knees, Janice heard the words come tumbling out of her in a torrent of passion. Clear, bell-like, plucked intact from the forgotten halls of childhood, her voice spoke out to the God of her one and true faith.
“Oh, my God! I am heartily sorry for having offended thee, and I detest all my sins because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell, but most of all because they offend thee, my God, Who art all-good and deserving of all my love.…”
“HOTHOTHOT HOTHOTHOT—!”
The child’s voice rose to a shriek as she drew back from the window in horror and, spinning about, went stumbling across the room toward the far bank of windows, climbing desperately over chairs and other pieces of furniture as they got in her way.
The voice in Janice continued without interruption as she tracked across the room on raw and smarting knees in pursuit of her tormented daughter.
“… Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen!”
“Daddydaddydaddy daddyhothothot—” She was on the sofa, seeking to stand on the soft and giving cushions, losing her balance, falling to the floor.…
“Lord, have mercy on us.
“Christ, have mercy on us.
“Lord, have mercy on us.
“Christ, hear us.
“Christ, graciously hear us.
“God, the Father of Heaven, have mercy on us.
“God, the Son, Redeemer of the world, have mercy on us.
“God, the Holy Ghost.…”
—Rising; whimpering; climbing back on the sofa; standing; swaying; falling.…
“Holy Mary, pray for us.
“Holy Mother of God,
“Holy Virgin of virgins,
“Mother of Christ,
“Mother of divine grace,
“Mother most pure,
“Mother most chaste.…”
—Struggling to her feet; panting, weeping; climbing; falling; striking her head against the table edge; bleeding.…
The telephone rang.
The voice in Janice stopped. A wondrous look came into her eyes. The doctor!
She clambered to her feet and fell forward onto the sofa, as her legs gave way beneath her. She reached across to the phone and snatched it up. A hum. A long, steady hum. Still the phone kept ringing. It kept ringing distantly. Humming and ringing at the same time. With Janice poised at the fulcrum of both sounds. Her mind could not take it in, could make no sense of it.
The house phone! It was the house phone that was ringing! In all the hysteria she had forgotten to hang up the receiver upstairs, and the doctor was contacting her through the house line.
“DADDYDADDYDADDY HOTHOTHOTHOT!”
—Bruised; bleeding; climbing back onto the sofa; on her knees; swaying precariously to and fro in genuflection before the altar of her despair.…
Janice rose, pulled the cocktail table out of harm’s way, and plowed across the living room and into the hall corridor, hands grasping at furniture and walls to keep her upright, and finally falling to her knees just within reach of the telephone. With a pained cry, she grabbed at the receiver and pulled it down upon her.
“Doctor!” she gasped.
Dominick’s voice answered. “Miz Templeton, there’s a Mr. Hoover down here in the lobby.”
Janice’s tearstained face blanched, stiffened, then quieted. Her stark eyes became impassive, while the house around her shook with the cries and bleatings of her one and only child. She had asked for God’s help, and He had answered.