by Mimi Barbour
The noise of the fire was much louder here and much more frightening than from outside the building. The sounds of collapsing walls, shattering glass, and roaring flames blasted his eardrums. Smaller explosions nearby urged him to hurry. When the sky outside the one small window darkened and blackened clouds began to obscure his precious light, Troy knew he had very little time.
Before he reached the end of the hall, he nearly tripped over the body of an older woman sprawled at an awkward angle across the floor. Without the meagre light from that tiny overhead window, Troy would certainly never have seen her.
He dropped to his hands and knees beside the white-haired lady where she lay next to a heap of cloth. Lowering his glasses, he got really close. Blood streamed from a cut on her forehead. Ashen, blue-veined skin scared him into checking for a pulse.
“Troy, she’s alive. My God, the poor dear is dreadfully pale. We’ll have to take care. Can you carry her?”
Breathing was becoming more difficult for Troy. He tried to take shallow breaths so he wouldn’t cough or draw smoke into his already afflicted lungs. “I don’t think so. It’s difficult breathing, and if I try to stand and pick her up, I’m scared we’ll be overcome. Dani, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, bringing you in here, taking such a crazy chance with your life.”
“Give over. I wanted to come. How could we ignore the old bloke’s grief? We have to save her. For him. But I don’t think we can drag her. She’s bleeding a lot and her leg’s angled strangely. What can we do?”
With sudden realization, Troy saw that the soft heap pooled on the floor by Mary was a quilt. He scooted over, grabbed it, and flipped it across the prone body, then awkwardly rolled the woman into a cocoon and onto her back in seconds. Now fully enclosed in a pink-flowered shroud, she became easier to move. By grabbing one end and twisting it, he could haul it over his shoulder. Then he crawled, slithered, and wiggled, with the blanket skid bringing up the rear.
Flames burst from a room on his right, encouraging him to move even faster. The tail end of the quilt flapped open, sliding through red embers. Like a tease, a flame caught, only to fizzle out again. The open door loomed about ten feet ahead. Choking, gagging, hot tears pouring from his eyes, he found in Dani the encouragement and strength that kept him going.
“Troy, love, almost there. You’re wonderful. My God! You’re fantastic. Don’t stop now. Here’s the door. You’ve done it! I love you, you ruddy great darling, do you hear me?”
“I hear you. You’re screaming so loud it’s a wonder I’m not deaf. Couldn’t have done it without you, and I’m rather fond of you too, brat.”
Gnarled waiting hands helped Troy pull his precious cargo through the last foot of the hallway and over the sill. The sobbing entreaties that had coaxed the exhausted young man through the final effort of the rescue stopped as he collapsed—his strength gone, used up, depleted.
Troy lay face down on the cool grass, concentrating on controlling his breathing by pure will power. Coughing hurt, so he took small breaths and swallowed repeatedly, trying to bring moisture into his dry throat.
Cradled in loving arms, Mary soon came around. She looked up into the rheumy eyes of her man, and she smiled. “There ya are, you old tosser.” The words, whispered in a voice raw and grating, produced a relieved smile.
Hearing her speak, Troy scuttled over to where the old couple were cuddled together. As he approached, two sets of streaming, red-rimmed eyes peered his way. The old man reached out to Troy’s cheek and patted as one would a child.
“God love ya, sir!”
Chapter Fourteen
Dr. Andrews, nervous and prayerful, checked his watch once more. Nurse Joye flashed him a sympathetic look. The minutes sped by, showing twelve and then twelve-oh-one and twelve-oh-two. They’d pricked the girl’s finger more than once, but nothing had happened. Dani’s body remained lax, supported on both sides, filling the space between them. Apprehension, like a living entity, surrounded the bench in the doctor’s garden.
Dani’s curls, free in the breeze, bounced around her head, the golden-red spirals wild and unbound. Dr. Andrews brushed them away from her face, his hand noticeably shaking.
“Confound it, Grace, I’m most terribly sorry, but it doesn’t look as if she’s returning to us this week.”
Unknown to those on the bench, Mrs. Dorn had hovered behind the fern plant that somewhat blocked the doorway. Eyes gaping, ears tuned to catch every word, with both hands covering her mouth, she had waited. When she heard the doctor’s admission, her left foot stamped down hard, and then her right followed as she danced out her temper. “Bloody hell,” she whispered, and headed to her kitchen and the hidden bottle of gin she kept under the sink.
“It’s just not working. I know you think I’m quite mad, my dear, and I don’t blame you, but I truly believe she will return to us, and in this exact manner.”
“Since no one else has come up with a solid reason for why this girl is in the state she’s in, and after reading your reports on the other vicarage bench cases, I’m inclined to put my faith in you, Doctor. We can carry on this week and try again next Saturday.”
“Thank you, Grace. You realize these next few days will test the patience of all of us. My sister is getting more demanding every day. She’s determined to come and see her daughter, and I can’t say I blame her. My only hope is to keep playing on my “uncle” status, along with my professional credentials. If we can convince her to leave Dani where she is and not interfere for just one more week, chances are good that the girl will reappear next Saturday. If she doesn’t, then I’ll have to gi-gi-give over and admit my duplicity.”
Grace reached to pat his arm, lending unspoken support.
Depressed and shaken, his mind wandered. He revisited the gut-wrenching feelings he’d had as a lad at boarding school, waiting hours for the headmaster when they caught him smoking. He’d had the same sick feeling in his stomach then as he did now. While rubbing his chest, he reached to the inside pocket of his vest for his medicine. The amount of heartburn medication he’d used just this past week was more than he’d used in the whole previous year. And from the looks of it, he’d have to buy a couple more bottles to have on hand.
“Doctor, I’m sure your sister wouldn’t blame you if the truth were made known to her. How could she?”
All colour left his face. He squinted, hesitated, then swallowed another mouthful from the small brown bottle. “The fact is, she would not only blame me but hold me in contempt for trying to feed her hogwash about a magic rose bush.” How could he ever explain his family’s dynamics to an outsider?
Marion, at ten years of age, had decided that her new baby brother would be her special responsibility, and no one could dissuade her. She took over his care while he still wore diapers. His mother, thinking it was adorable the way her oldest daughter played at being his mummy, and having three others to take care of, stepped aside and let her have her way. The girl literally became his warden—so much so that he was probably the only fellow in his campus who had looked forward to the end of holidays and returning to school. Marion’s uncanny knack of seeing through his nonsense, trapping him in lies, and cutting him off at the knees still had the power to render him speechless.
With his right hand he rubbed the back of his neck as he arched his spine. This week would be pure hell.
Chapter Fifteen
“Troy, quit sulking! You can’t blame me that we missed our twelve o’clock deadline. I didn’t start the fire. And you know we couldn’t leave the old man alone after they took Mary and the others to the hospital in the ambulance. We had no choice. With the shape he was in, we had to go in the taxi with him. Anyway, you wanted to come as much as I did.”
“Dani, please, just—shut up!”
“Why am I not surprised? Every time something happens you don’t like, you tell me to shut my trap. Now that’s grown up, isn’t it? An educated world traveller such as yourself showing the younger, less sophisticated
person how to react in stressful moments. I’ll be taking notes, for sure.”
“Dani, I’m warning you. Fade, go away, leave me alone to deal, or you’re liable to get an inside scoop on what a grown man looks like throwing a temper tantrum any two-year-old would envy.”
“Rolling on the ground, beating your fists, and screaming at the top of your lungs? Now that’s something I’d stick around for.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“I like to think so.”
“And a brat!”
“Uh-huh!”
“And a royal pain in the ass.”
“Cussing? You are ticked. I’ll forgive you. Being a royal anything to a Brit is rather pleasing.”
“Oh, shut up!”
“I believe we already covered that. Considering you’re a reporter, your use of the English language leaves a lot to be desired, my man.”
“I am not your man.” Abrupt words spoken in a clipped inner voice.
“I beg to differ.” The smirk showed in her tone.
“You know you’re really beginning to get on my nerves.”
“My cue! I’ll be here when you’re in a better mood.”
“Don’t hold your—my—breath!”
Dani loved squaring off with Troy. By fencing words with her, he treated her with the same respect he’d give an equal. Plus, his sense of humour fit well with hers. She didn’t constantly have to bite her tongue, or in this instance curb her thoughts.
Knowing she’d be forced to spend this next week with him made her happier than she could ever remember. Her feelings for him were changing, growing stronger, and this would give her time to try and understand what they all meant. When she’d told him she loved him, as they’d rescued Mary, the words had resonated with an honesty that needed to be explored.
She’d messed up at home and knew she had a load of bother to face, knew it wouldn’t go away. But still, she felt as if fate had stepped in to give her seven more days of sanity.
Until recently, she’d abided by the rules, lived under her mother’s strict regime, and found her own avenues to enjoy life through her writing and her friends. Her uncle played a big role in her day-to-day existence, being there for her whenever she had a need to let loose. Her father also ranked high on her list of people with whom she most liked to spend quality time. They enjoyed many a wonderful day together, often going to London to see shows followed by treats of restaurant meals and unlimited shopping.
But none of them had ever made her as happy as Troy. Being a part of him, watching and evaluating his behaviour, helped her to truly “get” the person inside. And that person was lovely. Not a mean or thoughtless bone in his body. How could she ever want to leave him? She’d never before felt so safe.
On every occasion when he’d asked about her background or tried to trick her into telling him about her home, she’d refused to reveal any information whatsoever. Fearing he would want to investigate her private life, she knew she couldn’t allow that to happen. She was quite aware of the time jump she’d made, and her relationship to the people he’d met in Bury so far. However, if he found out her secret, that she was, in reality, Ellie Ward—or would be in ten years using that name as her pseudonym—and that she was the very woman he’d come so far to interview, he’d never forgive her for not telling him.
Yet if she admitted what she knew, everything would change. And since she had no idea of what was going to happen in her future, because for her it hadn’t even happened yet, it wasn’t as if she could tell him anything about the incident in Chicago anyway. Gosh, just thinking about it gave her a headache.
Naughty—yes, definitely. And a little unkind—maybe, but she wanted this next week. She could help him with his job, if he’d let her. What a grand opportunity to learn how a successful writer works and thinks. As long as he approved, she’d absorb every nuance of his skills that he would share.
Lastly, she knew he had laughed it off when she teased about having a crush on him, but in all truth she felt quite sappy over the good-looking bloke. Every minute she spent lodged inside with his wonderful spirit was, to her, total bliss.
****
Troy threw away the mangled rose—it hadn’t had any effect on him whatsoever—and jerked upright from the vicarage bench. He stood for a moment, hands on hips, legs wide and head down, thinking. He’d argued with Dani that they needed to try to reverse the spell despite being late, but she had been right. It hadn’t worked. She was still with him, and he fumed about wasting the time. What a fool’s errand! Niggling doubts entered his mind, questioning whether or not she knew what she was talking about, but since he had nothing else to go on, no one else to ask, he’d have to trust her. He stomped back in the direction of the hospital.
Anger festered, but only a little. It was the worry that bothered him more. He worried about her family and the fears they must be suffering with their Dani in a coma. If only she’d tell him something about herself, so he’d be able to contact them and assure them that…what? That she still existed? That she’d taken up residence inside of him for a while? Okay, maybe not such a good idea. Especially since she’d be no help at all. It was clear to him that this setback pleased her.
He’d felt her relief when the magic hadn’t taken, sensed she was keeping something from him but knew she had no intentions of sharing her secrets just yet. And did he really want to hear them? Getting more involved didn’t seem like a smart move.
Maybe he needed to step back, but then again, in their circumstances wouldn’t that be a mite difficult? He knew she’d developed a schoolgirl crush on him. What scared him silly was that, without meaning to, he’d begun to feel quite attached to her, also. What a mess!
Another week of living with her would try his restraint to the limit. She could be very engaging, and he’d never had anyone look up to him the way she did, or make him feel tall as a mountain, either, for that matter. He liked it. Who wouldn’t, for goodness sake? He was a softie who’d never had much time for romance and sometimes felt cheated in that part of his life.
Of course, he’d had lady friends; what decent-looking guy his age hadn’t? But that’s all they were. Women. Linked together in one word. No one stood out from the others, because he hadn’t let his feelings become involved. With Dani, he’d had no choice. She fit him so perfectly that he’d begun to rely on her being there, inside him, a part of him.
Oh, God! What in holy hell was he thinking? She was a seventeen-year-old virgin. He was a man of the world, more than ten years older. This was crazy. As hard as it would be to stop his fantasies, he had to. What if she zeroed in on his thoughts? Then where would he be?
He needed to concentrate on his work. Being broke upset him daily. The thought of having to call his brothers to pitch in and get him out of this fix was enough to make him break out in hives. He’d be suffering their teasing at every family gathering for years.
Not gonna happen!
Add all that to the fact he still didn’t have the story he’d come to England for, and it became understandable that his disposition wasn’t the best. Time to get to work and stop mooning around over his little soul mate.
His plans for the next few days were simple. Visit with the victims of the fire to get their stories. Then find Ellie Ward and get her to talk with him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and swivelled his neck from side to side, stretching his muscles. Aggravation rode him hard.
Who knew his life could become so complicated in just a short while? One day a single bachelor without a care in the world, following a great lead—the next, a broke, botched-the-job reporter with an adopted puppy and invaded by a mystical, endearing, demon teenager. What the hell was that all about?
****
Hospital noises swirled in the background as soon as he entered the old building. Various voices over the PA system called for specific doctors and nurses. Cries of children, groans of adults, and the commotion that exists inside every ER clamoured all around him. A lone floorwasher ai
mlessly swiped at the grey tiles with a wet mop, stopping every so often to dunk the dirty strands back into the pail of water nearby. Cleaning agents overpowered most of the other smells, but pain and fear had their own scent that nothing could cover.
Unembellished heartbreak, screamed in an old woman’s voice, perked up his ears. His reporter genes kicked in. Glancing around, he saw a multitude of stories hovering everywhere. They called out to him—to the part of him that was full of questions aching to be asked.
Wanting to understand.
Needing to learn.
The folks who had endured tragedies today were chock full of painful anecdotes waiting to come to light and be shared, and he was just the person to collect them. Local papers normally bought freelance work if it ranked high in quality and interest, and his work had placed among some of the best. Articles on behind-the-scenes action, special coverage, and stories of the heart always sold.
He evaluated his interviewing prospects. Grandpa, who’d introduced himself in the taxi as Edmund Conway, would be his introduction into the piece. In this specific review, Troy could add a lot of background filler, thanks to being a part of the action himself. Descriptions from others were fine, but having had a first-hand view of the tragedies at the fire would help big-time. Experiencing the feeling of fear, the heat of the blaze and the atmosphere from inside the burning building would bring a special kind of reality to his writing.
He found Edmund resting in the visitor’s room, praying and waiting to hear the doctor’s diagnosis on Mary. His head of messy white hair leaned against the back of the sofa, while his eyes stared at the empty grey ceiling. Low murmured prayers, whispered in a raw voice, could be heard if one took the time to listen. Troy sat next to the old fellow and put his hand over the ones clenched and trembling. As soon as Edmund looked over and saw Troy, he started to babble. His worries came across in his words, and his fear came through in the way he clutched Troy’s hand.
