I stayed where I was for a second, just staring at Donovan, the alarm screeching away.
I think I was scared to break the moment and confront the reality of what had happened here.
Sam had done this.
He’d stabbed a man repeatedly, violently.
He’d set a fire.
Then I picked up Donovan’s phone, pressing it to my ear.
‘Hello?’ I shouted.
It was hard to hear in the confusion of the fire and the alarms. I dropped my jumper and clamped my free hand over my other ear. A second of static and then a man’s voice said, ‘This is the emergency services.’
‘Oh, thank God! My house is on fire. My boyfriend has stabbed someone. He has a knife. We’re at number 18 Forrester Avenue, Putney.’
I missed what the voice said next as I began to cough from the smoke and the fumes, thumping my fist against my chest to clear my lungs, meanwhile searching around me for Sam.
There was still no sign of him.
‘Are you in a secure position?’ I thought the call handler asked. ‘Do you know where you boyfriend is?’
‘No,’ I yelled.
The next part I couldn’t hear.
I looked around me again, then ducked down towards Donovan.
‘Where’s Sam?’ I shouted at him.
He shook his head and rasped, ‘Don’t know.’
My insides contracted.
I knew I couldn’t leave Donovan here but I was afraid to move him, scared of making his injuries worse, petrified that Sam was still in the house.
‘How long until someone gets here?’ I asked the call handler.
A muffled response.
‘HOW LONG?’
Again, I couldn’t hear anything, and this time I slipped the phone into my pocket and put my mouth next to Donovan’s ear. ‘I have to move you.’
I thought he nodded.
Grabbing the hammer, I reached behind me, lifting up my vest top and stuffing it down beneath the waistband of my jeans, then I scurried towards Donovan’s feet, fitted my hands around his ankles and pulled.
He grunted in pain but he barely moved. His weight felt immense.
‘Go,’ he murmured.
I shook my head and pulled again, harder this time, coughing smoke from my lungs.
He moved a bit further, his arms trailing behind him, his jumper and the makeshift dressing at his side snagging on the floor.
I checked over my shoulder for Sam, my eyes stinging and streaming, then turned back again.
The flames on the scorched granite of the kitchen island were beginning to diminish but the ones gnawing at the cupboard unit on the wall were starting to blister the paint finish.
‘Come on!’ I screamed, and this time I yanked with everything I had, falling down onto the wooden flooring, then digging in with my heels and pulling again.
I sucked in more smoke but I didn’t stop, dragging Donovan further away from the flames, eventually getting as far as the trio of steps leading up into the living room.
Sinking to my side, wincing from the effort and the shrill alarm wail, I braced myself on my elbow for a moment, then pushed to my feet, slipped my hands beneath Donovan’s shoulder blades, took hold of his armpits and heaved and twisted him around until his body was propped sideways against the steps.
He grunted and tried to push himself up, rocked his hips from side to side, flapped his arm weakly against the ground.
‘Let me,’ I shouted.
Climbing the steps and taking hold of his left wrist with both my hands, I pulled with everything I had. Donovan moaned. My lower back screamed. His glove partially slipped off and his body slid forwards in jerks and increments across the floorboards I’d varnished so carefully.
I repeated the process, getting just beyond the bottom of the stairs and on towards the front door. Another smoke alarm blared and flashed from the landing above me.
Letting go of Donovan’s arm, I took two steps backwards and tried the front door.
Locked.
Suddenly I felt watched.
I was terrified that Sam was about to leap out at us. I was scared he was hiding behind the armchair Donovan had been hiding behind earlier.
Whipping the hammer out from behind me, I removed Donovan’s phone from my pocket. After flicking at the bottom of the screen with shaking fingers, I thumbed the torch app, then cast the light over the darkened area to my right, briefly illuminating the green sofa and the marble coffee table, the fireplace and the accent chair.
No sign of Sam.
Armed with the hammer, I ventured closer, slowing as I neared the armchair, the blue light blinking from my side.
My entire body was trembling.
I raised the hammer up above my shoulder and took one large step forwards, shouting out in terror and frustration as I swung the torch beam down and around, but Sam wasn’t lurking there, either.
That was when I felt it.
A faint, cool breeze behind me.
I turned and parted the hinged shutters from the window behind them.
The sash unit that was nearest to the front door had been thrown upwards.
It was wide open to the night.
Sam must have gone out this way.
Quickly now, I tucked the hammer behind me again and sprinted back to Donovan, dropping to my knees next to his side, pushing my fingers inside the right hip pocket of his trousers and finding his duplicate set of house keys, then using them to unlock and open the door.
Night air swept in. Crisp and dark and black.
I dragged Donovan just outside onto the pathway. His face was wracked with pain. He was braced in discomfort, sweat springing from his brow.
When I straightened, my legs felt heavy, my lungs were scorched.
Looking to my side, I noticed that Sam’s backpack was gone from where he’d left it near the front door.
I clutched Donovan’s phone to my ear, my breaths coming in wearied pants. Inside the kitchen, I saw the cupboard unit puff into flame.
‘Are you still there?’ I asked.
‘Still here,’ the call handler replied.
‘How long until someone gets here? Please, you need to help, I think the fire is going to spread.’
‘Units are on their way.’
I glanced behind me, but I couldn’t see or hear anything that told me they were close.
‘I have to get someone else out,’ I said, and then I stepped over Donovan with the torch beam held out in front of me and raced up the stairs.