by L. B. Dunbar
“What’s going on?” I asked to no one in particular.
“I’m taking Morte and returning to Paris,” Ana responded. Something in the tone of her voice was wrong. It was shaky, and that wasn’t Ana’s style. She was always confident and direct in her speech, albeit sinister sounding most of the time. The comment sounded forced though, as if she’d practiced it to perfection, and it still didn’t sound perfect.
“I’ve decided I need a change of pace, and so does Morte. We have no answers about Arturo and the constant news blasts are causing Morte to have nightmares.”
At that, Ana did reach for her son to lightly brush the top of his head. The boy flinched under the touch of his own mother and leaned toward Guinie, who I noticed still held his little hands. There was a connection between the two of them and I wondered if Ana knew about Guinie’s lost condition. I wondered if Guinie looked at Morte to find a trace of Arturo. If Morte held a hint to what Guinie’s child would have looked like. Based on the fact that Morte was the image of his mother, I doubted Guinie would find what she was searching for in Morte’s small face.
“Where’s Ingrid?” I blurted. Ana turned her head in my direction and fired her steely gaze at me again.
“Ingrid’s decided to go to Paris with me,” she said, her voice holding that trace of lacking confidence. Her lips were held in an awkward smile and a cold sensation filled my body. Ana was lying.
“What about Arturo?”
I didn’t dare look at Guinevere, but I felt her eyes on me.
“Ingrid needs a change of scenery. She’s beside herself with worry and she needs a break.”
“How is being half way around the world going to help her?” I quipped.
“She needs to be removed from the constant reminders that her son is missing.” Ana’s eyes closed to slits, and she held mine captive for several moments before she broke the stare. She was determined to make her point, although I didn’t know what that point was. Guinie had taken in a breath at the sound of Ingrid’s stress and the loss of her son, as if she needed a reminder that Arturo belonged to more than her. He was a son. He was a student to Mure. He was a band member. He was our friend. He was our brother in music. We all missed him in our own way.
In that moment, though, I looked at Guinie and I knew if I had to trade her for the return of Arturo I didn’t know who I’d choose. I convinced myself it would be Arturo and his friendship, but again, my heart wasn’t equal to my head.
I was strolling to the coffee shop down the street when I heard the first siren. Sirens in New York are not only a daily occurrence, they’re practically hourly, so I wasn’t fazed by the first round. A second one followed rather quickly, though, and I knew the emergency must be near.
My mind was wandering to Layne. It had been a few days since that night in my apartment. I hadn’t spoken to her after our exchange of words before she left. I had decided that all attempts at a connection with Layne were lost. I just couldn’t give to her what I think she wanted. What she deserved. She deserved someone who would worship her for the beautiful woman she was. It just couldn’t be me. But I missed her. I wanted someone to spend my time with, and Layne seemed like a good fit.
As I ordered my coffee and exited the shop, I turned in the direction of my building to see another fire truck race pass me. It seemed there was a bit of excitement up ahead. I strolled in the direction of what I soon realized was a traffic jam of cars and a screeching sound of emergency sirens. I crossed one street to notice that three large red emergency vehicles were stopped straight ahead, in the general vicinity of my apartment building. I crossed a second street to gain a clearer view of firemen racing into what could only be my building. I wasn’t anxious until I looked up to see flames pouring out the third story windows. I dropped my coffee in my haste to get to the building and broke into panic as I picked up my pace to reach the front of my home within seconds.
“What’s happening?” I yelled at the first officer I encountered.
“Sir, you need to step back, please. Keep the area clear,” he said, as he reached a hand to gently direct me aside.
I wasn’t stepping away until I had an answer.
“This is my home. What happened here?”
“We don’t know, yet. Obviously some kind of fire. It’s still undetermined where it started.”
As we stood there, the windows on the second floor burst out into the street below and people screamed. The officer stepped away from me to move more people a safe distance away from the building. I could see flames crawling up the outside of the ancient structure to the floor above.
I lived on the fifteenth floor so I felt my belongings were safe for the moment, but I was suddenly saddened for the families who had homes on the lower floors. As I watched the windows engulfed in flames, I saw a small white piece of cloth waving in a window, like a flag, on the third floor. I looked around for any sign that someone else had seen it, to direct their attention to that window, but no one was close enough to me. I looked back up at the window and saw the small shape of what I assumed was a child. I didn’t know every person in the building by name, but I definitely recognized them and knew which children belonged to which parents.
If I had to guess, the apartment I stared at belonged to 3A and her daughter, Fleur. As I saw the swish of the white cloth again, I dashed for the building, ignoring the shouts of the officer who had encouraged me to step back. I ran through the lobby to the elevator which I knew was a lost cause the second I stood before it. The old fashion crate lift would hardly work in the best of times. It would serve no purpose in an emergency. To the stairs I raced, pushing open the door with such force it slammed against the opposite wall. The sound echoed up the stairwell where firemen were barking orders at one another. I took the stairs two at a time, noticing the sweet stench of burning wood. When I rounded the second set of stairs, I was stopped by a voice shouting down at me.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I looked up the twisted opening of banisters to see someone peering down at me several flights above.
“There’s a child on the third floor toward the front of the building. She’s waving a cloth of some type toward the windows.”
“Get the fuck out of the building. We’ve got it covered,” the man spoke and disappeared into the stairwell above. I didn’t trust that he was coming down, so I continued up another flight to find the third floor door still closed. I didn’t think. I reached for the handle and pulled open the door to feel a heat I’d never felt before. I had opened the door in such a way that the door itself became my shield and it forced me back into the wall. The handle of the door hit me above my hip; I felt the force through to my bone.
I’d heard the saying that fire is a living, breathing thing, but I’d never believed it the way I did at that moment. With the door as my protection, I saw the flames roll into the stairwell, as if a dragon breathed forth, and then it retreated back behind the door, as if sucked into the hall beyond. Although I heard voices from above and the pounding of feet in heavy boots, I rounded the door and took off down the hallway.
I was lucky, the stairwell I entered deposited me at 3C, and I raced the remainder of the hall to the entrance of 3A. I didn’t try the door, but simply shoved it with my shoulder. It had to have been unlocked as it opened easily. Inside I found the place ablaze. It was almost as if the fire started there. I scanned the room as best I could and sensed where the windows faced the street through the heavy black smoke. I had entered an apartment similar in layout to mine, but much smaller. I knew that since I didn’t see the little girl, she had to be in one of two bedrooms. I took my chances and went right.
“Fleur?”
Over the roar of the flames I couldn’t hear her cries, but eventually I saw her by the window in the second room. I dropped to my knees and crawled to her. She screamed as I grabbed her around the waist. I didn’t have experience with children, but I hoisted her against me as I stood before the window. A ladder was b
eing directed to another area outside the building. I knew I had to act fast as the flames were behind me making me feel like I was melting. I placed the girl protectively in front of me between the window base and my body.
“I’m going to break the window to get their attention, okay?” I had to yell for her to hear me.
“I want you to lean your face into me.” The little girl immediately wrapped her arms around my legs, burying her face into my thigh. I tried the window with my elbow, but it wouldn’t budge. I needed something heavier. Something more solid.
Little Fleur’s grip on my legs was so tight, I could hardly move. I needed to twist from side to side to look for anything that might break the glass. I suddenly feared I would ignite the fire worse if I released the window and let in oxygen, similar to my opening of the stairwell door. I didn’t need the fire to breathe again from behind me and cook me with Fleur. Picking her up, I decided the only escape was back out to the main hallway. She wrapped her little arms around my neck and her legs crossed my hips, as best they could. I held her with one hand as I used the other to shield my eyes. I had to try to crawl again with her attached to me, and I made it to the front door before she cried out.
“Where’s your Mommy?” I shouted back at her over the roar of the fire.
I couldn’t think about her mother. The answer was too vague. I needed to get us out of the hallway and back to the stairwell. It was then that I noticed men dressed in heavy equipment coming toward us. The child was immediately snatched from my arms and wrapped in a protective blanket as I was escorted toward the stairwell.
“I told you to go back,” the voice snarled at me through a clear plastic shield. I ignored him.
“Her mother might still be on this floor.”
“We’ve already searched here and didn’t find anyone.”
“Well, search again,” I demanded, as the other fireman carried Fleur in front of me. Two additional men came down the stairwell, followed by a few other residents and at the end of the line was Will Galehaut.
“Lansing, what are you doing down here?”
I pinched my eyebrows at him.
“I was coming up to save Fleur in 3A.”
“3A?” Will swallowed hard and looked in the general direction of the hall.
“3A,” I repeated, like he hadn’t said it.
“3A,” he sighed and I knew he was making a joke. Even though he was homosexual, he admitted he could still recognize a beautiful woman when he saw one.
He shook his head as if ridding a thought.
“But I thought you were upstairs?”
“I went to get coffee. Why?”
“Some girl came in looking for you. The front lobby couldn’t get a hold of you. I assumed she was the girl from the other night. On my way to the penthouse, I let her in your place.”
I didn’t know which direction to race toward first, but I choose upward. I was already on three.
“Call me,” I screamed to Will, as he headed down the steps in the opposite direction. He was a large guy and he wouldn’t have made the trek up twelve more flights of stairs at the pace I was keeping. My exhaustion was going to catch up to me quickly, and I could feel a slight tremble at the over use of my body and lungs. I was taking the stairs a bit slower than my original pace upward when my phone buzzed.
“Will?”
“Your Grace? I think she’s in the elevator.”
“What?” I snarled through the phone.
“Rumor down here is the elevator stopped because of the fire and a woman is trapped inside. I don’t see a woman down here like your Layne. It might be her.”
“What floor?”
“Somewhere around five and six.”
I turned and headed back downstairs to six.
Several firemen were standing around working on the elevator door when I arrived to much yelling at me to back up again. I informed them I wasn’t leaving and lied by telling them I was the owner of the building. I could explain myself later. It didn’t take long for the door to be wedged open and discover the cage was between six and seven instead. It was above us, not below.
“Ma’am? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
We couldn’t see anything at first, until I saw 3A drop to her stomach and look through the small sliver of space at the floor of the cage and the top of the entrance.
“My daughter?! She’s on the third floor alone. I was only coming up to get an egg when the elevator stopped. What’s happening?”
“The building’s on fire, ma’am.”
“I got your daughter,” I shouted over their heads.
I saw her twist to try to get a better look at me. Sexy 3A looked at me, her honey hair hung over one side of her head, exposing the possibility of a rather skimpy camisole top.
“Lansing?” she shrieked. I was momentarily startled into the strange reality that I always knew she might know my name. “Lansing, oh my God. Is she okay? What happened?”
“She’s okay. I got her out. A fireman carried her downstairs.”
I paused while heads turned to watch our exchange.
“Are you okay?” I shouted.
“Yes, just get me out of here. Oh my God, my poor Fleur. Get me out.” Small hands wrapped through the cage where feet should have been and she rattled the structure back and forth.
I suddenly thought of Layne. If she wasn’t the woman in the elevator, where was she?
How could I have been so stupid? I knew better, I did. I only needed one egg and it was such a pain to get dressed, get Fleur dressed and walk down to the store for one egg. I felt fortunate that Clare was home when I called. I knew I would only be gone a minute or two. I hadn’t ever done that before, but I was desperate. I needed to get the cake made in the morning in order to celebrate the same night. It was Fleur’s fourth birthday and she deserved a party. We’d had a difficult two years and things were finally starting to seem like they were leveling out for us. I knew the first year would be the most difficult, as we had so many adjustments to make, but each day of our second year seemed a little bit better.
I was only going to be gone for a minute or two. Clare said she’d be waiting at the door with the egg. She offered to come down, but I knew she had an overnight guest. I had already disrupted her enough when I called up for the egg at such an early hour. I raced the stairs, two at a time and made it up the four flights. Her apartment was at the end of the hall and she was waiting outside with an egg in a plastic bowl. I laughed as I ran by, took the egg and noticed the elevator was open. I continued in my laughter as Clare called after me, “You’re a hussy.”
I only had on a nightie, spaghetti strapped, silky and short. I liked lingerie. I was the only one to see myself in it, so it helped when I had to take care of myself. It had been a long time since I’d been with anyone else, and I had planned the night before in celebration for me surviving the last two years. I could have asked Tommy O’Keefe to help me out. He was always offering his services on the rare occasion that I took a shift working his bar in the Irish district. It wasn’t solely Irish any longer, but at one time that area of New York City had a heavy Irish heritage and in many ways it still did. Tommy had inherited his father’s bar and as long time family friends, he offered me some shifts when I needed money quick. I didn’t want to include Tommy in my personal celebration, though, as I knew I could never be the friends with benefits kind of girl. It had to be all or nothing for me. I had learned my lesson long ago that nothing was sometimes what you got when you wanted it all.
After I jumped into the antiquated elevator and tugged on the gate, the elevator descended a few feet before it jolted to a stop. For another moment, I laughed unbelieving in the reality that eventually hit me. I was stuck in the elevator…and Fleur was downstairs…alone. Panic set in immediately, and I grasped the cage, dropping the egg that I had desperately needed in the first place. I rattled the gate back and forth. At first I was calm, giving a mild shout for help, but within seconds I was shaking that cage and sc
reaming at the top of my lungs. I had to get out. Hyperventilation was beginning to set in and I felt claustrophobic, which I had never felt before. I had to get out of the elevator.
When the door at my feet opened, I immediately fell to my knees.
“Get me out of here,” I yelled. I didn’t miss the surprised look the firefighter gave me as I was on all fours, my hair falling over my head to the side and my breasts exposed in the thin, strappy nightie. If the situation were different, I would have looked like I was playing sex kitten. Instead, I was a feline predator ready to kill if I didn’t get out of the cage and to Fleur.
“My daughter?!” I cried out, as I choked on the words. I didn’t have time to scold myself as I heard Lansing Lotte’s voice.
“I got her out. She’s safe,” he called to me. Relief swept over my entire body, and then the guilt crept in. I began to shake in what I could only assume was shock, as I felt the cold draft in the old lift. I was told to get back as they needed to use some giant wire cutters to break the cage. I scrambled backward to the corner of the box. I didn’t have time to worry that the thing might plummet to the bottom of the building, or that the fire those men had told me about would prevent me from exiting. I had to get to Fleur. If anything happened to her, it would be all my fault. Again.
I returned downstairs to the pleas of 3A to assure Fleur that her mother was found and was coming to her. The little girl sat in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask on her face, but she reached for me. I picked her up to comfort her. It seemed slow motion took place as we waited and watched other residents and firemen exit the building without her mother. I tried to keep her eyes away from the vision of flames shooting out her apartment window, licking up the side of the building. It seemed as if time stood still before the flames began to subside, and Fleur’s mother ran out the front entrance in a short nightie.
She reached for her daughter steps before she was close enough to grab her. We met half way before she snatched the child from my arms and hugged her tight. Heavy sobs spilled forth from 3A, who had a dirt smudge on her face and arms. She shook from what I assumed was shock and relief, as well as the cold. I removed my jacket, which smelled of smoke and was filthy with sweat and ash, to cover the mother holding her child. I noticed how frail she was and wondered for the second time what she was doing in only a spaghetti strap nightie at that hour of the morning.