Sneak Peek into Love that is Blind

Prologue
       The shrill beeping of the fire alarm jerked fifteen-year-old Cora Abrams out of a deep sleep. Acrid smoke hit her nostrils.

       Fire! She coughed hard as she stumbled out of bed, the smoke activating her chest cold. She hurried to the door of her upstairs bedroom in central Los Angeles, then froze when a man shouted outside.

       “Burn the Jews’ homes!”
       She gasped in horror. Glass shattered downstairs, and trembling assaulted her. Oh, God, what am I supposed to do? Everyone else from the neighborhood had driven to the synagogue to celebrate Hanukkah.
       Staggering downstairs, she coughed harder from the thickening smoke. Then she entered the kitchen.

       Fire licked up the wall near the phone. A cold December wind blew in through the broken window, intensifying the flames.

       She swayed as dizziness swept over her, but she had to get to the phone. It was her only hope.

       Flames darted close.  She grabbed the receiver and frantically dialed 911.

       Someone shouted near the window. She clutched at the gold cross on her necklace. Dear Jesus! What if the men came inside? What if they found her?

       A calm, professional voice spoke over the line. “911. May I help you?”

       “My house is on fire, and a gang is vandalizing—“ The heavy curtain rod above her suddenly crashed down, striking the back of her head. She screamed as she plummeted into darkness.

***

        “Cops!” Rye Tyler grabbed the scrawny arm of his teenage cohort as sirens screamed close. “We gotta run!”
        “Yeah!” Dish threw his can of gasoline to the ground and tore across the residents’ lawns with the five other gang members.

        Rye raced after them, but whirled when a girl’s scream pierced the air. “What was that?”

        Dish swore, racing faster. “Forget her!”
        Rye stood, petrified. Flames billowed out the windows of the first house they had gassed. Dish had said all the Jews were gone. What if a girl burned to death because of what they had done? His mother had died in a fire, and her terrified screams still haunted him.
        Anguish ripped through him as he sprinted to the girl’s house. Locating a broken window, he shattered it with his elbow. Heat poured over him as he vaulted inside. Smoke stung his eyes, but he located the girl on the far side of the kitchen. She lay collapsed, fire licking at her nightgown.
        He ran across the room. Flames singed him as he scooped her up. He staggered toward the door, and the metal knob scalded his palm when he opened it. He plunged through the doorframe, but the top beam broke loose, knocking him to the ground.
        He fell on the girl, white-hot heat arcing into his chest from her cross necklace. Gasping, he stumbled to his feet, the unconscious girl flopping in his arms. His legs burned as he bolted away from the collapsing house.
        Flashing red-and-blue lights lit up the neighborhood, but escape didn’t matter anymore. He dropped to his knees on the dry lawn, cradling the girl against his chest.
        A cold voice said, “You’d better let me have her.”
        He looked up at the uniformed paramedic, who took the girl from him. Her arms dangled limply, and blood matted her long, dark hair. Had he been too late to save her?
        His self-control fragmented. Covering his shaved head with sooty hands, he broke down and wept.