Bitter Spirits
Page 69
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She shoved her arms into the coat’s sleeves and sloppily ducked onto the fire escape. The iron creaked and groaned as she zigzagged down the steps, back and forth, one story at a time, until she reached the bottom, one story above the sidewalk.
She pushed a bare heel against the drop-down ladder. It was rusted. Not budging.
A blaring bell nearly startled her off the fire escape. Someone had pulled the alarm. The girls on her floor would hear it. Mr. and Mrs. Lin—dear God! The whole building might be lost if the fire department didn’t get here quickly.
She kicked at the ladder again, surveying the streets for people. It had been after midnight when she’d fallen asleep, and she had no idea what time it was now. Two A.M.? Three? Not late enough for the milkman.
In the distance, a group of late-night revelers sauntered down Grant. She screamed for them at the top of her lungs. Had they heard her? It was too dark to tell. Yellow light pooled at the bases of the dragon lampposts dotting the sidewalk. The lights swayed as a wave of dizziness rolled over her.
“Hey!”
The people had seen her—they were rushing up the incline. More onlookers emerged from the apartment building next door. She called out to them, trying to get someone to knock on Golden Lotus’s door to wake up the Lins. The other girls living in the apartments were in danger; just because she’d gotten out didn’t mean they’d be so lucky.
The stairs creaked. She glanced up and saw flames pouring from her window. Then the iron railing made a horrible sound. Rusted bolts ripped away from the brick building.
The world fell away beneath her feet.
She blindly gripped the railing as the bottom flight of the metal stairs collapsed and crashed to the sidewalk with an explosive Boom! that rattled her bones.
Flung from the fire escape, she sailed sideways. Her back smashed against the building, knocking the wind from her lungs. Pain ripped through her body. Her vision went blinding white for several moments, then slowly pulsed back to reality.
Not dead.
A rusted iron dragon skeleton groaned in front of her as a cloud of dust swirled from its fallen carcass.
She inspected herself. The pain receded, which was odd. She should be really hurting, but all she felt was numb, physically and emotionally. Her tongue darted out and swept the side of her mouth, tasting blood and sweetness and that awful honeyed bitterness from her dream.
Strange hands lifted Aida to her feet, then steadied her wobbling. Her foot was bleeding.
Cantonese and English erupted around her as a crowd gathered. She assured people that she was okay, which might not have been entirely true. She was so dreadfully sleepy and dizzy. It was all she could do to stand without aid.
“Miss Palmer, Miss Palmer!”
Aida turned to see Mrs. Lin’s tiny figure racing toward her in a housecoat and slippers, her tightly wound hair now tumbling loose to her waist.
“Are you badly hurt?”
“I’m fine.” Aida’s handbag still dangled around her wrist. A small miracle.
“What happened?”
“Someone came up the fire escape and set fire to my room.”
“Oh, no, no, no—this is terrible.”
“I broke the fire escape on the way down. I’m sorry for that and the fire.”
Mrs. Lin shook her head dismissively. “All the girls are out. We have insurance. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you—I should have done something about the fire escape.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Oh, but I did,” she said, distressed. “My mother warned me to repair the fire escape last time you channeled her for me. I should’ve listened.”
Wailing sirens announced two fire trucks. Everyone craned their necks to watch the men setting up wooden ladders to reach what was left of the fire escape so they could drag a hose up to the window. Across the street, Aida leaned against a brick wall, half dazed, watching the fog-capped neighborhood fill with cars and gawkers.
Police arrived. Mrs. Lin dragged an officer to Aida, who took down her story with the nub of a worn pencil: no, she didn’t see a face, nor did she know how the fire was started or why. Someone else chimed in, saying he’d spied two men jumping from the fire escape into the bed of a truck that idled at the curb, but it took off before he could make out the model.
Early morning wind rustled her hair and sent shivers through her, even inside the fox coat. Nothing made sense. Why would someone set fire to her apartment? Thinking about it hurt her head. She started to close her eyes, just for a moment, when she heard her name again.
“Aida!”
Strong hands gripped her shoulders. Shook her. She opened her eyes to Bo.
Why was he here? How did she get on the sidewalk? She must’ve slipped down the wall.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”
She repeated what she’d told Mrs. Lin and the police officer, but the words weren’t coming out right. Light from a dragon lamppost cast triangles across Bo’s face, highlighting his sharply chiseled cheekbones. His normally perfectly combed-back hair fell into his eyes, reminding her of Winter in bed after sex. “You’re very handsome, Bo,” she heard herself saying.
“What’s wrong with you? Your face is flushed.” He leaned in close. Was he going to kiss her? No, that was all wrong. She tried to back away, but he held her firm. Sniffing, not kissing. That still didn’t make sense. He opened up the front of her jacket and looked at her nightgown. She tucked in her chin and did the same. A reddish brown stain coated the front of her gown.
She pushed a bare heel against the drop-down ladder. It was rusted. Not budging.
A blaring bell nearly startled her off the fire escape. Someone had pulled the alarm. The girls on her floor would hear it. Mr. and Mrs. Lin—dear God! The whole building might be lost if the fire department didn’t get here quickly.
She kicked at the ladder again, surveying the streets for people. It had been after midnight when she’d fallen asleep, and she had no idea what time it was now. Two A.M.? Three? Not late enough for the milkman.
In the distance, a group of late-night revelers sauntered down Grant. She screamed for them at the top of her lungs. Had they heard her? It was too dark to tell. Yellow light pooled at the bases of the dragon lampposts dotting the sidewalk. The lights swayed as a wave of dizziness rolled over her.
“Hey!”
The people had seen her—they were rushing up the incline. More onlookers emerged from the apartment building next door. She called out to them, trying to get someone to knock on Golden Lotus’s door to wake up the Lins. The other girls living in the apartments were in danger; just because she’d gotten out didn’t mean they’d be so lucky.
The stairs creaked. She glanced up and saw flames pouring from her window. Then the iron railing made a horrible sound. Rusted bolts ripped away from the brick building.
The world fell away beneath her feet.
She blindly gripped the railing as the bottom flight of the metal stairs collapsed and crashed to the sidewalk with an explosive Boom! that rattled her bones.
Flung from the fire escape, she sailed sideways. Her back smashed against the building, knocking the wind from her lungs. Pain ripped through her body. Her vision went blinding white for several moments, then slowly pulsed back to reality.
Not dead.
A rusted iron dragon skeleton groaned in front of her as a cloud of dust swirled from its fallen carcass.
She inspected herself. The pain receded, which was odd. She should be really hurting, but all she felt was numb, physically and emotionally. Her tongue darted out and swept the side of her mouth, tasting blood and sweetness and that awful honeyed bitterness from her dream.
Strange hands lifted Aida to her feet, then steadied her wobbling. Her foot was bleeding.
Cantonese and English erupted around her as a crowd gathered. She assured people that she was okay, which might not have been entirely true. She was so dreadfully sleepy and dizzy. It was all she could do to stand without aid.
“Miss Palmer, Miss Palmer!”
Aida turned to see Mrs. Lin’s tiny figure racing toward her in a housecoat and slippers, her tightly wound hair now tumbling loose to her waist.
“Are you badly hurt?”
“I’m fine.” Aida’s handbag still dangled around her wrist. A small miracle.
“What happened?”
“Someone came up the fire escape and set fire to my room.”
“Oh, no, no, no—this is terrible.”
“I broke the fire escape on the way down. I’m sorry for that and the fire.”
Mrs. Lin shook her head dismissively. “All the girls are out. We have insurance. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you—I should have done something about the fire escape.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Oh, but I did,” she said, distressed. “My mother warned me to repair the fire escape last time you channeled her for me. I should’ve listened.”
Wailing sirens announced two fire trucks. Everyone craned their necks to watch the men setting up wooden ladders to reach what was left of the fire escape so they could drag a hose up to the window. Across the street, Aida leaned against a brick wall, half dazed, watching the fog-capped neighborhood fill with cars and gawkers.
Police arrived. Mrs. Lin dragged an officer to Aida, who took down her story with the nub of a worn pencil: no, she didn’t see a face, nor did she know how the fire was started or why. Someone else chimed in, saying he’d spied two men jumping from the fire escape into the bed of a truck that idled at the curb, but it took off before he could make out the model.
Early morning wind rustled her hair and sent shivers through her, even inside the fox coat. Nothing made sense. Why would someone set fire to her apartment? Thinking about it hurt her head. She started to close her eyes, just for a moment, when she heard her name again.
“Aida!”
Strong hands gripped her shoulders. Shook her. She opened her eyes to Bo.
Why was he here? How did she get on the sidewalk? She must’ve slipped down the wall.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”
She repeated what she’d told Mrs. Lin and the police officer, but the words weren’t coming out right. Light from a dragon lamppost cast triangles across Bo’s face, highlighting his sharply chiseled cheekbones. His normally perfectly combed-back hair fell into his eyes, reminding her of Winter in bed after sex. “You’re very handsome, Bo,” she heard herself saying.
“What’s wrong with you? Your face is flushed.” He leaned in close. Was he going to kiss her? No, that was all wrong. She tried to back away, but he held her firm. Sniffing, not kissing. That still didn’t make sense. He opened up the front of her jacket and looked at her nightgown. She tucked in her chin and did the same. A reddish brown stain coated the front of her gown.
