My Lost and Found Life (28 page)

“It's Ashley, Steffie,” I said, fighting to sound calm. “Please come out. Let's go find Bella.”

She went limp and I pulled her into my arms. Half carrying, half dragging her, I crawled toward the kitchen, banging my knee on the counter as I moved around it. I stood up, still clutching Steffie, and we burst into the kitchen. I stumbled over the boxes that Louis had been unloading and kept going. We staggered through the gaping door and burst out into the fresh air.

I collapsed on the curb, still holding Stephanie in my arms. We both were coughing and sobbing. From fear. From smoke. From relief.

“Is the bad killer gone?” Stephanie whimpered, looking up at me with a tear-streaked face.

“Yes, he's gone,” I said. “We're safe now.”

“I want my mommy,” Stephanie cried.

“Me too,” I mumbled. “Me too.”

“Are you okay?” someone asked me. I couldn't answer. I was still fighting to get myself under control. Sirens screamed in the background and a fire truck pulled up to the corner of the building.

A fireman in full gear ran up to us. “Is anyone still in there?” he asked urgently.

“I'm not sure,” I said.

He dashed inside through the back door.

I pulled Stephanie to her feet. “Let's go find Bella and your brother.”

We managed to get to the front of the building, veering out into the street to avoid the hoses. Bella stood next to an ambulance watching a paramedic doing something to the baby.

“Stephanie!” Bella shrieked and ran to us. I could see her hands were shaking, and her usually ruddy face was pale. “Thank God you're all right. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I've never been so scared.”

“We're all right,” I told her, looking down at Stephanie's tearstained face. “Steffie is fine, aren't you?”

Stephanie nodded, but she looked far from fine. The pupils of her eyes looked like pinpricks, and her tiny legs trembled. I knelt down to steady her.

“How's Oliver?” I asked.

“He's seems all right. They're just looking him over as a precaution,” she said. “It's just a precaution.”

“Stephanie needs to go home, Bella. You should take them both away from here.”

“I'll get a cab just as soon as the paramedic checks out Stephanie.” Bella grabbed my shoulder and whispered fiercely in my ear, “They're going to fire me, I know they will. They'll fire me for putting the children in danger.”

“Take it easy, it's not your fault. The important thing is the kids are safe. I really don't think they'll want to fire the nanny that saved their children.”

She hesitated. “But really I didn't save them, you did. You got us out of there.”

“We did it together. As far as I'm concerned, you're a heroine,” I said. “Now take them home. Stephanie looks ready to collapse.”

Bella pulled Stephanie up into her arms, hugging her as she carried her over to the paramedic's truck.

I stood up, turned around, and gazed at the surreal scene before me. There were firemen and hoses everywhere. Traffic was stopped along both Fillmore and California streets. Dozens of gawkers stood on both corners, watching the melodrama unfold before them. The light was fading, or maybe the smoke made the sky look so dark. The whole scene was like something being broadcast on the evening news.

In the midst of the chaos, I saw Tom gesturing to another fireman. I couldn't muster the strength to walk over to him. Instead, I wearily sank down onto the curb. Seconds later he
pounded across the sidewalk and grabbed my arm. “Are you all right, Ashley?”

“Yeah. Where's Louis?” I asked. “And Jerry? Did everyone get out?”

“Louis has a sore head, but he'll be fine. What happened here, Ashley? How many people were inside?”

I tried to get my brain working. My head felt thick and I seemed to be moving in slow motion. “Let's see. There was Louis and me. Bella and the two kids. Jerry. Two girls I didn't know, but they ran out the back door ahead of me. So I know they're all right. And a guy using the computer. I'm sure he made it out the front door because I saw him knock the crazy guy into the sofa. Counting the crazy Book Man, that's nine. No, ten, isn't it?”

“You're not making any sense. What Book Man?”

“You know, the one with bushy hair, who always comes in screaming about the book. He came in spraying some kind of liquid, gasoline maybe, all over the sofa, the tree, everywhere, and set fire to it all.”

“
He
set the fire? Well, that explains why it went up so fast,” Tom said. “Mal's going to be furious that he was at the bank and missed the whole thing. He would have stopped that guy in his tracks.”

“I'm not so sure he could have. It happened so fast,” I said. And then, my head cleared and I realized what he was saying. I grabbed his arm. “Oh, God! Tom, I'm not sure Mal went to the bank. He might have gone upstairs to take a nap.”

“What! They said no one was up there!” Tom exclaimed,
and then he yelled, “Larry! Upstairs!” as he dashed over to the metal security gate blocking the doorway to the stairs. They hammered at the security gate with axes.

I stood there watching as the purple paint blistered across the side of the building and the smoke swirled and twisted up into the sky.

The security door finally fell sideways. Tom and Larry bounded up the long staircase. It was amazing to see how quickly they moved wearing all the heavy gear.

Louis came up alongside me, and we waited anxiously as the seconds elapsed. Finally, they came hurtling back down the stairs, carrying Malcolm between them. A paramedic surged forward and clamped an oxygen mask on Mal's face.

Other firemen crossed in front of us, wheeling a gurney. The person on the gurney wasn't visible. Jerry? The Book Man? Whoever it was, he was badly hurt. Or dead.

“There's one more,” I heard a fireman say.

I couldn't watch anymore. I walked across the street and sat down on the curb. My legs felt weak and my throat ached. I looked down at my hands. They were grimy—from what, I wasn't sure.

I don't know how long I sat there before Louis joined me.

“Mal's breathing,” he said. “They're taking him to the hospital for observation. Smoke inhalation.”

“What about Jerry?” I whispered.

“He didn't make it. Neither did the nutcase who started this.”

Jerry was dead? I couldn't quite comprehend it. Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me. I felt ashamed that I'd never liked
him. The guy had been immature, sure, but he wasn't a bad person. Maybe he could have been the next Bill Gates. He would never have a chance to grow up, find a girlfriend who appreciated him, and accomplish all the things that he might have accomplished.

Someone put a blanket around me, but I shrugged it off. I heard Tom say, “Maybe you should go to the hospital, too, Ashley. Just as a precaution.”

“
Precaution
is a popular word today. You know, you don't really hear that word very often, do you? I always used to think of it in connection with condoms. Now it will always make me think of fires.”

“Ashley, you're in shock,” he said, wrapping the blanket back around me.

“No, I'm fine, I'm really fine. I just don't know what to do because I can't leave,” I said.

“Why not?”

I looked at him dully. “Because my purse is in there,” I said, pointing to the blackened interior of the Madhouse. “With my car keys inside.”

“Forget your keys. The building's a total loss. You'll never find them in there. You shouldn't be driving anyway. Let me call someone for you.”

“There's no one to call,” I answered. “How pathetic is that? I can't think of anyone to call.”

“No, no,
no
!” A voice was moaning and it woke me up. Then I realized the voice was mine. I sat up on the camper bed, my heart pounding as if I had just been chased by a horde of devil worshippers. It was still dark. I grabbed my watch and looked at it. 3:06.

My skin was damp and my throat and chest ached. I pulled off my sweat-soaked nightclothes and crawled back under the blankets naked. My head throbbed and I squirmed uncomfortably under the covers, too disturbed to get back to sleep.

I had been dreaming that Tattie and I were driving along that mountain road to Curtis Davidson's country place. My Jetta moved like a rocket along the curvy stretch of highway. Tall, dark trees lined both sides, and the road looked like a twisting tunnel with no end in sight. As the car careened around corners, the seat belt cut sharply into my collarbone and left breast. The car picked up speed, going faster and faster into the darkness. I frantically pressed the brake pedal. But the car didn't slow down. Horrified, I looked over at Tattie. She
grinned at me from the passenger seat. She took a long hit on the joint in her hand, held it in, and then blew the smoke out toward me. I stared at her in shock. But she just laughed and reached out her hand to give me the joint. I waved it away wildly, and the lighted joint flew out of her hand, onto the car seat. I looked down to where it landed and saw smoke billowing up. I took my hands off the steering wheel and fumbled to grab the burning joint. The car swerved off the road and rolled over and over and over and over and over and over.

That's when I woke up.

I lay there, shuddering from the memory of my nightmare. Only a few hours had passed since I left the smoldering ruins of the coffeehouse. Tom had called an emergency locksmith for me, but two hours elapsed before I finally had a new ignition key. Fatigue plus a stabbing headache and my worsening sore throat had drained my energy. It took all my strength to drive myself back to the camper. I crawled straight into bed and for a few hours I slept like someone in a coma.

But after my nightmare, I tossed and turned. Yesterday's headache continued to pound inside my skull. My throat was so sore I could hardly swallow. Around seven thirty I pulled myself up and tried to follow my usual morning routine at the health club. Within minutes of mounting the exercise bike, I began coughing and felt too light-headed to continue.

I went to Walgreens, bought some over-the-counter cold medication, and returned to the camper. Reynaldo paused and stared at me as I pulled behind the station. The whole day was misery. My headache didn't let up while my cough turned into a honking, chest-searing rumble that made my lungs hurt.
I didn't have enough energy to do anything or go anywhere. Collapsed on the sleeping platform, all I could do was sleep fitfully and cough and dream.

I dreamt I was an alien creature and my skin was made of fire, only to wake up with my skin burning. I tossed off all my blankets and half my clothing. Minutes later I was shivering and pulled everything back on. My whole body ached, and I coughed so violently it left me gasping for air.

I lost track of time. I knew it was still daylight, but I had to use the toilet and I didn't care who saw me. I staggered out of the camper and over to the ladies' room. Reynaldo called to me as I walked by. I didn't respond—I had no energy to spare for thinking or talking.

Back in the camper, my coughing went on and on. The pain in my chest became sharper, and the coughing made my throat constrict and my stomach heave. I was gagging and struggling for breath so that I didn't even look up when someone came into the camper.

Then I heard Earl's raspy voice.

“Are you okay? Ashley? Are you sick, baby doll?”

I couldn't answer. Just breathing was hard enough without trying to talk. Each breath I took brought a searing pain.

Earl gently put his hand on my forehead. I looked up at him, but he seemed slightly out of focus. My eyes burned from the exertion of all the coughing.

Everything that happened after that was blurry. Over my head I heard Earl's voice and then Officer Strobel's talking about me. I heard the words
delirious
and
can't breathe
.

Earl said, “She's hotter than a pistol.”

I wondered for a moment if this is what it was like to die. In your last moments of life, maybe all you listen to is the rhythm of the air going in and out of your lungs.

“Let's go,” Strobel said, leaning over and lifting me up, still twisted inside my blanket. He carried me outside the camper. The cold air and the bright lights of the gas station made me blink. Above them the evening light was fading. In the distance I could hear the usual roar of traffic along the street.

Strobel put me down onto the backseat of a car, and Earl climbed in next to me.

“You're going to be all right, baby doll,” Earl said, pulling me so that I rested against his shoulder.

I was too exhausted to reply. The car twisted and turned through the streets. As Strobel drove, he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. A couple of times Earl said, “Take it easy,” but I didn't know if he meant me or Strobel.

Then we stopped, the car door opened, and people appeared. All at once there were hands touching me, pulling at me, propelling me along on a gurney as if I were a turkey on my way to the Thanksgiving feast. Bright lights shone in my eyes and I was told to open my mouth, open my eyes, do this, do that. I wanted to push them away as they poked and pinched at me from all sides. Insistent voices kept asking me questions that I didn't want to answer.

“Ashley, can you hear me?”

“Are you in pain, Ashley?”

“Do you know where you are, Ashley?”

“Ashley, have you eaten or taken any medication in the last six hours?”

They kept repeating that last question over and over but I couldn't think, I couldn't answer.

I felt a hand, a woman's hand, gently brush back my tangled hair, and I whispered, “Momma?”

“Do you want us to call your mother?” someone asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I want my mother.”

After that, there were voices in the background and more prodding, more coughing, but my mind went spinning away from me.