by JD Nixon
I was fascinated and couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen for a full five minutes. When I stopped watching I realised that I’d probably had my mouth open for the entire time. Fortunately nobody could see what my expression was because of the flickering lighting. But also nobody was looking at me in any case, being far too busy watching as the busty lady straddled the goatee man’s lap. They were kissing deeply, her dress ruched up, his hands on her ample and bare arse, and her hands down the front of his pants.
I should qualify my previous statement by saying that nobody had been looking at me except for Farrell, of course. He was on the other side of the room, half-hidden in the flickering shadows, but I could feel his eyes on me. He lifted his fingers up and I took that to mean that he’d noticed my reaction and was advising me to avert my eyes from the forthcoming depravity on the screen and in the room. He was trying to help me appear more professional, not the slack-jawed rubberneck that I was currently being.
It was good advice. Until the movie finished I kept my eyes firmly fixed on one of the walls or on the dancing light of the candles, not the movie screen nor what was happening between the guests. When the movie was over, Marty jumped up to put on some very seductive music and encouraged all the couples to dance together, laughingly reminding them that they couldn’t dance with their own partners. He went outside to bring in more alcohol for the guests. Gabriela, even unsteadier in her high-heels after a few champagnes, lit more candles down the hallway to the bedrooms and powder room and outside on the terrace.
Farrell joined me and suggested that we do another sweep of the grounds and the rooms.
“Are you okay?” he asked as we walked around the front yard.
“Sure. It’s only going to get worse from here. That movie! I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“How old are you?”
“There’s no need to be rude,” I said huffily. “It’s not like I’m a prude or anything. I just haven’t watched much erotica before.”
He sighed patiently. “I wasn’t being rude. I was genuinely curious.”
I looked at him with suspicion, but took him on his word. “I’m twenty-five.”
“You’re young. It’s a shame you had to see it now then, in these circumstances. If you’re going to watch porn, it should be on your own terms. With material that you’re comfortable watching.”
He was so calm and sensible, yet not preachy at all. I really liked that. I was beginning to warm to him.
“Yeah, well, I’ve seen a lot since I started this job.” Including someone being murdered, which I wasn’t likely to ever forget. A porn movie didn’t even begin to compare to that experience, and that thought helped me put the whole night into perspective. As Heller had said, the night would pass soon enough and in a week or two it would just be a bad memory. I would have had a new experience and he would have made more money, which I was convinced was all he really cared about. Except for Vanessa, reminded that bitchy part of my brain that likes to torment me.
“I know you’ve seen a lot, Chalmers.” And once again his eyes were unexpectedly compassionate. It was a side of him that not many people would imagine from his tough exterior. I began to like him even more, despite his gruffness.
“How old are you?” I asked, curious.
“Thirty-seven.”
“Any kids?”
“No.” He turned away, signalling his intention not to answer any more of my personal questions.
Finished with our rounds, we returned to the living area to find the party in full swing, literally and figuratively. The seductive music was still going, but nobody was dancing any longer, the only dancing going on in the room confined to the horizontal type.
On seeing the copulating couples, Farrell grabbed my arm and marched me over to the hallway that led to the front door. He strongly recommended that I stay on duty near the hall, slightly out of eyesight, while he took up a position at right angles to me watching over the living room and the debauchery. I appreciated his efforts to restrict my view of the action, but he couldn’t block my ears. The grunting, moaning and slapping noises turned my stomach and could honestly put a person off sex for life.
To me, sex is intricately entwined with love and respect. I hated one-night stands and I could never contemplate swinging or swapping partners on a casual basis. I loved sex with someone I knew and trusted. The one-nighters I’d had always made me feel dirty and cheap afterwards. And although I’d probably enjoyed them at the time (most I couldn’t even remember), I couldn’t stand that horrible sensation of waking up next to a stranger in an unfamiliar environment, not knowing if I was safe or not. So I’d finally made the decision not to have any more. And it was the right decision for me. But I tried not to be judgemental of others, and while I couldn’t imagine sharing my partner with anyone, especially right in front of me, I didn’t begrudge or condemn others for their own desires. I just wished I didn’t have to be here to witness it.
Sometime later, Gabriela, stark naked except for her high heels, her face glistening with some unidentified body fluid, staggered towards the powder room. Her unsteady gait rendered her in danger of kicking over one of the candles. I took her by the arm and guided her to the powder room, even assisting her onto the toilet to my immense embarrassment, but not hers. She couldn’t have cared less. I guess if you’re willing to screw strangers in front of your husband and watch him do the same, you’re not too squeamish about other things either. I turned my back to give her some privacy, ignoring the huge gush of peeing I could hear. The toilet flushed and she fell into me, almost knocking me over. I helped her to the sink to wash and dry her hands and then back to the orgy, where she launched herself with renewed enthusiasm, attaching herself immediately to a recumbent and unoccupied man’s stiff penis.
I sidled up to Farrell.
“Heller doesn’t pay me enough to do that kind of stuff!” I complained.
His mouth twitched. Speaking of Heller, I checked my mobile again. Nothing. Bastard, I thought unreasonably. He would have loved this orgy. He probably would have joined in, I thought bitterly as I watched one couple stumble their way into one of the guest bedrooms.
Unfortunately, Gabriela wasn’t the first inebriated person I had to help to the bathroom that evening. I even had to help guide a few men into pointing percy at the porcelain properly. Geez! I despaired as I waited, back turned, while one naked man pissed for what I thought was an unreasonably long time.
Would this evening never end?
The expression on my face after that particular incident encouraged Farrell to crack a full half-smile, which for him was the equivalent of a rolling-on-the-floor laughing fit. I’m never doing this kind of assignment again, I decided. I hadn’t realised I’d be on piss patrol all night.
I checked my watch, surprised to see it was eleven o’clock. The party guests all seemed fairly inebriated and exhausted after their evening of lust, the frenzy of the orgy slowing down, over half the people even fast asleep. Perhaps the party might end at midnight this time? The generous flow of alcohol and the keenness of the guests to be quickly satiated could lead to our early release from this terrible assignment. When I mentioned this hope to Farrell though, he pointed out that after an hour’s nap or so, most of them would be raring to go again. My shoulders slumped and I groaned in disappointment.
“I’ll leave you here to do the toilet tour of duty, while I check the outside again,” Farrell said.
“And I thought you said you had no sense of humour,” I remarked with a withering glance.
“I don’t,” he replied, completely deadpan again and he departed through the terrace doors, leaving me alone with the incontinently incompetent. Excellent – exactly what I wanted to do on a Friday night.
I counted the slowly writhing or fast asleep bodies by the poor candlelight and there were twenty-two. I went to the front guest bedroom to check on the other two. They had passed out on the bed, possibly mid-coitus judging by their strange positions; h
er face down, legs spread out widely, him lying on top of her back. I heaved a giant sigh and laboriously hauled him off her onto his back, then onto his side so he wouldn’t choke on any vomit. Then I did the same for her, checking she was still breathing after having his great weight on her all of this time.
Drunk people! I thought to myself with disgust, as if I hadn’t frequently been in that particular condition myself.
When I returned to the living room, Farrell was back. “There’s a strong wind picking up outside. I had to extinguish some of those candles so nothing would catch on fire. It’s a bloody fire trap around here.”
“I know. It’s stupid to have candles everywhere when everyone’s drinking so much.”
“I think we should start blowing them all out.”
We commenced doing just that, beginning with the ones in the hallway, when an enormous blast from the terrace illuminated the entire living area. It was followed by an ear-splitting crackling noise and a rush of heat through the house towards us. Several of the still awake guests screamed in terror.
“Shit!” cried Farrell, which aptly summed up my feelings as well. “What the hell was that?”
On the first terrace, potted palms burst into fiery shapes in the darkness.
“Did you notice if there were any extinguishers on the terrace?” Farrell asked me urgently. “We can put this out before it spreads any further.”
I shook my head, eyes huge, shocked. “I didn’t notice any.”
He ran to the door, but was stopped when another blast, even fiercer than the first ripped through the terrace, splintering the glass doors. The timber pavillion caught fire, as did the tablecloths and more palms, effectively cutting off the back as an escape route.
A third blast ensured that everything flammable on the terrace was now fully alight. The flames blew towards the house with every gust of wind.
“They must have gas bottles out there for their barbeque. We can’t put this out – it needs professionals. We’ll have to evacuate everyone through the front door.”
I stood rooted to the ground, mesmerised by the flames dancing and flickering in the deep darkness of the night.
“Chalmers! Get your arse into gear!” he yelled at me. “We don’t have much time.”
That did the job of jolting me out of my reverie and I rushed towards the guests, some of whom were already on their feet, stumbling about in panic.
Fierce flames from the terrace invaded the house, forced in by powerful gusts of wind, consuming every flammable object. The curtains were ablaze and blowing wildly in the wind, spreading the fire even further through the house. The silk throw on the sofa caught fire, which in turn ignited a display of dried ornamental rushes in a large vase. Fire spread through the living room and kitchen at an alarming speed.
I grabbed a couple by their arms, urging them towards the front door, trying to compensate for their drunken staggers. Farrell guided another couple towards the front door, but stopped when he rattled the doorknob. He turned to me, his eyes fervent.
“Someone’s locked the deadlock on it.” Farrell and I had only been using the normal lock. “Marty must have done it at some point. We need the key to get out.”
“Shit!”
I immediately dropped my two guests and ran back to the living area, dodging spot fires as I went. Marty was sprawled drunk, naked and asleep, spooning one of the single women. No pockets on a naked man and hence, no key. I looked for Gabriela and spotted her in an equal state to her husband on the other side of the room, her head resting on a man’s groin. Double shit!
I hunted through the clothes I found scattered around. I stopped for an instant and thought back. What had Marty been wearing? Think, think! Then I remembered – dark brown trousers. I frantically searched through all the trousers until I found a dark brown pair and delved into each pocket. Nothing. I threw them away and kept searching until I found another pair of the right colour. A quick exploration through the pockets again, and this attempt was successful. My fingers closed over a set of small keys, and I ran back to Farrell. I was so nervous that I fumbled and dropped the keys and then dropped them again trying to pick them up. Stop wasting time, I silently screamed at myself.
He hadn’t been idle during this time, moving another pair of conscious people to the front door. The six guests huddled together, looking equally frightened and embarrassed at their nakedness now that their lust had died away.
Farrell snatched the keys from my hands and hastily tried them all in the door, none of them fitting.
“These aren’t the right keys,” he shouted at me.
“They are. Do it slower. You didn’t do it properly!” I shouted back at him.
He glared at me, but took a deep breath and tried them all again. One worked this time and the door sprang open. We ushered the six people outside onto the lawn in the front yard, as far away from the house as possible.
“Ring the fire brigade,” Farrell ordered as he went back into the burning house. I took out my mobile and rang emergency, giving them the address and informing them of the fire and the large number of people inside the house.
A huge gust of wind blew in through the front door, which we’d left open, acting as an accelerant for the flames. The fire began to pick up speed and intensity, spreading twice as fast.
We hadn’t had a chance to extinguish all of the candles in the hallway and I noticed as I ran back inside that some had caught on to the tapestries hanging on the walls. I stopped to quickly damp down some of those little fires, but Farrell yelled at me to give him a hand, so I abandoned that job and went to him.
He grabbed another two barely awake people, and I wasted precious moments urging another two very drowsy people to their feet. Their stupor turned to fear when they realised that flames surrounded them. Panicking, they staggered into each other, not listening to my instructions.
“Come on people, wake up!” I screamed at them, shaking their arms in frustration as I struggled to herd them in the right direction. They kept banging into each other and me, and the three of us lurched slowly to the door. I was so glad to reach it, dumping them to collapse on the manicured lawn with the others while I sprinted back inside. We’d rescued ten guests so far. Fourteen to go.
The smoke became chokingly thick, forcing me to pull up my polo shirt over my mouth to assist my breathing. Farrell did the same. He dragged a deeply slumbering guest by the arms out of the living area, down the hallway. I grasped an unconscious Gabriela by her hands and dragged her across the floor. She wasn’t heavy, being such a petite woman, but it was still a strain on my back and arms.
I deposited her safely on the lawn into the care of the other guests who had well and truly sobered up by now, and Farrell and I returned inside the burning house. The heat was intense and we were both feeling scorched and sweaty as we laboured.
After confirming with each other that we had twelve guests safe with twelve to go, we each seized the nearest slumbering body from the floor. We unceremoniously dragged them out of the house and dumped them on the lawn, and returned for the next two.
My back was killing me. Not to mention my eyes and my lungs. The hot smoke I inhaled with each heaving breath made me cough and burned my lungs. My eyes were streaming. I began to worry that we weren’t going to rescue all the guests in time. There were so many of them left and the whole back wall of the house was afire.
I redoubled my efforts, and like a wild woman I hauled the next person out in record time, dashing back in to grab another. We moved closer to the burning back wall, trying to reach the people in most danger. Between us, we managed to drag another four out of the house. Sixteen safe, eight to go.
The tapestries in the hallway were now alight, making the trip to the front door even more hazardous. Pain stung my bare forearms where flames licked at my skin. After dropping my latest rescue, I had a coughing fit on the lawn, bent over double with the effort. I spat out a huge quantity of gray phlegm and vomited up more. Farrell spared a se
cond to pat me on the back before he rushed inside again. Wearily I followed him, my throat scorched and barely able to see out of my tear-filled eyes.
The kitchen was on fire by now as well and the heat was intense. In desperation, Farrell decided to pull two recumbent figures at the same time, an extremely difficult manoeuvre that left him gasping for oxygen, his face screwed up with effort, the muscles in his arms and neck popping out in strain. The extra weight slowed him down considerably and caused all three of them to suffer through the burning hallway.
A couple of the drunks managed to rouse themselves with the racket, one of them Marty. I slipped my arms around their waists and helped them stagger their way out to the lawn, where they collapsed on the ground breathing in great gasps of oxygen. I breathed in a few myself while I was out there. Sirens wailed in the distance. Thank God!
Farrell and I went back in, noticing immediately that the situation had worsened since our last trip. The raked timber ceiling of the living area was now also on fire. I didn’t think we’d be able to come back inside again after this trip – it was too dangerous for amateurs like us. We needed professionals to take over.
We each grasped a person by the hands. My back screamed at me to stop the torture, but I had no choice but to tune out the pain. My face baked in the scorching heat, and I struggled to breathe or even see in the thick smoke. I was ahead of Farrell, just about to drag my person into the hallway, when something in the kitchen exploded with an enormous blast that lit up the entire house. A savage tongue of flame added its force to the ceiling fire. Part of the roof of the living area suddenly collapsed with a great crashing noise, trapping Farrell and his person beneath.
