Force took more out of him than he had thought. Tonight, fatigue 4 aught up with him after a perfunctory few minutes of making love and his brad had scarcely touched the pillow when he was sound asleep.
Now he was half awake. He punched his pillow and flipped it over, then buried his face in the cool depths of the other. side, at the same time drawing close to the warm body of his sleeping wife. Sound slumber still eluded him. It seemed as if something heavy were sitting on his back, forcing his chest into the mattress’ Still hazy with sleep, he coughed and rubbed absently at his nose.
It was running badly, as if he were suffering from a heavy cold.
He slowly became aware of growing discomfort.
Then he was wide awake.
He turned on his back, staring up into the dart above the bed.
Beside him, Evelyn stirred fitfully and began to cough. The sense of discomfort gradually became more real. Suddenly he realized what was wrong. The air was thick and stifling; he sniffed and smelled the distinct odor of smoke. He fumbled for the switch of the reading lamp on the bed table and flicked it on. The room was filled with smoke, the bed lamp a small firefly in the almost complete darkness.
He sat bolt upright, sudden fear clutching at his heart.
It was the wrong thing to do. The room was layered with hot smoke from the ventilator grill. He fell back on the bed, doubled up in a paroxysm of coughing; he was suddenly afraid that he might start to vomit.
Beside him, Evelyn began to cough violently. He couldn’t hear her but he could sense the vibrations of the bed as her body shook -it.
For one of the few times in his life he tried to scream but no sound came out, indeed, no sound ever had. He shook Evelyn, trying frantically to wake her.
She responded slowly, too slowly. Still coughing, she blinked her eyes, then opened them wide as she recognized the danger. She opened her mouth to scream but even if she had been able to, Albrecht realized he could not have heard her. Before he could stop her, she sat up as he had. Immediately she gasped and began to gag. He pulled her down to the bed and then onto the floor.
The smoke was thinner close to the floor and the air -was somewhat easier to breathe. His coughing lessened.
He made frantic motions with his hands: The building is on fire.
The children, her hands replied.
The smoke was growing thicker and they both were starting to choke.
Don’t get up, his hands said. Stay close to the roar. Partly because of the tearing of her eyes and because of the steadily decreasing visibility she didn’t understand him. She struggled to rise and he pulled her back on the rug, touching her face with his to reassure her.
She began to sob silently.
The children, her hands had said. He felt a terrible panic. They were in the next room, but he had no idea if they were still asleep or if they had awakened and were crying for help. He began to crawl away from the bed, hugging the floor. He felt the lamp cord tangle in his feet and kicked to shake it off. The light went out abruptly; he was in complete darkness. He must have pulled the cord out of the wall socket, he thought. And then with despair: He was now deaf, dumb, and blind.
Sightless in a soundless, voiceless world.
He felt quickly along the floor, touched his wife’s arm and pulled her toward the door. They crawled rapidly forward and then he hesitated. Were they really heading for the door? In the darkness and the confusion of trying to locate Evelyn, he had lost his sense of direction. He reached out, sweeping his arm in a wide arc in front of him; his wrist hit against the leg of the bed. He could tell by the way the covers were tucked in that he was at the foot. They had been crawling parallel to the bedroom door.
Panicked, he rose to his feet and felt as if he had thrust his head into an oven. He threw himself to the floor.
The level of heat halfway down from the ceiling must be close to boiling; the skin on his forehead felt tight and almost shriveled. He crouched low and half crawled toward the wall until he felt it in front of him. Then ran his hands swiftly over the surface, searching for the wall switch. Nothing. He moved a little farther down and suddenly his arm hit something. He felt around with his hand, encountered a doorknob, frantically tugged it open and bolted through. He would find the children and come back for Evelyn immediately.
If only he had the gift of voice, he thought, if only he could cry out to the children. Or if he could only hear them…. He sensed it was somewhat cooler in the room and stood up to fill his lungs. His face was immediately muffled by folds of cloth. A thin, metal object fell on him and when he put out his hands, he encountered smooth drapings of silk. He stumbled around blindly. An unseen hook that protruded from the wall raked across his forehead. Instead of the children’s room, he had stumbled into the closet.
He whirled around, batting away the clothing in front of him.
Coats, dresses, and suits slid to the floor. He found the doorway again and fell immediately to his knees. Where was Evelyn?
He felt around on the floor, then found her near the bed. She was limp. Stiff on his knees, he gathered her up in his arms, his lungs desperately pumping for oxygen. He was too weak to crawl any farther.
The coughing wracked him again and mucus flowed like water from his nose. It seemed like there was no air in the world at all, only endless gusts of hot gases. Evelyn had already slipped from his grasp and he could feel himself collapsing on the floor beside her.
The children, he thought. Dear God, the children …
CHAPTER 39
“A toast?” Harlee Claiborne said. He held out his glass.
Lisolette smiled and held up her glass. They clinked and she took a sip. He was really very-continental? Or was that an old-fashioned word nowadays? She glanced around at the quiet diners who for the most part were talking in hushed whispers or simply not talking at all.
Mr. Leroux had gone to talk to several couples standing at the elevator bank and they seemed to be arguing. She wondered what about and thought she could guess.
“I’m sure there’s no reason to be alarmed, Lisa. The fire is more than forty floors below us and they must certainly be getting it under control by now.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Harlee. It does seem reasonable.”
He looked at her shrewdly. “But something seems to be worrying you nonetheless.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I am, though not for your safety or mine.
It’s something else and I’m not sure what.”
Quinn Reynolds appeared at their table. “May I send over another bottle of wine?”
Claiborne beamed. “Why, thank you, Miss Reynolds.
I can assure you we’ll both enjoy it.”
“Compliments of the management, of course,” Quinn said and hurried away. A few moments later, their waitress approached with another bottle to fill their glasses.
Her hand shook slightly as she did so and Lisolette glanced up quickly.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, miss. The firemen arrived hours ago and they’ve undoubtedly prevented it from spreading, or we would have heard.”
.”The ambulance arrived hours ago, too, ma’am.” She filled Harlee’s glass. “I’m not even supposed to be on duty tonight. I’m filling in for a friend.”
She left and Harlee lifted his glass to sip at it appreciatively.
“Blast! I’m sorry, Lisa, I’m getting clumsy in my old age.” The waitress had filled his glass too full. A few drops dribbled down his chin to spot the front of his white shirt.
Lisolette dipped her napkin in her water glass and daubed at it for a second. “I have an idea, Harlee. Why don’t you take a salt shaker into the men’s room with you?
Spread some on the shirt; the salt will absorb the wine and a bit of soap and water will complete the job. It will feel damp for a few minutes but it looks like the kind of shirt that will dry quickly.”
“I swear, Lisa, there’s nothing that you miss. I won’t be a moment.”
