laughter broke into the darkness.
Belle shoved her small body under the lowest shelf and curled her legs up to her chest like a baby in its mother's womb. But unlike a babe in the womb, there was no sense of safety, only terror.
A spider crawled on her hand. Belle swallowed hard as it proceeded to crawl up her forearm. Sweat gathered on her brow as she saw the red violin and realized it was a black widow. Not able to move, she watched as the spider crawled off her arm and onto the floor. It then walked past her face and into a hole in the wall. Taking a deep breath, Belle rolled out from under the shelf. She sat in her dark corner and listened as her parents' murderers destroyed her home.
Between the sounds of furniture being overturned and precious objects being smashed, she heard the melodious whistling of one of the intruders. She thought the foreboding tune would drive her mad as she heard it over and over. But the maddening sound was driven from her mind when she heard footsteps approaching her hiding place. Fear should have kept her crouching in the darkness, but she spied a broken slat on the bottom of the louvered door. Desperate to see if she could spot anything that would identify the murderers, Belle pushed through her fear and crawled to the door.
She rubbed her eyes in a feeble attempt to sharpen her vision, and she could see red boots in front of the door. Belle's heart pounded in her throat and sweat ran down the curves of her face.
Dear Lord, she silently prayed, please let him pass by.
"I wonder what they keep in here?"
Belle's breathing slowed as she heard the voice of the man who had just shot her parents. Her eyes centered on the doorknob as it began to turn. The sound of her heartbeat hammered in her ears, and the lump in her throat became a burning desert. Belle's eyes widened, watching the knob turn. Left. Right. Left. Right. The door jiggled, and a cold numbness washed over her body, sinking to her core. Her breathing became mere puffs of air as she waited for the one turn leading to her discovery. She trembled at the thought of what they would do to her if she were found.
"Damn door is stuck."
He yanked on the door.
After a few more attempts, Belle knew the door would open.
"Hey, lookie here!" the whistling man shouted out to his partner.
The man with the red boots released the doorknob.
Belle crumbled to the floor.
"What?" he shouted.
"Come here and take a look. I think we hit the jackpot."
Belle heard footsteps walking away from the door, but she received no sense of relief.
She had no idea what they'd found. Maybe it was the money her father hid in his desk or her mother's jewelry; she didn't care. She could hear them talking in the foyer.
"Let's get out of here; we done what we wanted and got this to boot."
"All right, but there is one last thing I want to do. I want to burn down this fine house. I don't want nuttin of that judge's life left standing. Let's start it in the old judge's study. There's plenty of paper and books in there. I'll toss this lamp to start it going; should burn in no time."
Belle heard the commotion from her father's office, her father's precious books thudding as they hit the floor, furniture upended and the smashing of glass, followed by a pause then laughter.
"Let's get the hell out of here; this place will be an inferno in a few minutes."
The sound of a few quick footsteps and Belle knew they were gone.
She sat paralyzed by fear, unable to move, even when she smelled the smoke. Fire! They set the house on fire! For a moment, Belle accepted her fate, willing to sit in the closet until the smoke overtook her.
Knowing her parents were dead stole her desire to live without them. Her eyelids drooped closed. She waited. But there in the darkness as she awaited death to overcome her, a thought came to her. What if they are still alive? What are you thinking? They were shot multiple times, but what if? The thought nagged at her, and her eyes popped open. I must go to them.
A light stream of smoke leaked into the closet. Springing to her feet, she tried with all her strength to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. Stuck, maybe from the heat, she didn't know but she did know she must get out. Fear tried to take her over once more, but something inside of her changed and she did not give in to the fear. Belle plopped down on the rough wood floor and began kicking the door. Over and over, she kicked, pounding the door with all the strength she could muster, burning the bottom of her feet and sending jagged shockwaves of pain up her legs, but still, it wouldn't budge.
"Come on, Belle," she ordered herself, "you can't give up. You can't let Mama and Papa down."
She sucked in a deep breath then harnessed all her fear and anger into one decisive last blow. Crack, wood splinters flew, and the door flung open.
A light haze of smoke drifted in the foyer. Belle began to cough. She tore a piece of her dress and tied it around her face, using it to cover her nose and mouth. The fire began to crawl from the study to the foyer. Belle could feel the heat on her skin, and a part of her wanted to quit, but determination pushed her forward as she crawled on her hands and knees to find her parents.
Come on, Belle, come on, she repeated to herself, you can do this; you have to do this for Mama and Papa, keep moving.
She reached the parlor. Even though she could feel the heat growing behind her, Belle continued to crawl. The smoke grew thick and clouded her vision. She bumped into something—her mother.
"Mama! Mama!" she cried but heard no response. Belle placed her head gently on her mother's chest and cried from the root of her heart.
"Papa!" Her eyes searched though the smoke. Then she spotted a dark figure. She crawled over to find the dead body of her father.
Her petite body shuddered as grief wrenched at her soul again. Tenderly, she kissed her father's face.
Uncertain if her own will to live spurred her on or her father's last wish that she live. Whichever it was did not matter; Belle was going to get out.
The smoke thickened as the heat grew unbearable. Belle needed to get her bearings. She tried to gauge where the fire spread. As far as she could figure, the flames crossed the foyer and now were licking their way to the parlor. Precious time ticked away, demanding she find a way out. Her burning eyes darted around, trying to discern an escape. She found herself disoriented, lost in the thickening smoke. Belle could not fathom which way to go, and even with her face covered, she could feel the smoke burning the back of her throat, trying to choke the life out of her.
"I'm sorry, Papa, I know you want me to live, but I don't know the way to go. I am lost, Papa."
A childlike instinct for security spurred her to reach for her father's hand. Her fingers began to wrap around his but were hindered by an object still clutched in his grasp. She slid her hand down the smooth metal. It took a moment for her to identify the fireplace poker. Did he try to use it as a weapon? Running her hand down the length of the poker, she reached the end and a sense of hope washed over her as she realized it rested on the edge of the fireplace.
Hope jumped in her heart.
