| General Fiction posted June 23, 2019 | Chapters: |
...67 68 -69- 70... 
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Chapter 69: A fire and its aftermath
A chapter in the book The French Letter
Rising From the Ashes
by tfawcus
| Background Charles and Helen have their trip to the Hindu Kush put on hold while they travel to England to support Bisto in his hour of need. While there, they take a short trip to Moonrakers. |
Last paragraphs of Chapter 68
I allowed her to lead the way, following two steps behind, mesmerised by her swaying hips. She peered briefly into each room before pulling me into the bedroom and kissing me fiercely on the mouth. I pulled the door closed behind us.
Neither of us took the least notice of the frantic whistle of the electric kettle. It continued its warning screech for several seconds before the automatic shut-off silenced it. Half an hour later, there was a dull thud as a smouldering log rolled out of the fireplace, coming to rest against a nest of small cedar tables by the sofa.
Who knows how long it lay there before the first flickering tongues of flame started to take hold? After a few minutes, wisps of smoke crept under the bedroom door. Even that, initially, did nothing to disturb us.
The insistent beep, beep, beep, of the smoke alarm eventually broke through my subconscious. I sat up, instantly alert and aware of the acrid smell of burning.
"Fire! Wake up, Helen! There's a fire." I dragged her towards the window, still groggy and half asleep. Tugging a blanket from the bed, I wrapped it around her shoulders, wrenched the window catch open and pushed her ahead of me onto the fire escape. "Quick! Down the stairs." She lurched towards the handrail, throwing me a backward glance, her eyes like those of a hunted animal.
"Go on! I'm right behind you." I seized my trousers, hopping from one leg to the other as I put them on, then grabbed my wallet from beside the bed and thrust it into my pocket as I swept Helen's handbag from the dressing table. Glancing around to see what else I might salvage, I noticed an eerie glow under the door and a noise like rushing wind.
As I dived through the window, I lost my balance. Sprawling across the metal grid of the fire escape, I felt skin being ripped from my knee as I slid into a wrought-iron stanchion. At that moment, there was a sharp crack. The bedroom door had given way. The draught sucked a tongue of flame straight from the dragon's maw. It licked above my head, spitting a shower of sparks into the cold night air, fiendish fireflies that goaded me with tiny swords, impelling me down the steps. Dazed and oozing blood from my scalp, I clutched at the handrail, half sliding, half falling to the ground.
Helen shrieked. It was a primeval sound dragged from the depths of her being. She rushed at me like a wild animal, grabbed my arms, and pulled with all her strength. She slapped me around the face. "Get up, damn you! Get up!"
I tried to shield my head with my hands, beseeching her to have mercy but she continued to harry, forcing me away from the inferno. At last, she sank down beside me, wrapping us both in the blanket, and began to sob. I felt the wetness of her tears on my neck as she smothered me in kisses. Exhausted, I sank into semi-consciousness, scarcely aware of the cacophony of bells and sirens as I gasped for breath. My lungs were on fire.
A throng of helmeted silhouettes ran hither and yon, unreeling fire hoses and shouting instructions to one another. Two dark shapes detached themselves from the main group and headed in our direction. They bent over and rolled me onto a stretcher before rushing me across to a waiting ambulance.
Helen scrambled in beside me and held my hand as we were whisked away, the wailing siren cutting a swathe through the night. One of the paramedics tapped her gently on the shoulder and pointed to another chair.
"Here, lass, slip this hospital gown on. There's a blanket over there if you need it. The nurses will fit you out with something warmer when we get to the hospital."
He sat down beside me and lowered an oxygen mask over my face while his partner held a swab to the wound above my temple.
"You've had a lucky escape, mate, but everything's going to be fine." He smiled and asked my name. "Mine's Stan," he added.
"Charles." It was a defensively monosyllabic response.
He continued with routine questions to check my coherence and mental acuity; simple things like my date of birth and the name of the lovely lady with me. After that, he asked me to repeat the days of the week backwards, a task that would have caused difficulty at the best of times. As I stumbled over the words, I began to laugh but was instantly overcome by a fit of coughing. My throat felt as if it was being sandpapered. I struggled into a sitting position and started to rub my sore eyes.
He put a hand on my shoulder. "Lie back down, mate. These drops will ease the irritation." After handing me a tissue to dab off the excess, he held his finger up to check my visual tracking.
Satisfied that I was in a stable condition, he turned to Helen. "They'll do some more tests at the hospital, love. It doesn't look as if the smoke inhalation's too bad, but radiant heat may have damaged the lining of his respiratory tract. Could have been a lot worse though. I'd say he's a lucky fellow." I saw him cast an appreciative eye over Helen and add, "A very lucky fellow indeed."
Ten minutes later we arrived at the Royal United Hospital on the outskirts of Bath. We were ushered into the emergency department and checked over by a hollow-eyed intern with bum fluff on his chin. After an interminable time in the waiting room, they finally admitted us for overnight observation. We were allocated beds in the Respiratory Unit, a mixed sex ward on the 2nd floor.
I spent most of the night gazing at the ceiling, letting the impact of the last few hours sink in. I had lost everything, the memorabilia and accoutrements of a lifetime. Strangely, I felt an overwhelming sensation of release. I no longer had any physical ties to the past. It was as if I had been reborn, a phoenix rising from the ashes.
After a while, I was aware of Helen by my side. She had drawn up a chair and was watching over me like a guardian angel. Our eyes met, searching hidden depths in one another. No word was spoken, but at that moment I realised, in losing everything, I had gained something immeasurably better than I deserved; a second chance at life. I stretched out and squeezed her hand.
I allowed her to lead the way, following two steps behind, mesmerised by her swaying hips. She peered briefly into each room before pulling me into the bedroom and kissing me fiercely on the mouth. I pulled the door closed behind us.
Neither of us took the least notice of the frantic whistle of the electric kettle. It continued its warning screech for several seconds before the automatic shut-off silenced it. Half an hour later, there was a dull thud as a smouldering log rolled out of the fireplace, coming to rest against a nest of small cedar tables by the sofa.
Who knows how long it lay there before the first flickering tongues of flame started to take hold? After a few minutes, wisps of smoke crept under the bedroom door. Even that, initially, did nothing to disturb us.
Chapter 69
"Fire! Wake up, Helen! There's a fire." I dragged her towards the window, still groggy and half asleep. Tugging a blanket from the bed, I wrapped it around her shoulders, wrenched the window catch open and pushed her ahead of me onto the fire escape. "Quick! Down the stairs." She lurched towards the handrail, throwing me a backward glance, her eyes like those of a hunted animal.
"Go on! I'm right behind you." I seized my trousers, hopping from one leg to the other as I put them on, then grabbed my wallet from beside the bed and thrust it into my pocket as I swept Helen's handbag from the dressing table. Glancing around to see what else I might salvage, I noticed an eerie glow under the door and a noise like rushing wind.
As I dived through the window, I lost my balance. Sprawling across the metal grid of the fire escape, I felt skin being ripped from my knee as I slid into a wrought-iron stanchion. At that moment, there was a sharp crack. The bedroom door had given way. The draught sucked a tongue of flame straight from the dragon's maw. It licked above my head, spitting a shower of sparks into the cold night air, fiendish fireflies that goaded me with tiny swords, impelling me down the steps. Dazed and oozing blood from my scalp, I clutched at the handrail, half sliding, half falling to the ground.
Helen shrieked. It was a primeval sound dragged from the depths of her being. She rushed at me like a wild animal, grabbed my arms, and pulled with all her strength. She slapped me around the face. "Get up, damn you! Get up!"
I tried to shield my head with my hands, beseeching her to have mercy but she continued to harry, forcing me away from the inferno. At last, she sank down beside me, wrapping us both in the blanket, and began to sob. I felt the wetness of her tears on my neck as she smothered me in kisses. Exhausted, I sank into semi-consciousness, scarcely aware of the cacophony of bells and sirens as I gasped for breath. My lungs were on fire.
A throng of helmeted silhouettes ran hither and yon, unreeling fire hoses and shouting instructions to one another. Two dark shapes detached themselves from the main group and headed in our direction. They bent over and rolled me onto a stretcher before rushing me across to a waiting ambulance.
Helen scrambled in beside me and held my hand as we were whisked away, the wailing siren cutting a swathe through the night. One of the paramedics tapped her gently on the shoulder and pointed to another chair.
"Here, lass, slip this hospital gown on. There's a blanket over there if you need it. The nurses will fit you out with something warmer when we get to the hospital."
He sat down beside me and lowered an oxygen mask over my face while his partner held a swab to the wound above my temple.
"You've had a lucky escape, mate, but everything's going to be fine." He smiled and asked my name. "Mine's Stan," he added.
"Charles." It was a defensively monosyllabic response.
He continued with routine questions to check my coherence and mental acuity; simple things like my date of birth and the name of the lovely lady with me. After that, he asked me to repeat the days of the week backwards, a task that would have caused difficulty at the best of times. As I stumbled over the words, I began to laugh but was instantly overcome by a fit of coughing. My throat felt as if it was being sandpapered. I struggled into a sitting position and started to rub my sore eyes.
He put a hand on my shoulder. "Lie back down, mate. These drops will ease the irritation." After handing me a tissue to dab off the excess, he held his finger up to check my visual tracking.
Satisfied that I was in a stable condition, he turned to Helen. "They'll do some more tests at the hospital, love. It doesn't look as if the smoke inhalation's too bad, but radiant heat may have damaged the lining of his respiratory tract. Could have been a lot worse though. I'd say he's a lucky fellow." I saw him cast an appreciative eye over Helen and add, "A very lucky fellow indeed."
Ten minutes later we arrived at the Royal United Hospital on the outskirts of Bath. We were ushered into the emergency department and checked over by a hollow-eyed intern with bum fluff on his chin. After an interminable time in the waiting room, they finally admitted us for overnight observation. We were allocated beds in the Respiratory Unit, a mixed sex ward on the 2nd floor.
I spent most of the night gazing at the ceiling, letting the impact of the last few hours sink in. I had lost everything, the memorabilia and accoutrements of a lifetime. Strangely, I felt an overwhelming sensation of release. I no longer had any physical ties to the past. It was as if I had been reborn, a phoenix rising from the ashes.
After a while, I was aware of Helen by my side. She had drawn up a chair and was watching over me like a guardian angel. Our eyes met, searching hidden depths in one another. No word was spoken, but at that moment I realised, in losing everything, I had gained something immeasurably better than I deserved; a second chance at life. I stretched out and squeezed her hand.
 Recognized |
#93 2019 |
List of characters
Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Helen Culverson - Also a travel writer, whose relationship with Charles is complicated by her relationship with Jeanne Durand.
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor and undercover agent with the French Drug Squad.
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Andre (aka Scaramouche) - an actor in Montmartre and friend of Kayla's
Dr. Laurent - a veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix - vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre - an old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Alain Gaudin - brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Francoise Gaudin - Alain's an intellectually disabled sister.
Estelle Gaudin [deceased] - mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased] - Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
Gaston Arnoux - Owner of an art gallery in Paris, recently assassinated by Charles Asserted to be leader of an ISIS network
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Helen Culverson - Also a travel writer, whose relationship with Charles is complicated by her relationship with Jeanne Durand.
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor and undercover agent with the French Drug Squad.
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Andre (aka Scaramouche) - an actor in Montmartre and friend of Kayla's
Dr. Laurent - a veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix - vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre - an old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Alain Gaudin - brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Francoise Gaudin - Alain's an intellectually disabled sister.
Estelle Gaudin [deceased] - mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased] - Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious letter of 1903 was addressed.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - of whom we may hear more later.
Gaston Arnoux - Owner of an art gallery in Paris, recently assassinated by Charles Asserted to be leader of an ISIS network
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