Heller's Girlfriend (22 page)

“Chalmers! You stupid, foolish,
wonderful woman.
God almighty!
I thought you were gone for
good when the front door collapsed,” he croaked with emotion in a
raw voice, and leaned over to hug me tightly. Squeezing me so hard
wasn’t a smart idea though and I rolled over to vomit onto the
grass. “I’ve just rung Heller and left the most terrible message
for him. You better let him know you’re all right. He’ll be going
crazy otherwise.”

Another coughing fit hit me and
my stomach pitched as I hawked and barked my lungs out. I moved
over to vomit again, my throat so scorched that it hurt. And
feeling as if my brain had been boiled, I looked over to the house
where there were now two fire engines and teams battling the fire.
The whole front of the house had fallen in. Marty and Gabriela’s
beautiful house was a fiery wreck.

I turned to Farrell and wondered
if I looked as awful as he did; his face red as if he had bad
sunburn, his skin sooty and his eyes watery and red-rimmed.

“Farrell, you hugged me. You do
like me, after all,” I accused hoarsely, my throat aching and
burning.

He made some noise that I
thought might have even been a laugh. “After everything that’s
happened here tonight, is that all you care about?”

“Admit it.”

“I was only pleased to see you
because I was worried that Heller would kill me for not looking
after you properly.”

“Farrell! Don’t lie.”

“Well, maybe I like you a little
bit,” he confessed reluctantly.

I tried to smile at him, but my
singed face wouldn’t cooperate. Instead I stood up to tell the fire
fighters about the last two guests left inside, despite knowing
that they were beyond saving. But my legs wobbled and buckled under
me, sending me spiralling back down to the lawn. The paramedic
attending to Farrell turned his attentions to me. He assessed me,
tended to the worst of my burns and shoved an oxygen mask on my
face.

“You two will be spending the
night in hospital along with the rest of this bunch.”

“I want to go home,” I said
indistinctly through the mask, so tired. I was completely
exhausted; I didn’t think I’d ever felt this weary before in my
entire life. Every muscle in my body quivered like a frightened
jellyfish.

“Not tonight, love,” the
paramedic said kindly, packing up his gear and moving onto the next
patient. “You need to see a doctor.”

I glanced around the lawn. We
were a motley bunch. Most of the guests had woken to some level of
sombre sobriety, covered by blankets and jackets donated by
neighbours, and were trying to work out exactly who were the
missing two. Through a process of elimination, they eventually
discovered that it was the goatee beard man and one of the single
women who hadn’t made it out.

Quiet tears trickled down my
cheeks when I saw goatee beard man’s partner and the single woman’s
friend lamenting their lost ones. Noticing my distress, Farrell
rested a kind hand on my shoulder and then slid his arm around. I
leaned into him, propped up against the tree, sucking gratefully on
more oxygen while the fireman continued to battle the inferno.

“We did the best we could,” he
consoled.

“I know, but still . . .” I gave
a soggy sniff, and he rummaged in his pocket to bring out his
smoke-drenched hankie. I took one whiff of it and handed it
straight back to him.

They finally mustered up enough
ambulances to take everyone to hospital. They were forced to push
their way through the media contingent that had turned up to cover
not just a fatal house fire in a good suburb, but one where there
were twenty-two naked people rescued. A sensational story like that
didn’t come along every day.

Farrell and I lay low, not
wanting to be noticed by the media. I rang Heller, but once again
he didn’t answer, so I left him a hoarse, terse message letting him
know that I was alive. Farrell had already rung Clive to advise him
of the fire.

At our insistence, Farrell and I
were the last to be loaded into an ambulance. I didn’t know about
him, but I was in a lot of pain by then, my uniform smoky and
singed in places where the fire had touched my skin. Although the
paramedics had administered first aid to those burns, the stinging
was intensifying. I was starting to agree with the paramedic that I
needed to see a doctor.

The paramedics dug out some
crutches for Farrell because he refused to be loaded onto a gurney
and his ankle was too injured to walk on. He awkwardly hopped his
way to the back of the ambulance. I stood up to walk over to join
him in the ambulance, when my world turned to darkness and the
grass rushed up at me.

Chapter 16

When I roused, I was lying down
somewhere comfortable, too tired to open my eyes. My nose felt
strange and I gently twitched my nostrils. There was something up
them and by the feel it was an oxygen tube. I knew that from my
previous lengthy stay in hospital. I moved my right arm slightly
and could feel the tight pull of an IV as well. Yep, I was
definitely in a hospital. But it didn’t smell like a hospital, the
acrid stench of smoke hanging thickly in the air. I couldn’t
imagine why a hospital would smell of smoke.

I was hot, heat radiating from
my skin. I shifted my left hand cautiously over to the other,
moving one finger out to touch the skin on my forearm.
Eww
,
there was some sticky gel-like substance on my arm. I tried another
spot and there was more.
Yuck!
I could feel its gooeyness on
my face and neck as well. Perhaps I’d been reincarnated and had
just been born again? Maybe I had risen from the ashes like a
phoenix from its egg, which would explain the smell of smoke.

To take my mind off the fact
that I seem to be covered in afterbirth, I concentrated on sounds,
hearing the comforting regular beep of the monitoring machine. So I
was still alive, which was always reassuring to know. I tuned into
the background hospital noises that never stopped regardless of the
hour; phones ringing, people walking up and down the corridor,
muted voices. No, hang on – the muted voices were closer than the
corridor; they were near me. I listened further, discerning two
voices, neither of which sounded very happy.

“You should have stopped her
from re-entering the house. It was an exceptionally dangerous thing
to do. I sent you there to look after her and you let her risk her
life. You cannot imagine what I went through when I heard your
message.”

Yep, no doubt about it, that
cold and snappy voice definitely belonged to one unhappy camper.
Unfortunately I recognised his accent, so knew it was my
never-answers-his-phone-any-more boss.

“I do know what you went
through, Heller. I was there remember – I went through it too. And
I would have stopped her if I could. I told her to come back, but
she ignored me. And I wasn’t able to physically restrain her
because I couldn’t stand up.”

I thought I recognised that
voice as my dear colleague who had finally admitted that he did
like me a little bit. But it was so hoarse and strained and pissed
off that I couldn’t be sure.

“He did try to stop me,” I
butted into their conversation, my eyes still closed. For a
startling moment I didn’t recognise my own voice, suddenly feeling
like a ventriloquist’s dummy. My mouth moved, but the voice that
emerged was far too rough and raw to be mine. My throat ached just
saying those few words.

“Matilda,” a gentle hand took
mine in its own, but it was painful to be touched. I flinched,
pulling my hand away. “Don’t talk, my sweet.”

I made a superhuman effort to
unglue my eyelids. My eyes were burning and sore, the light hurting
them, so I closed them again immediately. I tried again a minute
later and was able to roll them over to where Heller was sitting
next to my bed. Farrell stood behind him, leaning on crutches.

“You didn’t call me,” I
reproached him in a rough whisper. “You knew it would be awful, but
you didn’t even bother to check on me.”

It was worth the pain in my
throat to express my angry feelings. He didn’t respond, but held a
glass with a straw in it to my mouth. I took a small sip of iced
water. It was heaven and pain at the same time.

He looked down at the bedspread,
anguish crossing his face. “I’m sorry, Matilda. I meant to, but I
forgot. I was . . . occupied.”

It was a pathetic excuse as far
as I was concerned, so I turned my attention to Farrell.

“You look terrible,” I croaked
out and winced as my throat hurt again.

“You look worse,” he croaked
back. His skin was glistening with a revolting jelly substance and
was bright red, the worst sunburn I’d ever seen. I could smell the
smoke wafting from him, and his eyes were as red and watery as mine
felt.

“Why am I here with tubes and
you’re walking around?” I demanded hoarsely. I took another sip of
water.

“Stop talking, my sweet,” Heller
requested. “Your throat is injured from the heat and smoke. You
need to rest it. A difficult, if not impossible, demand for you I
realise.” I ignored his accompanying smile, my attention still
fixed on Farrell’s lovely hurting eyes, waiting for an
explanation.

“You’re in worse condition than
me. You were exposed to the fire for longer,” Farrell answered.

“Oh.”

“The doctor told me this morning
that you’re going to be in hospital for a few more days, Matilda,”
said Heller. I reluctantly turned my poor sore eyes back to him.
“Your throat and lungs are injured. You have a couple of severe
burns on your arms and your palms, as well as the general scorching
that you’re both suffering. And you’re completely exhausted. You
pushed your body to its limits and it needs to rest. You’re not
going to start feeling better for a few more days.”

That news didn’t thrill me, but
I didn’t argue. Frankly I didn’t have the strength to argue with
anyone. It took all my energy just to blink.

He continued. “Farrell was
lucky. The beam didn’t break his ankle, but it is badly sprained
and bruised. He’ll be using the crutches for a few weeks. He’ll
probably be released tomorrow.”

“What happened?” I rasped.
“Explosions.”

“It seems the blaze was started
by candles at the back of the house catching onto the potted palms.
Them burning overheated the gas cylinders of the barbeque. The fire
spreading into the house ignited the gas main in the kitchen. That
caused the collapse of the ceiling.”

“The two inside?”

Heller shook his head. “I’m
afraid not.”

I nodded to show I’d heard him,
but my eyes grew heavy and I drifted away from them without even
saying goodbye.

It was night time when I woke up
again and I had no idea how long I’d slept. Daniel was sitting next
to my bed, his face drawn with anxiety. I tried to smile at him to
let him know I was okay, laying my bandaged palm lightly on top of
his hand. I couldn’t stand for anyone to touch me, but I found that
me touching him was bearable, as I controlled the level of pressure
on my skin.

“Tilly,” he said, his voice
choked with emotion. He leaned down to kiss me but couldn’t find a
spot clear of the horrible gel. “You look . . .”

“Bloody awful?” I whispered.

He nodded with a rueful smile.
“Heller said you’re not allowed to speak, so don’t say another word
or I’ll get in trouble with him.”

“I won’t tell him,” I
whispered.

“Water?” he asked and I nodded.
He manoeuvred the straw into my mouth and I took a couple of big
sips. I guess I had a catheter in, but I couldn’t tell. I didn’t
feel strong enough to move around yet and that must mean a
catheter. How awful.

“You and Farrell are heroes,
Tilly. You saved all those people between you and then you saved
Farrell as well.”

“Stop it. Just doing our job.” I
sipped from the straw again. “Two died.”

“It was all over the news. The
media are still talking about it, especially all those naked people
being rescued. Discovering it was a swingers’ party only made it
more of a hot story.” I wished he didn’t say the word ‘hot’ – my
skin was so incandescent that I felt like the Human Torch from the
Fantastic Four. “They even interviewed that guy, the host. What was
his name?”

“Marty.”

“Yeah, him. They interviewed him
from his hospital bed about the swingers’ club. He agreed to be
interviewed but made them pixelate his face so he could remain
anonymous.” I nodded to show I was listening. “Was it as sordid as
you were worrying about?”

“Worse. No more, please.”

“I’m sorry, Tilly. That’s not up
to me.”

I shrugged philosophically. It
made my skin hurt. I yawned. That made my skin hurt too. My eyelids
drooped again and I surrendered them to gravity.

I had a range of visitors over
the next few days, all from work. I asked Heller not to tell my
family what had happened, as I didn’t want to worry them, and I was
becoming stronger and fitter each day. Farrell visited me a few
times and we talked about that evening in sober tones, wondering if
we could have done things better or could have saved those other
people.

Marty and Gabriela visited me
early one evening, catching Farrell there as well. They appeared to
be fully recovered from their ordeal and had brought me an enormous
bouquet of gorgeous flowers. It came with a card to both Farrell
and me, which they assured us was signed by every guest we’d
rescued that night.

“We can’t thank you two enough.
You saved our lives. I can’t tell you how impressed we all are at
your heroics. I know for a fact that nobody wants any other
security firm besides
Heller’s
to be on duty at future
parties. Your boss is going to get a lot of work from us because of
you.”

Farrell and I exchanged glances
of trepidation. That wasn’t quite the positive news for us that
they’d expected it to be. I tried to smile but failed miserably, so
nodded instead. They soon took their leave after some more minutes
of gushing praise. I never wanted to see either of them, nor any of
their friends, again. And I especially did not want to do security
for any more swingers’ parties. I hoped Heller and Clive remembered
that when assigning people to any similar jobs.