A Poisonous Journey (19 page)
The buckets are heavy, and even though I hold each only for a second, my arms and back begin to ache within moments. The fire doesn’t easily give up its fight. Where is the rain when we need it? The dampness of the morning has evaporated and does nothing to aid in our efforts. As I move along in this strange dance of turning, holding, passing and repeating, my eyes take in the orange, red, yellow flames as they devour the narrow house. They flare out in angry tendrils from the windows where blackened shreds of curtains flail like frantic limbs.
Fire
. My breathing grows faster, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My arms, now wet from spilled water prickle with goosebumps.
Fire
. My knees are weak, still I keep moving, passing bucket after sopping bucket. Steam rises from the ground as the flames blacken the yellow stone, spitting bursts of sooty ash, crackling and hissing like a thousand snakes. Despite shouts of the people around me, I am deafened by them alone. And the smell. The chocking clawing monster trying to savage my insides, filling my lungs, trying—
Fire
. My breathing grows faster, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My arms, now wet from spilled water prickle with goosebumps.
Fire
. My knees are weak, still I keep moving, passing bucket after sopping bucket. Steam rises from the ground as the flames blacken the yellow stone, spitting bursts of sooty ash, crackling and hissing like a thousand snakes. Despite shouts of the people around me, I am deafened by them alone. And the smell. The chocking clawing monster trying to savage my insides, filling my lungs, trying—
"Evelyn? Evelyn!" I have stopped moving. A man pushes me aside and continues passing buckets to Daniel, whose voice is ringing through the fog. I cannot move. I can ony stare. I want to run away. I can’t bear it, can’t bear the acrid smell, the stinging in my eyes, the violent, ugly, terrible color of the blaze. I am not seeing the little yellow house anymore. It has been replaced by a large Tudor manor. Flames are shooting violent hissing sparks from the roof, glass bursting in the windows … tears are running down my face, wet and uncontrolled. Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder, shaking me.
"Evelyn!" Tears blur my vision. I blink and see Daniel’s hazy face, behind him Dymas, wearing a bemused expression. I look over their shoulders. The fire is gone. The house a blackened, sooty mess. Swallowing, I wipe at my face with the back of my hand.
"Here," Dymas passes me a hankerchief.
"Are you all right?" Daniel asks, confusion evident in his voice. He has rolled up his sleeves, still the front of his shirt is soaked. Dymas hasn’t fared any better. I turn my gaze to the charred skeleton of the house, making certain no flames stick out their taunting tongues at me.
"Yes," I run a trembling hand over my clammy forehead, "I … it was just a bit much." My breathing is ragged, the smoke suffocating, the long-dormant monster awake and hungry. A spasm of fear runs through me. I let out a cough, my whole body trembling with its force. I want the smoky blackness out, all of it. I want no trace of it to touch me.
"Let’s get her back to my office." Dymas’ voice allows no objection. Daniel nods. Both men lead me back to the police station. I am numb as they place me in the seat I occupied earlier.
Dymas reaches under his desk into a drawer and pulls out a nearly full bottle containing a clear liquid and three tiny glasses. He sets them on his desk, filling them nearly to the brim.
"Here," he slides two glaces over to Daniel and me, "drink, you’ll feel better."
Without thinking, I take a generous sip. I splutter, coughing more violently than before as the liquid burns away at the inside of my mouth, a river of fire down my throat.
"Easy!" Dymas shakes his head and takes a sip from his own glass.
"You shouldn’t have come out! It was dangerous. Briony would have my head if anything happened to you." Though his words are spoken with a force ill disguising his distress, Daniel doesn’t look angry.
"It’s all right. I’m fine now, truly."
"She was brave to come," the inspector startles me with his comment his black-eyed gaze focused on me. "I must thank both of you." He graces us with a rough smile and holds up his glass.
Daniel begins to say something, opens his mouth, then decides otherwise and raises his glass. My hands now calm again I join them and as we clink together, take a tiny sip. It’s not so bad the second time, maybe because I can’t seem to taste anything anymore. At least the bitter tang of smoke clinging to my throat has been washed away.
"Was anybody hurt?" I find my voice again to ask the question weighing heavily on my mind.
"No, there was nobody in the house. They work in town. It will be a bad shock, and I have no way of reaching them to give them a warning. The husband works as a fisherman, and his wife does cleaning jobs, so they will not have access to a telephone."
"How awful! At least no one came to any harm."
"That is a relief." Daniel puts down his half-empty glass. He glances at the large clock, ticking away behind the inspector on the wall beside the window. Turning his head to look at me he says, "We should go. Briony will be waiting." He looks uneasy, his jaw tight and lines crinkling his furrowed brow. I glance from Daniel to the inspector, who gives an almost imperceptible nod.
"Are you up to it, Miss Carlisle?" I notice he has dropped the "lady" again and smile.
"I think so."
"Then let me show you the way out." Dymas rises from his chair, his trousers stained and crumpled, he moves around the desk and opens the door. "If you will follow me."
Daniel and I get to our feet. To my relief, my legs have regained a sense of gravity, and they neither sway nor buckle below me. Nevertheless, I do not hesitate when Daniel offers me his arm.
As we cross the hallway and walk towards the entrance, I notice the curious stares we seem to attract. Daniel and Dymas certainly look less than pristine and, as it happens, so do the other policeman we pass. The fire has united us, and as we behold each other sooty and dissheveled, standing at the door, I cannot help but laugh, whether out of relief or anxiety I cannot say. For a moment, I am the only one, then Dymas joins in, loud and open mouthed, then Daniel and the four or five men around us. If an outsider walked in and saw us now, they would think it was a madhouse rather than the police station!
After a few moments, we wipe the tears from our eyes and bid farewell. Dymas executes a tiny bow, and I wave at the men standing behind him.
"Goodbye, and thank you for your help. I will contact you if there are developments." There it is again, the reminder of why we came here at all. Daniel and I turn away to find the car. "Perhaps I ought to drive. I only had a sip, and you do seem a bit shaky, if you don’t mind my saying." Daniel suggests as we approach the peacefully waiting car.
"Yes, I think that would be wise. If not the fire, then the fire-water would most certainly have incapacitated me. What was it?"
Daniel grins and opens the passenger side door. I climb in and watch him walk around to the other side. Once he is seated beside me, and the motor is rumbling eagerly, he replies, "Ouzo. Very popular here. Laria and Nikolas brought some the other night. I assume you did not partake?"
"I think I would have remembered, or certainly my tastebuds would."
"Or not." Daniel chuckles.
"Very amusing." I lean back in the seat. The leather is cool and pleasant, and I am trying not to think about wearing my soiled clothing on it.
"Evelyn?"
I look up. Daniel is staring at the narrow road, though the car is not yet moving. "Yes?"
"During the fire, what happened?" He turns to face me, and I feel cornered, but also warmed by his gaze.
Breathing out slowly, I clasp my hands together. When I was a child, I used to close my eyes and pretend that my mother or my father was holding my hand. I tried to remember what it felt like. They had smooth skin, soft, yet not as childishly soft as mine. My father’s hand was large and dwarfed my own, my mother’s smaller, with long delicate fingers. I would let myself dream they were walking with me. That we were running away together. That they had come out of the flaming inferno, held my hands and swung me into the air, like they used to. That I screamed with glee.
"It brought back a painful memory." I want to leave it, want to go back in time to a moment ago when we all stood together laughing in relief and understanding. It is not like me to play games, to give hints and to taunt and deny the truth. "My parents died in a fire." The words sound hollow as I utter them as though they are some line written by somebody for me to reapeat when the situation arises.
"I am so sorry." Daniel frowns, not looking away. His green eyes rest on my face with neither pity nor lack of feeling, but something akin to understanding.
"It happend long ago." Another line. Is it me saying these words?
"Time doesn’t heal all wounds, contrary to popular saying." The veracity of this statement startles me with its simplicity.
"Indeed, it does not."
"Do you like to think about them?" I meet his gaze as he speaks, and for a moment I fear he will turn away, discomfited by the intimacy of the situation, but he does not waver.
"Sometimes. Not like today."
"No, that must have been a terrible reminder."
I press my lips together and nod. "Yes, it was. I saw it all again. The house, the flames, the smell of it burning …" My voice trails away as I ward off the new onslought of memory.
"How old were you when it happened?"
"Four, a small child. It was so long ago, and I was a distance away. Still, it is never easy."
"Of course. I understand." The words, though I have heard them countless times before, carry a different weight spoken by him. I wait a few seconds before answering.
"I know." I let the words resonate, giving him the chance to realize I comprehend the scope of his pain. In a way it unites us, a very sad thing to have in common. He seems to read my thoughts, for he echos the sentiment with a wry smile.
"A dismal bond we share."
"Truly awful. There must be something better… Let me think," I straighten in my seat, sensing the moment for melancholy has passed, and we need to bring light back into our hearts and minds. "Do you enjoy chocolate?"
"I adore it!"
"Me too!"
"Splendid," Daniel grins, turns the key to start the motor, "then we shall base our friendship on a shared love of chocolate."
"Perfect. I am also fond of summer."
"As am I, another commonality. My my, Lady Carlisle," he maneuvers the car away from the sidewalk and onto the main road, "I believe we’re not such a sad lot after all."
CHAPTER 11
The short drive to Laria’s house is not unpleasant. We discover neither of us favors ouzo, while we both like a nice brandy. The only conflicting point is the question about Hector or Achilles being the true hero of
The Iliad
. I am firmly on the Trojan’s side, while Daniel misguidedly argues for the arrogant Greek. We are at in impasse. I believe I will win him over yet.
The Iliad
. I am firmly on the Trojan’s side, while Daniel misguidedly argues for the arrogant Greek. We are at in impasse. I believe I will win him over yet.
At Laria’s house, Daniel squeezes onto a bare patch of scorched earth. Miklos really is built for nothing larger than a very moderately sized donkey cart, and this metallic monster, marvelous as it is, simply does not fit. Still, I must commend Daniel’s efforts, even though I privately believe I could have parked it at a better angle. I follow Aunt Agnes advice in this situation and compliment him.
Men require more attention and adoration than a puppy.
I cannot comment on the validity of her statement in terms of it applying to the entirety of the gender. With Daniel, however, it does the trick.
Men require more attention and adoration than a puppy.
I cannot comment on the validity of her statement in terms of it applying to the entirety of the gender. With Daniel, however, it does the trick.
"Well done, what a tight spot," I said admiringly, and he gives me the old shrug, all the while looking pleased with himself.
We climb out of the car, and I nearly bang the door against a lamppost, seemingly having materialized out of thin air. Fortunately, I notice it at the last moment and catch the edge of the door. Wedging myself out, I join Daniel on the other side, and we walk up three steps to the front door. It is painted a lively orange, and two large, overflowing terracotta flowerpots stand on either side. The door is opened upon my knocking.
"Come in, come in." Laria steps back into the shadows. She leads us into the well-lit where Briony is perching on a low sofa, the child, Kaia, showing her a doll. Briony’s face is aglow, and her eyes transfixed. She barely notices as we enter, muttering only a quick, "hello," before helping Kaia braid the doll’s unruly yellow hair.
"She looks like you!" Kaia says excitedly, pointing at my cousin, who blushes with delight where offense may be in order, judging from the tattered appearance of the toy. Still, I am pleased to see her happy, though this will make it all the more difficult for her to go back to her childless home.
"Please sit, sit." Laria gently pushes us to another sofa. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thank you." Daniel and I reply, and she sits down in one of the armchairs.
"We didn’t want to intrude, we just wanted to hear how you were today?" I smile at her, hoping she isn’t angry at us for informing the police of her relationship with Caspar. Sitting here, in her lovely home, with her lovely child, I feel a stab of guilt. But Dymas found Nikolas’ alibi without telling him a thing, so no harm done, I hope.
"No trouble. I am better now, thank you."
"Laria," Daniel begins, rubs his chin, a gesture I have noticed he favors when nervous, "I am terribly sorry about sending Dymas here."
"It’s all right," she turns her pretty head to the side, dark curls flowing across her shoulder.
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