CHAPTER 35

Remember When

Santo woke up coughing. His sinuses burned and he was blind—he smelled smoke. Then he heard a distant cry: “Fire!”

Melisa was not asleep; she was unconscious. He shook her into a semi–comatose condition, which began with a cough. She gasped for clean air. Then she cried out in a panic. She attempted to rise from the mattress, but all she managed to do was roll onto the floor and start choking.

He reached into the blackness and grabbed her by the arm, but then he let her go. He didn't want to leave her, but he had to quickly find an avenue of escape because he was also gasping heavily and beginning to feel dizzy from the toxic fumes.

He crawled to the door. It felt hot. He knew he shouldn't but he had to take a chance and open the door. When he did, he felt heat and smoke roll in above him. Then he saw the glow of the fire. He slammed the door shut. He knew there was no escape there and little time left.

He groped his way along the wall until he reached one of the windows and pulled the bedsheet off the curtain rod. The window was open, and the only thing obstructing their way out was the window's screen.

He had to hurry. The smoke and the toxic gases were becoming unbearable. Melisa was no longer coughing.

He kept his head. He followed the edge of the screen with his hands and unlocked enough holding latches for him to forcefully pull the screen off the window casing. Then he turned to get Melisa and tripped over the bedsheet. He rose, tied the bedsheet around him like a skirt, and felt his way back to the mattress. His eyes, nose, throat, and chest were screaming with pain.

He finally located Melisa. She was curled up in a ball and unconscious. He slung her over his right shoulder and stumbled about the room until he located the open window again. She weighed a ton; he weighed a ton.

He slumped against the window casing, panting and wheezing and doubting whether he could successfully lower her out through the opening. He had to hurry. Seconds were becoming precious.

He pulled the bedsheet from his waist and dropped it over the windowsill. And with great effort, he lowered her naked body from his shoulder and slid her through the window, feet first, until he was left holding her under each armpit. As soon as her head cleared, he let her drop to the ground. Then he straddled the window, lifted his inside leg over, and jumped out.

He stood up and yanked the bedsheet from the windowsill. Then, in an effort to gulp down clean air, he choked and frothed and spat and slung away the mucus running down his nose with the back of his hand. He wanted to get on his knees and cough until he felt better, but he knew Melisa needed medical attention.

He rolled her onto her back and discovered she wasn't breathing. But she had a pulse. He opened her mouth and hyperextended her neck to make sure she had a clear airway. Then he placed his mouth over hers, pinched her nose shut, and blew several breaths into her. But the pain in his own chest prevented those breaths from being very strong. He continued to push himself beyond his endurance, however, and gave her whatever air he had.

Suddenly, liquid gurgled into her mouth as she convulsed. Then she rolled onto her side into a ball and gulped spasmodically for air as she vomited.

He plopped onto the ground beside her, totally exhausted. But he knew she was going to be alright: he heard her crying. Then he looked up and saw flames appear through their window. The fire was rapidly consuming old Six–thirteen.

“My God, I hope everybody got out,” he said. But she was too weak to respond.

He stood up, wrapped the bedsheet around his waist, then carried Melisa away from the fully involved house fire to the far side of the backyard. Then he draped a discarded piece of shag carpet over her that he found nearby. He heard sirens in the distance.

“Don't move. You're going to be alright. I'll let the paramedics know you're back here. Don't move. Do you understand?”

She nodded her head.

He tightened the bedsheet around his waist and went to the front of the house. An ambulance drove up just as he reached the sidewalk. Two paramedics jumped out of the vehicle and approached him.

“I'm alright, I'm alright. But there's a lady in the backyard that needs attention. She's breathing…and she's awake.”

The paramedics brushed past him in the direction he was pointing, carrying an oxygen bottle and other first aid equipment.

The lights and sounds of fire engines had flooded the entire street in a deluge of machinery and men. The activity was so overwhelming and frightening that he became concerned about the others again. He turned toward the house to start looking for them and caught sight of two figures, Nat and Gladys, covering their nakedness by sharing a bedsheet. He ran over to them.

“You guys alright?”

“You don't have to worry about us,” Nat said.

“Melisa…”

“She's alright, Gladys. She's in the backyard. Have you seen Julian and Kerry?”

“No.”

“Where were they?”

“Last thing I can remember, they were on the front porch,” Nat said.

“What the hell happened?”

“I don't know, Rick. Candles, Sterno, cigarettes…we all fell asleep. One of them got us.”

Several firefighters rushed past them to fight the blaze. One of them stopped. “I'm going to have to ask you all to stand aside. You're better off across the street. Please.”

The house was being consumed.

“My God,” Santo said, “if they're in there.”

“Who's in there?” the firefighter said. “You mean there's somebody still in there?”

“Two,” Santo said. “I think.”

The firefighter quickly left them and rushed toward the other firefighters with this information. His concern infected Santo to such a degree that he ran along the other side of the house, calling for them until he heard a familiar voice. He saw Julian.

“Are you alright?”

“I think so,” Julian said, coughing as if he had bronchitis.

“Where's Kerry?”

“How…how should I know?”

“He was with you, wasn't he?”

Julian nervously began tucking his tee shirt into his pants. “So?”

“He was with you, man!”

“I thought it was understood,” he said defensively, “every man for himself.” He coughed.

“Not here. Not at home! Julian…where is he?”

“Are those the two?” Santo heard a firefighter shout.

“I…I…don't know. I mean…he's in there…I guess. It ain't my fault,” Julian said impotently. He coughed.

“Are you the two who were supposed to be in there?” a firefighter asked.

“One of them,” Santo said, pointing at Julian. “The other one is still in there.” Santo started walking toward the house.

“Where the hell are you going?” one of the firefighters said.

“After him.”

“No you're not. That's what we're here for.”

“Get out of my way. Kerry. Kerry!”

But the heat and the firefighters prevented Santo from going in. Then the firefighters escorted them across the street where they had taken the others.

The four of them huddled in and around Nat's car watching the inferno—knowing Kerry was in there. There were no words. No feelings. Until Julian began to cry.

“I'm sorry,” Santo said. “I shouldn't have said…it wasn't your fault.”

“No, man, you were right on. And now I'm…lost…forever…again.”

“Crap. Stop that shit,” Nat said. “Nobody's pointing a finger at you. Forget it!”

“I can't!” Julian exploded. “Sometimes the truth…is…the truth.”

And because Nat didn't know what else to say, he filled the silence by opening the trunk and pulling out an odd assortment of jeans and shorts and tee shirts for those who needed clothes; there was no attempt at modesty while dressing under these conditions. Then Santo noticed Gladys's expression change as she stepped into a pair of shorts. He peered in the direction she was looking and saw a figure scurrying toward them. He was certain he recognized the waddle but he was afraid it was wishful thinking. He checked with Gladys again. She had a tee shirt pressed against her bosom.

“It's him,” she said. “It's really him.”

“Kerry.” Santo ran toward him. “Kerry! It's really you!”

“I started running…as soon as…I could see…the fire,” he said, as he tried to catch his breath.

“Where the hell have you been?” Gladys demanded. “You scared the hell out of us!” She hit him on the arm.

“Oww! I couldn't sleep. So, I went home to get a change of clothes.” He showed them a pair of pants and a shirt on a wire hanger. “See?”

“Hey, what's going on?” Melisa wailed, as she hobbled across the street.

“Melisa!” Santo hurried over to her. She was draped in a sheet that the paramedics had given her. “How are you?”

She leaned against Santo and coughed. “I had enough oxygen.”

Santo guided her alongside Nat's car. “Look, Melisa, it's Kerry.”

Melisa glanced at Kerry before leaning against Santo for more support. “And?”

Kerry was bewildered. His ironed slacks slipped off the wire hanger. “Gosh, is everybody alright?”

“Yeah,” Julian said. “Everybody's alright, now. Come here.” Julian caressed him with a sincerity that took Kerry by surprise.

“My, my. Maybe I should take up arson for a hobby.”

Everybody laughed because laughter was all that was left in them.

Cloaked under one another's shadow, Six–thirteen became a memory in the minds of six people as it burned to the ground. They were Six–thirteen, now…changed, yet unchanged; because everything existed in relation to everything else. Kerry was less bitter, Melisa less plain, Julian less satanic, Nat less cruel, Gladys less cynical, and Rick less confused. They'd become a different band of outcasts.

They were interrogated by the police and the fire department until the investigators were satisfied that the cause of the fire was an accident. Then they lost interest in the motley group.

“Thanks again for the money. Rick,” Gladys said.

“Sure. It's a good thing you were already packed.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Do you mind if we get cleaned up at your place before we leave for Atlanta, Kerry?”

“Please, be my guests.”

“I don't want any more trouble in this damn town,” Nat said. “So, if we're going to cause you any problems by going over to your place…”

“We'll go upstairs two at a time,” Kerry said. “They can't complain about that.”

“Okay then, let's go.”

Gladys and Kerry joined Melisa, who was already sitting in the back seat. Julian sat in the front, while Nat took the wheel.

“Are you coming, Rick?”

“No. This is it for me.”

“Come on, Richard. You can't go around town in a bedsheet.”

“Thanks, Kerry. I've got clothes in the trunk of my car. And the rear floorboard has my extra key. I'll make out.”

“Suit yourself then,” Nat said, as he started his car. “Take care of yourself, partner.”

As the car pulled away from the street curb, Melisa and Gladys looked at Rick through the rear window without expression. He responded with a half–hearted wave, reassuring himself that it was better…to remember when…