The smell of gas was strong—not overwhelming—in the bathroom, but the door to Alden’s room was firmly shut. I hopped down and, clutching the doorknob, jerked it open, staggering back almost immediately from the smell of gas. It made me cough, and almost retch. I ran for the bedroom window, pulling it open and sticking my upper half out, drawing in long, gasping breaths of untainted air. The second my head cleared, I spun around and stumbled over to where the radiator sat along the wall near the bed. I twisted the knob that turned on the flow of gas, gratified to hear the sibilant hissing die down to nothing before turning to Alden.
He was lying half on the bed, his legs on the floor,while his upper body had apparently melted onto the bed itself. No doubt he had tried to get up but was overcome by gas. I grabbed his arms, intending on carrying him out of the bedroom, but he was too big and heavy for me. Plus, I was holding my breath, and about to run out of air. I bolted to the window, took several painful gulps of air, and jerked the belt off Alden’s bathrobe that hung from the bathroom door.
Two more quick breaths of nondeadly air, and I was back at his side, tying the belt around his chest and under his arms. I wrapped both hands around the belt and started pulling him backward to the door to the hall, having to breathe about halfway there. By the time I got his body to the door, and turned the old-fashioned key that was sticking out of the lock, I was giddy, my throat burned, and I was close to vomiting. Fumbling with the door, I managed to get it open, and hauled Alden the last few feet until we hit the cool wood of the hallway. I kicked the door shut, sliding down it onto the floor next to him.
“Alden,” I said hoarsely, crawling over to him. “You have to wake up. I can’t carry you, and I doubt if I can drag you the entire way outdoors. You have to get up so we can get out of the house. Alden. Wake up.”
He lay still as death. Instantly, my brain rejected that thought, and I put a hand on his bare chest to make sure that its rising and falling weren’t just my imagination. Beneath my hand, his heart beat steadily, if a little slowly.
I had to get him some medical help. I ran back into his room to grab his cell phone, dialed the emergency number once I was back in the hall, and spent eight minutes of frustration describing to the call centerwhere we were, why Alden needed help, and why the gas would be turned on during a summer heat wave.
“Look,” I finally said, uncaring if I was being rude, “I don’t know why the gas was on, but I’m sure it wasn’t a suicide attempt, and I don’t know why you insist on arguing with me about how and why gas was turned on so that it almost killed Alden, when you should be sending medical aid!”
“Madam,” the woman on the other end said with cool indifference. “The paramedics were sent five minutes ago. I am merely trying to get additional information for the council. They like us to document regional emergencies so that they know better how to allocate funds designated for such events. You say this was not a suicide attempt, but how are you certain of that? Are you a family member?”
“No, I’m... I suppose you could say I’m his girlfriend. And what does that have to do with—”
“Would you say that this emergency is one that could be avoided with proper in-home safety measures?”
“No! Someone tried to kill Alden—”
“Would you agree that the city council has an obligation to investigate homes to ensure they are up to code, and that every protection is in place to eliminate the possibility of future emergencies?”
I hung up the phone, and stood staring down at Alden. I wanted desperately to go wait at the entrance of the house for the medics, but I didn’t want to leave him alone, lest the murderous Lisa be lurking somewhere.
I ran back to my bedroom, leaving the door open so I’d see if she tried to creep past in order to get to Alden, and hurried into the nearest thing I could find—my blue archery dress. After a moment’s thought, I snatchedthe duvet off the bed and laid it down next to Alden, rolling him over onto it with a murmured apology. “Sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t move you, but I can’t leave you here for Lisa to find, and I have to be downstairs to let the paramedics in, so you have to come with me. Ready?”
Grasping the edge of the duvet firmly, I backed my way down the hallway, dragging Alden with me. It wasn’t easy getting him down the stairs (at one point, he slid off the duvet and rolled down a couple of steps), but fifteen minutes later I triumphantly opened the front door to the two women waiting, and said in between gasps, “Hi... so glad... you’re here.... He’s over there.... Got a few bumps... on stairs... whew!”
The paramedics said nothing, just pushed past me and knelt next to where Alden was crumpled up on the now somewhat torn and dirty duvet. A zigzagging line of little white feathers led across the hall to the stairs, ending at the spot where a hitherto unknown carpet tack had snagged the duvet and torn it, releasing its guts in a snowy trail.
“You’d think it was easy pulling a man on a blanket, but it’s not,” I said while the women worked on Alden, slapping an oxygen mask over his mouth, and listening to his heart. One of them peered closely at a lump over his left eye. “Oh, yeah, that. It has nothing to do with the gas thing, I’m afraid. He rolled off the blanket and hit the banister when I was dragging him downstairs. You can see that the bump isn’t bleeding, so I figured he’ll just have a black eye. It’s his brain I’m worried about. Gas poisoning can mess with that, can’t it? Is he going to be OK?”
Alden started coming to while I was speaking, his arms and legs doing an odd swimming motion for a fewseconds before he reached up and tried to take the oxygen mask off. “Sir, please do not move,” one of the women told him, while the other leaned over him and asked, “Do you remember your name?”
“Of course I remember my name,” Alden said, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask. He winced as he spoke, reaching up to touch his bruised brow. “What happened to me?”
“It’s OK, Alden,” I said, peering over the shoulder of one of the paramedics, who was taking his blood pressure. “You’re all right now. Sorry about your head, but I didn’t want to leave you where Lisa could get you. These are paramedics. They’re here to help you.”
“Why are you... ow... talking to me like I’m an imbecile?” he asked, touching his nose.
“Sorry about that, too. You and the duvet slid down part of the stairs, and your nose kind ofkerthumped on each step. Oh, good, you’re going to take him to the hospital?” This last was in response to one of the medics, who had fetched a wheeled gurney.
“The patient appears to be somewhat disoriented,” one of the medics said. The two of them lifted the blanket, and hauled Alden onto the gurney. “He needs to be checked over thoroughly.”
“I like that—yes, he should be checked over thoroughly,” I said, following as they wheeled him out to the aid unit. “I’ll come with you.”
“I’m sorry, family only,” one of the medics said, locking the wheels of the gurney inside the truck.
“Oh. Crap. OK, I’ll take his car. Alden! They’re going to take you to the hospital! To see a doctor! But you’re OK. Don’t worry about anything—just breathe nice clear oxygen.”
“I don’t know why she’s speaking to me as if I’m three years old,” Alden complained to one of the medics. “I seem to have a second lump on the back of my head now.”
“Sorry! That was the big heavy chair just at the bottom of the stairs. I lost control of the duvet and you, so you kind of swung into it,” I yelled just as the second medic closed the door.
I stood wringing my hands for a few seconds, watching as the truck zoomed off, then realized I needed to get to the hospital to make sure he was all right.
Once back in his room, I grabbed his laptop case, and stuffed into it a change of clothes (since he had been clad in nothing but his underwear when I dragged him downstairs), a pair of shoes, his phone, car keys, and wallet, and, after a moment’s thought, crammed in his laptop, so that I’d have something to do while I waited for the doctors to run their tests. I wanted to document the event, and since I knew Alden was keeping a journal of all the various repairs he was having to make—along with the parts of the house that fell off, crumbled away, or, in the case of the gallery floor, were sabotaged—I decided to add my own notes about Lisa’s attempt on Alden’s life to his house document.
