Delphi, Eganene

Think.

“Grandma!” she tried to scream, but her voice broke and she coughed.

Without her inhaler, the pain was going to get worse. It wouldn’t be long before she grew light-headed and dizzy. After that, she was going to blackout. She slumped against the wall, her knees buckling beneath her.

It was one thing after another-- waking up outside, almost freezing in her pajamas. Getting inside should have been the end of it. She coughed, fighting hard not to cry. That would only exasperate her asthma.

Sniffing into the emptiness, Bekka pushed her feet into the dust. She could feel the muscles in her chest tightening. It was all too much. There was no one here, her building was empty. She didn’t know if she’d been robbed, evacuated or both! What was she supposed to do?

She needed to get to the hospital. Her grandmother was probably already there and Bekka could get a replacement inhaler. It was ten blocks, which seemed like forever in a blizzard, in wet clothes without shoes, but her asthma attack wasn’t getting any better. Now, was the time to move.

Enough, she thought as she got to her feet. Her legs were rubber, her body shaking. The EMTs might still be outside on the other side of the building. Bekka grabbed her lighter and made for the window. She was going to find help. At the window, she wiped the dirty glass with her sleeve.

Bekka looked down, craning her head left and right as she squinted at the street. The buildings around her were dark, probably because of the same power outage.There was nothing, no lights, no police and no ambulance.

There was no emergency.

“Holy hell,” she wheezed, putting her back to the glass. “There’s no one out there. What is going on?”

She dropped to the floor to search underneath the bed frame. Wiping her hand beneath the bed, she wondered why they’d taken every last thing.

Whoosh. There was no warning, only impact, a great concussion.

A second later she was floating in a sea of green light, her body suspended as if the air had turned to jelly and she had no weight. She hit the ground before she finished the thought. Her knee cracked against the wood, but she didn’t stop moving. Twice more she struck the floor, her hip bumping along, her body a jumble of flying limbs.

Bekka skidded to a stop beneath the window, emerald light piercing the darkness from both inside and outside the building. She shut her eyes tight and the second blast looked red behind her eyelids.

The burst arrived with an eruption of hot air from the floor. She might have screamed, but the room was filled with a sound that flashed over her. It traveled up and out of the building in a great rushing column.

When it stopped, she heard a high pitched ringing noise.

Bekka choked down a gulp of air and cautiously opened her eyes.

It was dark again. The dust from the floor floated about her face. She tried to rise, but the floor seemed to tilt beneath her fingers. She rolled onto to her side and grabbed her lighter off the ground.

Something beneath her had exploded. She stuttered over the thought, her mind processing the impossible. Did she…what should she…

Sound came back in a great roar of breath. It was her breath, her exhale. Using the wall for support, she made it to her feet. If she ran to the stairs…

No! Not the stairs, said the voice. Think. The explosion had come from beneath her, one floor, maybe more. She couldn’t use the stairs. She could feel it, the floorboards shaking under her feet.

Go! Go! Go!

She had an escape. It was covered in ice, but it was better than going near whatever had happened downstairs.

Bekka threw open the window, surprised it wasn’t shattered. She hesitated, eyeing the snow covered metal.

Come on! Get out!

She could slide down the steps if she had to. Bekka took hold of the window frame and climbed out. The wind hit her, the Zippo guttered, but she didn’t stop. She stuffed it into her pocket. The fastest way to the street was to follow the twisting fire escape down into the alleyway.

Desperate not to fall, her hand was a vise against the cold railing.

Something had just exploded!

Her breath hitched in her throat, like a piece of food she couldn’t choke down. Her asthma hadn’t disappeared. If anything, the dust and explosion, her panic and the cold air were making it worse.

She couldn’t stop to catch her breath. What if there was another explosion?

It felt like she was pulling in less oxygen. Shielding her face against the snow, she peered down. Nothing, not even a light in a window. There should have been lights everywhere! The city wouldn’t have slept through an explosion.

Keep going, she told herself. Just keep going.

It happened quickly. One moment, she thought she was steady. Then suddenly, she was falling, her feet sliding out from under her. She screamed as gravity pulled down.

Bekka lurched backwards away from the banister, twisting in the air, her toes passing her face as she landed on her hands and knees. She’d never been so happy to feel pain.

Come on, Bekka, she chided herself. Of course, she’d fall. She was the clumsiest person she knew.

Scraping for purchase, she managed to keep from sliding further. Beside her there was nothing but the grated railing and black sky. She shuddered, if she had fallen that way instead…

She felt for her lighter, but the Zippo was lost. Thankfully, she still had her pendant. Pulling herself to her feet, she struggled another story. She paused to peer into a window, sucking air.

Hopefully, the guy she’d followed into the building was OK. She’d find help and send someone back. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she huddled against the wall, frozen and breathless.

The snow on the street was deeper than before. She waded through it helplessly, the clumps sticking to her pajamas. The city was dead, the streets empty. The only thing alive was the wind. It screamed between the buildings, the storm tunneled into a channel of sub-zero air.

She made it four blocks. Each breath felt like fingernails scraping across her the inside of her chest. Too little oxygen, too cold.

Breathe, just breathe, she told herself. She took a few more steps. Breathe in, exhale, breathe in and exhale. If only she could breathe! She struggled down another street, desperate to find help. Footstep, breathe, footstep, breathe.

She had to stop. She couldn’t get her breathing under control in this wind. Ducking beneath an awning, she rested her head against the brick wall, its grainy surface a comfort. Beside her, the dark glass of a door beckoned. Not daring to hope, but unwilling to give up the possibility, she tried the knob. It was locked.

Bekka sobbed with frustration. There’s no one out here, she thought. I’m going to die. She sat down on the stoop, letting her head fall back against the building. Her hair was wild, the gusts of air sweeping the dark strands from side to side like she was being throttled. Breathe, breathe. Just breathe.

Move! yelled the voice. You’ll die if you don’t.

The clamps on her lungs had hardened further in the frigid air. She wheezed noisily. The air burned like boiling water as she forced it down.

She stood, and made it a few steps before her legs collapsed beneath her. She hit the ground hard, too slow to react. Black fingers of unconsciousness swept out from behind her eyes to steal her vision. For a few moments she watched as each heartbeat shrunk her view a little more. This had to be a dream.

She didn’t feel cold anymore. Everything was soft. It would have been peaceful if her chest hadn’t been on fire. She tried to get up, but all she accomplished was turning her head.

Light! she thought, desperately.

Above the nearest, white embankment, a window’s glow was just visible. Edging towards it, she harnessed the last scraps of her energy and swung her feet towards the pane. The window gave way, the glass shards indistinguishable from the snow.

Her body floated peacefully in the pink light, warm and weightless. There was no cold here, no asthma, she was content. She could not see herself, but that was all right. The light cradled her body and the silence was soothing.

The last thing she remembered was falling into the snow and struggling to breathe. There had been blackness, her sight going black and a glowing window. If she were dead, her grandmother would be so sad.

That was a distant concern. It was difficult to worry inside the warmth. The pink light buoyed her up, filling her. It was as if she were floating on sea of cotton candy. Perhaps death wasn’t so bad after all.

Could everything have been a dream? The missing things from her apartment, the asthma attack and empty streets, even the explosion? In the pink light she thought about the possibility and smiled.

She did not blink, but suddenly the warm light was gone. She was sitting high in the mountains. Birds wheeled above and below her, their wings long and graceful as they arced about the summery sky. They cast shadows in the grassy valley, the shapes sliding across the green like fish through seaweed.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

High atop the mountains, she was seated on an enormous stone. There was a village below. A forest grew behind her, the evergreens tall and tightly packed. She reached out her hand, but her hand did not move. Instead, she remained sitting peacefully beneath the pines, her eyes once again on the homes below.

The small cottages in the valley had smoke drifting from their chimneys. Around the homes, the forest had been cleared and crops had been planted. Animals grazed in fenced fields. She could even make out the tiny people working. Strange, she thought, to have a dream of a place she had never been before. In the distance, though, she could make out a city. She searched for a recognizable skyscraper, for a landmark she might recognize.

Abruptly there was a sharp tug, a stomach flipping pull, and the picture changed. Night had fallen and smoke coalesced around her perch. Below her in the valley, flames glowed, eating the structures like hungry animals. She sat immobile watching, a trickle of concern bleeding through the calm.

The homes were burning, the walls collapsing. Orange sparks flashed into the night in explosions of energy. The lightness of her mood disappeared. The pink light was gone. She sat alone.

Not alone, she realized. She couldn’t see them, but she could sense people in the woods. The flames below seemed to stretch across the valley floor from the little, ruined village all the way to the black city. She wanted to wrap her arms around herself, but she could not.

She tried to looked to her side, expecting to see someone emerging from the wood. She was nervous, not exactly afraid. Why did they hide?

Her vision strengthened and now she could see for miles and miles across the land. It wasn’t one burning it village, it was dozens. An angry light was growing in the horizon. The soft pink deepened into red. The sky looked like it was bleeding.

There was a flash and darkness fell.

Bekka was still on her rock. She knew those towns were gone, their people dead. A few lights blinked into existence. Her sight flashed past the forest and the gathered armies, past thousands of tents organized on plains. On she went to rusting ships, all the way to a grand city. It was built on a swamp, the old stone buildings rising like monoliths. She recognized it, somehow.

She looked in one of the windows, catching a glimpse of a vaulted ceiling and a beautiful fresco, marble floors and grand fireplaces that were as wide across as a car. And then without warning, the picture went black. The dream was over and she was awake.

She could feel it in the texture of the light. It was a different color of pink. Not that warm rosiness that had buoyed her up, this was the pink of blood, of the tiny veins inside her eyelids.

“I...” she tried, but her tongue was thick inside her mouth. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, like someone had their fingertips on her eyelids.

She tried to sit up, her hands searching for balance on the cold floor. As soon as she touched the ground, pinpricks exploded in her fingers. Rolling on her side, she saw a blanket.

Heat rolled through the air. She turned her face towards it, forcing her eyes open. A gigantic furnace crouched in front of her like some mythical beast. A grill guarded its mouth and when it breathed, a hot glow of flame writhed inside. It looked like the flames from her dream. Smoke coughed from between the grated bars. She scooted away.

The basement ceiling was at least three stories, a latticework of pipes and ducts. She could see piles of coal to either side of her. Wiping at the dust on her blanket, she squeezed her hands, trying to work feeling back into her fingers.

Someone must have found her. Bekka looked up, searching.

He was older, with a mat of curly, graying hair that shadowed much of his face. Dressed in a sweater and faded pants, he could have been a professor. Bekka opened her mouth to say something.

“Evening,” he said first. His voice was scratchy, like he’d smoked too many cigarettes, and tinged with an unidentifiable accent.

“There are some clothes over there,” he said, pointing.

Behind her, she found a pair of old pants and a man’s shirt. “Thanks,” she managed.

“I gave you something to stop it.”

Bekka realized he was talking about her asthma attack. She drew deeply. Her throat was still raw, but it was delicious.

“Thank you.”

“If you want to change,” he said after a few moments, “I’ll turn around.”

She blinked. What?

“Could I use your bathroom?” she asked instead.

He shook his head, “Don’t have one.”

She was in a basement. Besides the furnace and a table, there wasn’t a lot down here. The doors that she could see were wide and industrial, big enough to drive a forklift through. He was probably telling the truth.

“How about upstairs?” she asked, pointing to a set of metal stairs. She needed dry clothes if she was going back outside.

“If you want the clothes, you put them on here. It’s up to you.”

What a jerk, she thought. “Not going to happen.”

He nodded, dismissive.

What a weirdo! She pointed towards the wide, storage closets, “How about there? Can I change in there?”

“No keys.”

Just thinking about undressing out here made her cringe. But, she needed the clothes if she was going to leave.

“I said I would look away,” the man told her. “If I wanted to do anything, you were passed out for a good long while.”

That comment didn’t make him any less weird, but he had a point, she thought. “Where’s the toilet you use? I don’t mind walking. I’d rather use that.” She tried to match his bland facial expression, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded.

“Change or don’t change,” he said. “There’s nowhere else.”

She tried to rationalize it. It wasn’t like he was asking her to do anything inappropriate. She swallowed her fear, “Fine. I’d like to change.”

He lifted the book off his lap and turned his chair so he was facing the opposite direction. She watched him, drawing breath into her lungs. Too freaking weird.

It was possible he was squatting down here. And maybe there wasn’t a bathroom. Besides the chest-table thing with the candles on it, there wasn’t any furniture in the place. Whatever, she thought. This was the craziest night of her life, why not top it off by getting naked with a complete stranger?

Grabbing the blanket, she wrapped it around herself and held the dirty corners together with her mouth. It grated against her teeth and the smoky taste of the coal made her tongue curl. Quickly, she reached beneath the folds and began changing.

Her pajamas peeled off like dead skin and she shivered helplessly. Her underwear was cold and wet so she pulled it off too. It was difficult, but she managed to get the man’s pants onto her legs. She couldn’t see, but her hip and knees felt bruised.

Halfway there. Without taking her eyes off the man, she transferred her necklace from her wet pajamas into the pants. It had been a gift from her mother and it meant more to her than just about anything. The pants had deep pockets and she pushed the necklace down as far as it would go.

She unbuttoned her pajama top and dropped her shirt with an audible thwack. Thankfully, the shirt was so large that she was able to step through the neck hole, putting her arms in one by one and then extending them like some inflatable toy. Bekka couldn’t wait to get out of here and get home.

Well, not home. There was no way to know what state her building was going to be in. Bekka let the blanket drop and tucked in the tails of her shirt. Stains marked the front, but it was dry.

“Done,” she said, wondering if he had some socks and shoes that would fit her.

He turned, “Good thing I’m a small man or you’d be swimming in those.” The way he pronounced the words was strange, running them together like Mrs. Flynn after she’d had her stroke.

“Thanks for all you’ve done, for the clothes and for bringing me in."

“No thanks needed. I couldn’t leave you out there.” He pointed up to a row of windows forty feet above them. “You broke my glass right through.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I saw your light and I...”

He waved her words away, “I know you were in a bad way. I’ve seen it before. My brother’s wife had the choking sickness. That’s how I knew how to help. You had some scratches and glass in your arms, too. I cleaned them up.”

“Thanks.”

“I patched up the window,” he said, pointing. One pane had wooden boards covering the glass. “We can fix it once this storm dies off.”

“Sure, of course,” she managed, remembering how she had tried to squeeze through. “You’ll have to let us know how much it costs.”

Pulling her hair from under the collar of his shirt, her expression turned serious. “If you hadn’t found me, I would have died. This night has been the absolute worst.”

The man nodded and set his book back on the table. Getting up, he began searching for something in the dresser behind him. It looked antique, the wood heavy and old.

“I’ve got some food,” he said, rooting around in one of the drawers. When he found what he wanted, he sat beside her. Patting the blanket, he looked up, “Sit down and eat.”

Close up he seemed dirtier and older than before. His hair was a tangled mess and his beard was clumped with food. Her instinct was to back away, but she didn’t want to offend him.

Standing there with him at her feet felt incredibly awkward, so she sat down and tried not to analyze his deficiencies in hygiene. She’d eat and then ask to borrow his phone.

He smiled at her and held out an old hunk of bread. She was about to think of some excuse about being wheat-intolerant or celiac when she caught its smell. Her stomach rumbled and she took it from him, ripping off a piece and popping it into her mouth. Surprised by the taste, she devoured the rest. It smelled like her grandmother’s gingersnaps, but with some other seasoning she couldn’t place. She licked the crumbs from her fingers and looked up, “I had no idea I was so hungry.”

He was sitting cross-legged beside her looking surprised.

Self-consciously, she rubbed at the crumbs off her mouth. “I, uh…” she started. She swallowed. “I’m sorry, was I not supposed to eat it all?”

“Name’s Billy,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Bekka.” When he didn’t speak, she rushed into the silence. “Thank you again for all you’ve done. Can I use your phone? I should find out where they took my grandmother.”

He scratched his ear, looking at her curiously, “You’re from around here?”

“Yeah, just a few blocks away. There was some kind of emergency. I’m not sure what happened. There was an explosion. I think my grandmother was taken to the hospital.” He remained silent, so she continued, the words tumbling over one another in her excitement to explain. When she was done she waited for him to say something, but he just looked at her with his big eyes.

“Did you see anything on the news?” she asked. “There was another guy in the apartment. I’m hoping he got out, too.”

“I only saw you,” he replied, answering her question. “I saw you coming through my window.”

“Yeah.”

She scanned the basement floor, looking for a television, but he didn’t have one. She flushed, realizing her mistake. If he was here illegally, he obviously wasn’t going to have a TV. “Sorry. I…well, so that’s the story. Crazy, right?”

“So, can I use your phone? I should let my grandmother know I’m alive.”

Did he have a phone? Jeez, maybe she could dig the hole a little deeper.

“Where did you say you’re from?” the man asked, sounding careful.

“I live in the apartments on 9th and Sansom. The building’s been around forever. You’d know it if you saw it. It’s the one with the big, stone porch way up on the fifteenth floor.”

“And how did you say you wanted to find your grandma?”

“I think she’s probably at the hospital or maybe the police station. I’m not sure where they’d have taken her. If it costs anything, I can pay you back.”

The man was staring at her, scratching his beard. Bekka scooted back a bit. Why he wasn’t answering her?

“Do you have a phone?” she asked pointedly.

He stood up, “Can’t say I do.”

“One of your neighbors maybe?”

“Don’t have any neighbors.”

Bekka was becoming a little uneasy. “Doesn’t anyone live upstairs?”

“No one lives here but me. Building’s been mine for as long as I can remember.”

She sighed, “It’s been a really long night. I would seriously appreciate if you would just help me.”

“I did help you.”

Fine, she thought, “OK, where’s the nearest shelter?”

He was searching her face for something.

She flushed, realizing that she’d probably just insulted him again. She pressed on anyway. “Maybe I could borrow some money? I could call a cab. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“Money?” he asked.

“Yes!” she quipped, unable to help herself. This had been the worst night of her life and she needed it to be over. “You know. Money. The stuff you buy things with.” She knew she was being rude, but this was ridiculous.

Billy was nodding his head, “I’ve got some of that, not that I would be willing to part with it.”

“Could you just loan me enough for a cab ride?”

The man’s shoulders shook, his laughter rocking him side to side. “Girl, I think you must’ve hit your head. You’ve been talking some pretty strange things. Why don’t you lay down for a bit? You need to rest.”

“But, I…”

“No,” he said strongly. “I’ll make you something to drink. You can just rest here for a bit before you do your calling and cabbing.” Before she could protest, he was headed for his cabinet. When he had what he needed, he put a small cup on the ledge of the furnace and then returned with a steaming cup of tea. She took it gratefully.

So she’d probably over reacted there. She’d need to apologize to the guy.

Sipping it, she wondered what cross street his building was on. The tea’s temperature was perfect. She gulped down the rest before she gave back the cup. Billy’s hand was hard and calloused where his fingers touched hers.

“Thanks for that,” Bekka said, she was feeling better already.

“Now, you just lay back then,” he said, standing over her.

The warmth was spreading through her and she felt herself relaxing. His suggestion seemed like a good one. She lay down on the blanket.

The light from the furnace burned red behind her closed eyes. Before her next breath, she was already asleep.