Chapter 4
BLYTHE
Three months later…
Blythe was taping up boxes,shoving things from drawers into totes and every other sort of container possible because she was soooo done with this condo she had been renting.
“Homeowner…” she whispered, shaking her head and laughing softly to herself at the strange ways that life moved sometimes. This rental had fallen into her lap four years ago when she moved to the area, transferring because of the job opening at the dealership. While the condo was ‘quirky’ and ‘temperamental,’ it was home. She hated the way that sometimes the lights would flicker or the way if you used the microwave, dryer, and had the television on – it would pop the breaker – but you grew used to it.
Taking this job had been a godsend, but it brought to light other areas that needed to be adjusted as well. She needed a tax shelter for the first time in her life. As a woman who made darn good money, didn’t own any property, wasn’t married, and had no deductions, she was paying through the nose in taxes. When the interest rates dropped, car sales soared, which meant her bonus increased – she knew it was time.
She bought her first home and was using her vacation time she’d saved to move in and spruce a few things up. This morning, she had gone directly to the new house and cleaned from top to bottom. Her hands were raw from the bleach, and Lysol. She wiped down the windows and practically every surface, preparing for tomorrow. Her bed was already dismantled, and the moving truck was supposed to be here between ten and twelve tomorrow.
And she hesitated.
“What the heck is that smell?”
Something smelled strange— plasticky?
Sniffing her hands, the box she was currently packing, and looking around, she eventually shrugged. Something smelled weird, but she really didn’t have time to go digging around in things, unpacking and repacking boxes to see if something spilled. Hesitating, she walked back toward the other rooms, sniffing. It smelled stronger back here, but she couldn’t find where it was coming from.
“I’m glad to be moving out of this dump,” she chuckled to herself and smiled. “It will be nice to have the freedom to fix up my place and do what I want without having to worry about losing my deposit. Maybe I’ll get a pet or something. Oh that sounds really nice. A sweet kitty cat or a fat little puppy with floppy ears, baby chicks or a bunny?”
Oh yes, life was good.
I can’t breathe…
That single thought, combined with a blistering awareness of heat, dragged her awake almost moments later – coughing wildly. She had been dreaming that she was at work, in the middle of a meeting, and listening to all of them brag about their numbers for the month in the general manager’s private office only for her turn to arrive, yet nothing was coming out of her mouth. She tried to talk, tried to tell them that she was there and participating in the meeting, yet nothing happened. It wasn’t until she realized that her ‘work Hell’ actually felt like it that she was sitting up in bed in a daze.
The condo was on fire!
She began coughing again, only to wince and crouch down as close to the floor as possible because the atmosphere was so thick, hot, and acrid with the smoke filling the room and she couldn’t see a blasted thing!
I gotta get out of hereshe thought in a horrified panic, completely disoriented because the boxes she had been packing were stacked haphazardly around the room, creating obstacles in the pitch-blackness around her.
She tried to take a breath and only ended up coughing again, pausing for a moment as the severity of the cough was nearly debilitating and burned painfully. I really can’t breathe!
Blythe tried to reach the bedroom doorway, only to come up against a wall. Her hands searching, feeling for a seam in the suffocating blackness she was engulfed in, she was trying not to panic and keep a cool head – while failing miserably.
Oh my gosh. I’m gonna die in this place.
A corner.
She found the corner of the room, but not the bedroom door yet. Whimpering, she moved, retracing the progress she’d made on her knees and feeling frantically along the wall as she shuffled along, searching and coughing.
Another corner?
Sobbing, frantic, and struggling for air, she was quickly growing hysterical because she didn’t know if she was on the west wall of the bedroom or the east wall, and she could feel this crushing mental fog dragging her down from the lack of oxygen.
Hurriedly, she scrambled erratically along the wall once more, feeling desperate and nearly drooling with the painful efforts to suck in something that would feed the burning need of her body, only to reach the window ledge as she collapsed.
Blythe felt something move her,but she was so out of it she couldn’t focus. Her lungs were on fire, she felt like she was drowning, and the only thing her mind could seem to focus on was a feeling of regret – a blinding, encompassing regret for so many different things.
She coughed raggedly, unable to drag herself back through the layers of consciousness. It was almost like she was bobbing like one of those fishing floats on the water, submerging, then popping up, only to get yanked down once more.
“Blythe?”
Oh gosh… that voice. She knew that voice. Was she dead, and this is what heaven felt like? Was she about to meet some distant family member or be reunited with an old friend?
Was it supposed to be hurting?
“Get her to the ambulance…”
Ambulance?
Nope. Not dead yet, thank you, God.
“I don’t know how much smoke she inhaled…”
A voice was speaking nearby, and while Blythe couldn’t speak, mentally she was screaming. Lots of smoke, okay? Like twenty packs of cigarettes within ten minutes – or what I imagine it would feel like. Does anyone have an oxygen tank handy?
Yet, she felt strangely safe in a very weird way. Her head was lolling, and she knew someone was carrying her, but she couldn’t quite pull herself out of the fog. It was like she felt drugged, so blessedly tired, yet the urge to cough was so bad that she couldn’t succumb to the blackness pulling at her consciousness.
“Hey,” a voice said gently, and she felt someone touch her cheek. “I’m here, and we’re going to get you some help… okay?”
She was lying on something and managed to turn toward that voice, needing to desperately, and felt herself sinking as all sorts of hands were touching her. People were talking over her in a jumbled yet foggy mess of words that weren’t making sense.
“Shhh… you’re going to be fine. I promise. You have to be, please.”
And she believed that voice, feeling lips touch her forehead and wondered if maybe she was following the wrong person. If it was an angel guiding her, was following him the incorrect thing to do if she still wanted to live? She was so confused, disoriented, and tired.
“Get some rest, Blythe. They are going to take good care of you – and then we’re going to talk. I promise.”
She felt someone looping something over her ears and sticking something in her nose while another person was obviously taking her blood pressure. A cuff was on her arm and tightening painfully, and she heard a door slam as the vehicle started moving… and it clicked. She recognized that voice from a few moments ago.
“Laaaan…ce?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible. It hurt so much to even utter that word, but she could have sworn that he’d been here, but that had to be a dream, right?
“Hey miss… miss? We’re on our way to the ER right now, and I need to ask you a few questions. Can you hear me?” another voice was asking her. She wanted to yell at them to bring back her imaginary Lance because his voice was soothing - and this one was nasally and terse.
I wish he was here,she thought, letting herself slip into oblivion.
Blythe wasin a cold room and shivered before cracking open a single eye and closing it again. She was so horrifically tired, and her entire chest just ached deeply in a way she’d never experienced before.
Wait, she thought in confusion and opened her eyes again, only to see the one person she never expected slumped over in a chair, sleeping - Lance.
What was he doing here?
Why?
How long had she been here?
She had so many questions but kept silent, trying to figure out the answers on her own. She was not up to a mental battle with the man and was definitely dragging right now. Oh man, she was exhausted and sore.
Looking around the room, she saw a small yellow flower arrangement that had a balloon attached to it. That was the standard package that they sent everyone from work - and a favorite of her boss. It was cheap, simple, and ‘counted’ as being thoughtful.
It was the other large vase nearby that surprised her. There, next to her bed, was a vase that had a ton of wildflowers, roses, and greenery with a huge hot pink ribbon on the front.
Using her arms, she tried to push herself up slowly – only to cough, immediately waking Lance. He sprang out of the chair like someone had the end of a teeter-totter under his backside, launching him into the air. He was there, at the side of her hospital bed, hovering and looking between her and the machines, touching her forehead with the back of his hand, fretting over her like she was something special.
“Hey, you’re up. What do you need? What can I get you?” he asked quickly in rapid-fire questions. She hesitated, looking at him in stunned surprise. She didn’t expect him to be so… kind.
“Why… are… you here?” she rasped, looking at him, alarmed at how hoarse her voice was and what an effort it took to speak.
“Shhh,” he said emotionally. “Just try to rest, okay? Your body has been through a lot, and you probably feel like hell right now…”
She nodded – and winced. Her head was throbbing.
“Shhh,” he urged again, standing there. “You had a lot of smoke inhalation before Colton carried you out of the fire. There’s a lot of swelling and chemical irritation that can affect your vocal cords before…”
“I’m supposed… to be… moving,” she squeaked hoarsely, feeling tears sting her eyes as she looked at him, feeling so helpless and alone. Unexpectedly, he took her hand in his, looking like he was about to say something, and then hesitated.
“Let me get the nurse to check you, and there will be plenty of time to talk later. You really should get some sleep. Let them baby you while you are in their care.”
“I’ve gotta go… home,” she whispered. “Insurance is… oh no! My things… the movers… oh mercy, Lance.”
He chuckled softly and smiled at her sympathetically, his eyes dropping to her hand. She was just so overwhelmed in this moment that it took her a few moments to realize they were holding hands.
“Like I said, there’s plenty of time to figure out things once you feel better – but for now, you need to just rest and let yourself heal. You were pretty bad off, and they just took you off of an oxygen mask, changing it to that little tube under your nose. Give yourself time… please.”
And realized he was right.
She was exhausted, a mess, and everything just ached like she was battered and bruised from the inside out. Nodding, she looked at him.
“I’m so… sore.”
“Let me get someone to give you something to help you sleep,” he whispered. “It’s barely two in the morning, so close your eyes. I’ll be right back with a nurse.”
“Thank you…” she rasped, squeezing his hand slightly.
“Rest your voice. We can talk later.”