Sharon steps out of the foyer and smiles. “Of course. That’s a good excuse to get up if I’ve ever heard one. Where is it?”
Taking shaky steps, Miranda keeps a firm hold on the bannister. “Top drawer there, in the desk.”
By the time Miranda is standing in the foyer and enjoying the sensation of her bare feet against the cool tile, Sharon has found the ring of keys left by the company. She shakes them and says, “There are a lot of keys.”
“Here, let me,” Miranda says, holding out her hand. She’s already tiring.
In the end, Sharon possesses three shiny, new keys to wedge onto her own ring. Garden door, garage door, and the front door, which has one key for both locks. Even this small activity has drained Miranda. She’s gone pale and leans heavily against the back of a chair.
“Go back to bed,” Sharon urges her, gathering her things to leave. “It’s scorching out and you should stay in the air conditioning, well away from the door when I open it.”
Miranda is surprised to hear that. The weather had been mild when she got sick, the summer still new enough to be pleasant. “I hadn’t realized,” she says.
With a hand at the small of Miranda’s back, Sharon tries to lead her toward the stairs, but she stops at the foyer. Miranda will go no further.
“No, I’ll see you out. I want to feel the heat for a moment.” At Sharon’s look, she adds, “Only for a moment.”
Sharon is right about the weather. When the door opens, a blast of hot, humid air billows into the foyer, fighting with the overly conditioned air for dominance. Miranda makes a noise halfway between pleasure and discomfort. It feels good, but she’s already feverish.
Stepping out quickly, Sharon turns and points a finger at Miranda. “Back to bed. The air is…”
Miranda nods and reaches for the door, but stops in mid-motion to stare at her friend. Sharon’s finger is still poised in the air, pointing vaguely in Miranda’s direction, but her gaze has gone unfocused. Her head begins to slowly tilt back, her face turning to the sky.
In a monotone, Sharon whispers, “So oppressive.”
“Sharon?” Miranda says, immediately worried. Is she having a heat stroke? Can that even happen this quickly?
Her head now tilted entirely back, her blonde hair falling away from her face, Sharon’s whispered voice comes again. “No relief. Oppressive. I can’t…can’t…can’t…”
“Sharon!” Miranda shouts, darting for her friend, her sickness and the snot already escaping from her overfilled sinuses forgotten. Sharon has begun to waver, her body weaving unsteadily back and forth, though her feet remain well planted.
“…escape…”
The word is merely breath and Miranda falters under dead weight as Sharon falls. It’s not really a fall, but rather, a complete collapse. She’s gone boneless, her entire weight crumpling down, every joint loose.
At least Miranda prevents Sharon’s head from impacting the concrete and brick, or worse, toppling over the edge of the stairs to the sidewalk below. Sharon’s eyes are open, the lids heavy looking, but her eyes aren’t moving at all. Miranda squeezes Sharon’s jaw, shaking her head back and forth. “Sharon! Wake up! What’s wrong?”
Nothing. There’s no response. It takes her a moment to realize Sharon isn’t breathing. Miranda doesn’t shout, but she manages a sound halfway between a squeal and a moan. Lowering her friend’s head to the stoop, she presses her ear to Sharon’s chest. Nothing. No heartbeat.
“No!” This time it’s a croaky shout.
What next? CPR or phoning for an ambulance. She can’t do both. It’s only when she looks up, thinking to shout for help from anyone on the tree-lined street, that she realizes she isn’t alone in her distress.
There are other figures lying about in unnatural ways. One person is sprawled by an open car door, one leg still inside. Another still figure on the sidewalk has a lead attached to a small, white dog, which is now barking madly. There’s yet another figure a bit further down the sidewalk in the other direction, two children screaming next to the person and bags of groceries scattered around them.
“What the fuck?” Miranda breathes, lapsing into high school language in her shock.
Suddenly, there is activity. A man races from a house toward the person by the open car door, shouting a name. An old man Miranda frequently sees walking along this sidewalk is rushing toward the person with the dog.
Screams are ringing out in the air. Some of them are quite distant, far beyond her line of sight. There’s the jarring noise of metal on metal; a car crash somewhere she can’t see. The front door to the house next door is flung open and the man that lives there steps out onto his porch with a scowl.
Miranda has seen him many times, but never spoken to him. He smiles when they pass each other, but nothing more. Now, he takes in the scene on their normally quiet street, frowning and confused.
“Help us!” Her voice comes out in a hoarse croak, but he hears her. He springs down his steps, taking them two at a time, then does the same coming up her steps.
“What happened?” he asks, not looking at her. He doesn’t waste even the time it would take to make eye contact with Miranda. Instead, he’s bent over Sharon, his fingers to her neck and already straightening her limbs for CPR.
Miranda shakes her head, still in shock. “Something…I don’t know.”
Her gaze is drawn back to the sidewalk. She knows she’s in shock, that she should do something, but the world has gone insane in the space of a few breaths. She can’t focus. The children on the sidewalk next to the groceries are grabbing and pulling at the limp person lying there.
