The Glass Inferno

CHAPTER 39

“A toast?” Harlee Claiborne said. He held out his glass.

Lisolette smiled and held up her glass. They clinked and she took a sip. He was really very-continental? Or was that an old-fashioned word nowadays? She glanced around at the quiet diners who for the most part were talking in hushed whispers or simply not talking at all.

Mr. Leroux had gone to talk to several couples standing at the elevator bank and they seemed to be arguing. She wondered what about and thought she could guess.

“I’m sure there’s no reason to be alarmed, Lisa. The fire is more than forty floors below us and they must certainly be getting it under control by now.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Harlee. It does seem reasonable.”

He looked at her shrewdly. “But something seems to be worrying you nonetheless.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “I am, though not for your safety or mine.

It’s something else and I’m not sure what.”

Quinn Reynolds appeared at their table. “May I send over another bottle of wine?”

Claiborne beamed. “Why, thank you, Miss Reynolds.

I can assure you we’ll both enjoy it.”

“Compliments of the management, of course,” Quinn said and hurried away. A few moments later, their waitress approached with another bottle to fill their glasses.

Her hand shook slightly as she did so and Lisolette glanced up quickly.

“I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, miss. The firemen arrived hours ago and they’ve undoubtedly prevented it from spreading, or we would have heard.”

.”The ambulance arrived hours ago, too, ma’am.” She filled Harlee’s glass. “I’m not even supposed to be on duty tonight. I’m filling in for a friend.”

She left and Harlee lifted his glass to sip at it appreciatively.

“Blast! I’m sorry, Lisa, I’m getting clumsy in my old age.” The waitress had filled his glass too full. A few drops dribbled down his chin to spot the front of his white shirt.

Lisolette dipped her napkin in her water glass and daubed at it for a second. “I have an idea, Harlee. Why don’t you take a salt shaker into the men’s room with you?

Spread some on the shirt; the salt will absorb the wine and a bit of soap and water will complete the job. It will feel damp for a few minutes but it looks like the kind of shirt that will dry quickly.”

“I swear, Lisa, there’s nothing that you miss. I won’t be a moment.”

He pocketed the salt shaker and rose to thread his way through the tables of diners to the rest rooms. Lisolette watched him as he went.

He really is a very handsome man, she thought. So sweet and, more important, fundamentally honest. She wondered if, it were really true that there were warrants outstanding for him in some states. Surely nothing that a good lawyer couldn’t handle with sufficient time and patience.

She let her gaze wander around the room. It had been so enjoyable an evening until they had received word of the fire. Even then, for a time it had been something of a carnival. Until, as the waitress had said, the ambulances had arrived. A few of the diners were still on the promenade watching the activity below. She and Harlee had drifted out for a while, but the sight of the stretcher bearers and the sound of the windows crashing into the plaza below had taken all of the thrill out of it for her.

Even now there was still the distant whine of more sirens filling the air as additional trucks roared up to the building. She listened, imagining the ordered-and disordered confusion far below. She hoped they were making good progress and that none … She wouldn’t think about that, she promised herself. One of her students had become a fireman and she had never forgotten the shock when his name had appeared in the papers as a hero who had given his life to save some people in a slum fire. She stirred restlessly. Something was nagging at the edge of her mind but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

The sirens, she thought. Of course. The sirens and the crashing of glass and the - commotion in the street below and probably the telephone operators calling the rooms to notify the tenants of the fire. Enough noise to wake the dead, and very definitely the living.

Only there were people who would never hear the sirens.

People to whom such alarms meant nothing, people who lived in a silent, speechless world, who talked with their hands and read each other’s lips.

Tom and Evelyn Albrecht. She knew they were retiring early, that he had been exhausted by many evenings of night work and had been looking forward to the holidays so he could catch up on his sleep.

The ambulances or the wail of the police cars. They wouldn’t have heard the telephone, if the operator had tried to warn them of the fire.

Little Linda had been taught how to use the phone, but she and the other children would have been put to bed before their parents. Even if Linda awakened when the phone rang, what would she know of evacuating a building, of fire alerts, or even of staying put and placing wet towels around the doors and over the ventilation grills?

Linda was all of seven years old.

Perhaps she should tell NEss Reynolds, she would know what to do.

She could call down and alert the security people or the firemen.

She caught Quinn’s eye and motioned for her to come over and Quinn signaled that she would be there in a minute. Lisolette fidgeted, growing more worried and impatient by the second. If only Harlee would return.

No-he was a dear but he was the sort of man who was at his best in a drawing room or at a formal dinner, not at all the type who could rise to an emergency.

Quinn had moved to another table of diners and was talking quietly with them, undoubtedly trying to calm them, Lisolette thought. There was no telling when she would come back.

Lisolette made up her mind then, rose and walked to the far end of the dining room where the house phones were. She quickly dialed security. But there was no dial tone, no subliminal garble of conversation in the receiver, She tried another phone with the same result. The phones were dead, she realized, and probably had been for perhaps half an hour or longer.

She thought of poor Schiller, trapped in her small apartment, then resolutely put him out of her mind. There was only one thing to do and it was taking a terrible risk. She had no idea that someone else might not have thought of the Albrechts and warned them by now, that perhaps they were quite safe or perhaps they had never been threatened at all.

The fact that she was gambling with her life never entered her mind; the possibility that she was gambling with the Albrechts’ did.

And there was also the thought of what her father would have done.

She glanced over at the elevator bank again. Mr. Leroux and the two’couples he had been talking with had left; Mr. Leroux had gone back to His table for a moment and the two couples were standing by the entrance to the scenic elevator at the opposite end of the foyer.

Nobody was looking in her direction. She hastily pressed the down button, then hurried to a nearby empty table, picked up a discarded napkin and drenched it with water from the table pitcher. She might need it, she thought, and hastened back to the elevator bank.

She remembered Harlee just as the elevator door quietly opened.

He might think that she had deserted him in panic and be disappointed in her-the least he would do would be to worry about her.

But it wasn’t practical to wait and confide her plans to him; he would try to stop her. Well, perhaps she could make it up to him later. She quickly entered the elevator and pushed the button for the thirty-fourth floor. There would probably be smoke, she thought, though again, perhaps not. The fire was floors below and she wasn’t even going as far as the sky lobby.

The thought occurred to her again that she might very well be embarking on a fool’s errand, but in one sense she hoped so.

The cage slowed and stopped. The moment the door opened, she detected smoke. The odor grew stronger as she walked down the hall; the air itself was hazy with it.

It grew denser as she half ran toward the Albrecht apartment.

Doors were open on both sides of the corridor now, indicating their hasty evacuation by tenants, and the interiors were thick with smoke.

In one she saw smoke billowing from the ventilation grill and she automatically pulled the door shut. She was now genuinely frightened for the safety of the Albrechts.

They lived in a dead-end corridor where the smoke was thick and choking, harsh in her throat. She could feel her lungs begin to labor.

She stopped briefly to tie the sodden napkin around the lower portion of her face so it covered her nose and mouth. It helped a little.

The door to the Albrecht apartment was closed and, predictably, locked. It meant nothing, she realized. It would be locked whether they were home or if they had left unless they had left hastily, as had the other tenants along the corridor. She pounded on the door, hoping that the children inside might hear even if their parents couldn’t.

She knocked again, then realized she was wasting time when time might be very valuable.

She fished in her purse and pulled out her charge-a-plate from Grammercy’s Department Store. How many times had she read about doing this in her favorite mysteries or seen it on television suspense shows?

Pray to God that they had not shot the dead bolt. She knelt down and suddenly felt like crying. There was a thin metal molding running around the door frame, preventing direct access to the area around the lock. She hit the strip of metal in frustration and anger, then noticed that it gave slightly. The molding was tacked onto the frame by a relatively few small rivets.

She felt quickly in her purse for her fingernail file, inserted the point between the molding and the frame, and drove it in for several inches, then wrenched it sideways. The file bent, and with a screech of pulled rivets, the molding gave slightly, the paint cracking up and down from the point of insertion.

She drove the file in farther and pried again, and the gap between the molding and the frame widened. One more time and there was room to insert the credit card.

She could see the faint glint of brass where the lock’s tongue slid into the striker plate in the door frame. She pushed the card in between the door and the frame, directly against the curved tongue.

She couldn’t tell whether the tongue was sliding back or not; then the card twisted out of her perspiring fingers. She wrapped a handkerchief around the end she held and tried again. For a moment there was no movement; then the tongue abruptly slid back. She turned the doorknob and pushed, almost tumbling into the apartment.

Inside the room, the air was heavy with smoke. For a minute she was caught up in a fit of coughing; then she readjusted the napkin over her face and crawled forward.

Children!” she shouted. “Linda, Chris, Martin-it’s Lisa! Are you here, children?”

She paused and listened intently for an answer. There wasn’t any And for a moment she felt silly and foolish for having endangered her own life on a wild-goose chase.

The smoke was getting unbearable. She shouted once more but there was no reply. Thank God, they had left already.

She was just going out the door when she thought she heard a faint cry. She turned back, almost hoping that she was wrong. “Children?”

she shouted again. This time there was no mistaking it, there was a faint cry from the children’s bedroom.

She ran across the living room and pushed open the bedroom door.

The smoke was less dense than in the living room, and she could see a little, once she had located the light switch.

The beds. were empty.

“Children! Chris!” She turned to leave, suddenly fearful of what she might find in the rear of the apartment. Behind her, she heard a noise, a small child sobbing. Suddenly she realized it was coming from the bed clothing that lay in a heap on the floor. She crawled over and pulled the blankets apart. Little Chris.crouched beneath them, his eyes wet with tears and smoke irritation.

“Chris! Chris, now listen to me! Where are the other children?”

Chris pawed at his eyes and sobbed. “Chris, tell Lisa-please tell Lisa!”

“They’re -hiding,” he said between sobs.

“Where, Chris? Tell Lisa where!”

He pointed to the closet. Lisolette ran to it and opened the door.

The closet was dark and filled with hanging zipper bags for clothing.

They stirred slightly and she parted them with a sweep of her hand.

Linda and Martin, the baby, were crouched on the floor in the rear of the closet, holding on to each other. Linda was not crying, though her eyes were filled with tears from the smoke.

She ran over to Lisolette and hugged her around the legs.

“Oh, Lisa, I’m so scared!. I called downstairs but nobody answered.

It rang and rang, but there wasn’t anybody there! And I couldn’t waken Mommy and Daddy, they had locked their door.”

As parents with small children might do if they wanted to be alone for a while, Lisolette thought. And they had probably drifted off to sleep without remembering to unlock it. She ran her hands gently through Linda’s hair.

“There, there, don’t be frightened. We’re all safe. Just stay here and I’ll be right back.” She returned to the bedroom and stripped the cases from the pillows, then ran into the bathroom and quickly soaked them under the shower.

Returning, she handed two to Linda. “Put one over your mouth and help Martin with the other. I’ll help Chris with his. It will cut down on some of the smoke so you can breathe.”

She helped knot the cases behind their heads and started to lead them out when she suddenly remembered.

“Mein lieber Gott!” She had been so worried about the safety of the children, she had forgotten Tom and Evelyn.

She would have to wake them up, signal to them what had happened.

“You children wait right here!” Lisolette gripped the knob of the bedroom door but it was locked. She looked about, then seized a heavy pedestal lamp from the table near the door. Three times she hit the lock before it shattered. She threw the ruined door open. Inside, it was like a blast furnace, the heat rolling out in waves. She crouched and fumbled for the light switch. The smoke was almost solid in the room and she had difficulty making out the two figures by the bed. She quickly crawled in. Both of them were unconscious, though still breathing slowly and heavily and occasionally gagging. She shook Tom but he only groaned. She would be wasting time trying to rouse them, she thought. Tom had fallen partially across the body of his wife.

Lisolette rolled him off, then grasped Evelyn under the arms and dragged her across the floor. The thick carpeting made it difficult work and the few steps to the door took every bit of strength she could summon; she was also finding breathing more difficult.

“Linda, wipe your mother’s forehead with your pillowcase. The rest of you children, lie down on the floor. You, too, Linda; you can do that while you’re lying down. I’ll go back and get your father.”

It could have been her imagination but it seemed as if the air was even hotter and the smoke thicker back in the bedroom. She crawled over and grabbed Tom by the arms, pulling him toward the door. He must weigh around a hundred and eighty pounds, she thought; it would be so much easier if he were a little man like Harlee. He groaned and fell into a heavy spasm of coughing. For a brief moment Lisolette didn’t know if she could make it.” to the door with him; the fumes from the ventilator grill were biting deep into her lungs.

She gripped his arms tighter and gave a final tug; then they were out into the living room. She pushed the bedroom door partly shut behind her. The damaged lock prevented her from closing it completely.

“They’re dead, aren’t they?” Linda asked, - dry-eyed.

“Mommy’s not moving.”

“No, they’re not dead,” Lisolette said, feeling her own tears just beneath the surface. “But we’ve got to get them to some fresh air.”

She tried mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Tom; he suddenly groaned and. coughed, then turned on his side. A thick mucus began to dribble from his mouth and he abruptly vomited on the rug. What was she to do?

Lisolette thought frantically. She didn’t have the strength to get both of them out of the building, unconscious as they were. She couldn’t even manage Evelyn, who was considerably lighter than her husband. She would have to abandon the parents to the smoke and fire, she thought slowly. The children she could save.

“Come along with me, children; take each other’s hands so we don’t get separated.”

Linda hung back. “What about Mommy and Daddy?”

Her voice was beginning to tremble now, her tears just a moment away.

Little Chris took his cue from the tone of her voice and started to cry.

“We’ll send somebody back for them.”

“I want to stay with them,” Linda pleaded.

“No, no, kinder, you must come with me,” Lisolette pleaded, almost in tears herself. Dear God, she thought, why me? Then directly to Linda: “Linda, would your mother and father want you to stay behind?”

Linda understood then and the tears rushed to her eyes. She nodded and held out her hands for Chris and Martin, then followed Lisolette toward the door, crying silently to herself.

The smoke was heavier now and Lisolette found the door as much by feel as by sight. Her eyes had started to tear badly and she was keeping them half closed to protect then from the stinging smoke.

“Miss Mueller, what the hell are you doing here?”

She thought she had heard footsteps in the outer hall but hadn’t dared to hope. Her eyes flew open. Harry Jernigan loomed in the doorway. Behind him were two firemen in slickers and helmets.

“Gott sei’ dank’!” She openly sobbed then, pushing the children toward the firemen. “You men help with these poor creatures!” One of the firemen brushed past her and knelt by the figures on the floor behind them. He was very young, not more than twenty-five, Lisolette thought. But it was difficult to tell, his face was so red and smeared with soot-streaked sweat. He held Evelyn by the wrist for a moment, counting her pulse, then leaned close to Albrecht’s chest.

“How are they, Johnny?” the older fireman asked.

“They’re both in pretty bad shape-smoke inhalation.

We’ll have to get them out of here right away.”

“Will they be all right?” Lisolette asked, fearing the answer.

“I’m not a doctor, lady. We’ll have to get them down to the lobby where they have oxygen equipment and Pulmotors. Can you two handle the kids?”

Jernigan nodded. “Sure.”

“I’ll take the two little ones, you help with Linda, Lisolette said, taking both of the smaller children by the hand.

Linda was still crying and Jernigan said gently, “It isn’t every day I can help a girl as pretty as you.” She tried to smother her sobs.

The two firemen were in a hurry. “Johnny, grab the woman; I’ll take care of the man.” The younger fireman picked up Evelyn in his arms as if she were a child; the older one swung Albrecht over his back in the classical fireman’s carry. “Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.

We’ll see the rest of you downstairs. Don’t take the elevators -the sky lobby is filled with smoke and the elevators aren’t operating down from there anyways. Take the stairwell; doors are open from eighteen down to fifteen, you can get out on those floors. The rescue company will take the kids from there anyways to check them over.”

They moved down the hall with their burdens, Lisolette following, and Jernigan bringing up the rear. She stumbled once and Jernigan reached out with a steadying hand.

She was, she realized, weaker than she thought The smoke seemed to have sapped her strength and left her lightheaded. Or maybe she was just growing old, she thought. She repeatedly had to tell the two children, clinging to her skirt on either side, to hold their damp pillowcases before their faces. Her own napkin had long since dried in the heat of the Albrecht bedroom and she found herself periodically coughing. She should have thought to wet it again before leaving.

The two firemen had already disappeared down the stairwell when they got to it. Jernigan pushed the door open and led the way. “Come on, Miss Mueller.” She followed him in, the two children close behind her.

Several flights down they could hear the scrape of the firemen’s boots and Lisolette prayed that they would be in time. The stairwell was smoky but the air was relatively breathable; the pressure in her lungs lessened a little.

“They’ve made some progress against the fire,” Jernigan Said.

“It’s vented on the seventeenth and eighteenth floors and they’re fighting it from the other stairwell, working their way in. It’s cut down a lot on the smoke.”

“It’s also a little chilly,” Lisolette said, then suddenly laughed at her complaint. If you could complain, she thought, everything was going to be all right.

Chris tugged at Lisolette’s hand. “Are Mommy and Daddy going to be all right?”

“Of course they are, Chris. They’re just sleeping.”

“If I say a prayer will that make them wake up any sooner?”

“I’m sure it will, Chris. We’ll both say a prayer-only very quietly, just inside your head.”

The sound of the firemen’s boots was receding even faster now.

“They’re beating us down,” Jernigan said. He was almost an entire floor ahead of Lisolette.

“I’m glad they are,” Lisolette said soberly. She was going to have to carry Martin, she suddenly realized; his slow clambering down the steps was holding them up too much. She couldn’t have done it before, but she thought she had enough of her strength back now. She leaned over and swung him up in the crook of her arm.

. The stairwell itself was strange to her, studded with pipes that jutted from the individual floors and ran underneath the individual landings.

“Harry, what stairwell is this? I’ve never been in it before.”

His voice floated back from almost a floor and a half farther down.

“You usually use the one on the north side of the building, Miss Mueller. This one’s the south one, it’s right by the utility core-the hollow core holding all the utility pipes and the inside elevators.

The scenic elevator runs right up the other side of it.”

She had more or less located herself now. A few more flights would see it. “Hurry along now, Chris, we don’t want to lag behind.”

“You need any help up there, Miss Mueller?”

“No, we can make it, Harry.”

She started to move her lips in a silent prayer then, not alone for Tom and Evelyn Albrecht, but for someone else.

It was only the second time that evening that she had had time to think of Schiller, trapped in her apartment.