Grey Zone (31 page)

Forgetting everything, she raced up the stairs. ‘Suze! Suze! Are you there?' She pounded on the door. The logical explanation was a kitchen fire. That Suze had come home since Dulcie's departure and left a pot of oatmeal on the stove for a little too long. ‘Suze!'

But nobody came to the door, and when Dulcie strained to see up into the window, the only face staring down at her was black and white. Even from the stoop, she could see the little mouth open in an unheard mew.

‘Suze!' She grabbed the door and shook it, but the deadbolt held, and with one more upward glance she dashed to the apartment below. ‘Helene! Helene! Come quickly! I need my keys!'

‘Hang on.' The voice, deep within the apartment, flooded Dulcie with a wave of relief. ‘I'm coming.'

Helene opened the door in a frayed pink nightgown, rubbing her eyes. ‘Sorry, darling. What time is it?'

‘I'm sorry to wake you.' Helene, Dulcie realized, must have been coming off an all-night shift when she'd seen her this morning. ‘Can I get my coat?'

Her neighbor stood there, looking dazed.

‘My coat, Helene? I left my keys in it!' Dulcie heard the edge in her tone. ‘There's something wrong upstairs. I think there's a fire.'

That woke her neighbor up. ‘What? I'll call 911. Hang on.' She turned back to the depths of her darkened apartment.

‘Please, Helene. My keys!'

Her neighbor had already retreated, and Dulcie followed after her. The apartment was close, but she could smell no smoke. But smoke rose, didn't it? She looked around for the familiar blue wool.

‘Helene?'

Her neighbor was on the phone, one cat already tucked underneath her arm. A little awkwardly – Julius was squirming – she waved Dulcie away and turned her back toward her. ‘Just smoke, but the apartment's empty,' Dulcie heard her say. ‘Uh huh. We'll wait outside.'

‘No!' Helene wasn't listening, and Dulcie didn't have time to argue. She looked around, desperation rising like that smoke. There, she saw it, hanging in the opened closet – the coat she'd left with her neighbor only that morning. She ran over and dug her hand in the pocket. There was nothing there.

‘Oh, no, you don't!'

Dulcie turned toward the door to see Helene, one arm around a cat, the other on the doorknob. ‘We're going out to the street.'

‘Helene, please!'

‘No way.' Even with a squirming marmalade feline under her arm, she managed to plant her hands on her substantial hips. ‘Honey, I've been an ER nurse for too long to let you go back up there. I'm not even going to wait here. We are going out, together, to wait on the street, where it's safe. Let the fire department do its job.'

‘You don't understand.' The memory of her kitten by the window brought tears to her eyes. It had been cold the night before. The window had been shut. ‘This isn't just about me.'

Helene shook her head in a determined no. Dulcie closed her eyes, trying to think. Just then, a sharp pain, like a bite, on her ankle caused her to jump backward. But when she looked down, expecting a phantom, she saw only Murray, Julius's litter-mate.

‘Grab that cat, will you, honey?' Helene was waiting in the open door. ‘I think he's a little freaked out.'

Dulcie bent for the lanky tabby, only to miss him as he dashed off toward the rear of the apartment.

‘Never mind, Dulcie. We should get out of here,' Helene called. ‘He'll take care of himself.'

‘As if,' Dulcie muttered as she followed the cat into the kitchen. ‘Gotcha!' She scooped up the young cat, only a few months older than Esmé, and found herself face to face with a floor-to-ceiling spice rack. But while she was staring at her downstairs neighbor's unexpected culinary indulgence, she realized something else: the rack hung on the back of a door. A back exit, out to the yard.

‘I've got him, Helene!' she yelled. ‘We're going out the back.' And with that, she slammed the door open – sending a pepper mill flying – and raced out to the yard. She was halfway around the building, toward her own front door, before Helene's voice reached her.

‘Dulcie! You there?'

No way was Helene giving her her keys back. Already, Dulcie could hear sirens, but time was pressing.

‘Sorry about this, Murray.' With her free hand, Dulcie grabbed a blue recycling bin and ran back into the yard. Dropping the confused cat on to the ground, she upended the empty bin over him. This far from the house, he'd be safe – and he wouldn't get lost. Now came the hard part.

‘What a waste.' There was no hope for it. The back porch glass had only been repaired a few months before, but now Dulcie looked around for a decent-sized rock.

Having found one, she was up the fire escape in a flash, heedless of the rust-covered metal that scraped her hands. ‘Here goes.' But before she could bring the rock down, she noticed a gap – the size of a pencil. Had she or Suze forgotten to close the sliding door? Was someone else in there?

‘Hello?' The door slid open, and Dulcie dashed inside frantically. ‘Is anyone here?'

Speaking was a mistake. Before the words were out of her mouth, she was choking, her eyes tearing up at the acrid smell. The living room was filling with thick, gray smoke; the air from the porch only making eddies in its dense cloud. Where was Esmé in all of this? How in this inferno was she going to find one small cat?

‘
Dulcie!
' She turned, and there, running from the kitchen, was Esmé. The kitten leaped into her arms as she reached for her, and even before she was comfortably settled in, Dulcie wheeled around and out on to the porch.

Stumbling down the fire escape, she fell to her knees, coughing. The ground was damp and cool, and the air clear as she sat back and wiped her free hand across her eyes. ‘Esmé, are you OK?'

The cat looked at her, yellow-green eyes wide and clear. Then she blinked, but before she could respond, a shout went up. ‘There she is!' Helene was leading two firemen around the side of the house. ‘Fool girl. She went in for her cat.'

‘Well, of course.' Now that she was sitting here, her cat in her arms, nothing could bother her. ‘And your cat is safe, too.' She pointed over to the upside-down blue bin. Even with the sirens out front, they could hear the frustrated howl of the annoyed Murray. Helene rushed over and freed her second cat, cradling the perturbed tabby and whispering endearments.

Dulcie was doing the same with Esmé, although the tuxedo cat seemed quite unfazed by all the fuss. A crash above them made them both look up. A fire department axe appeared through the porch door, letting out a stream of smoke. That glass had been doomed from the start.

FORTY-SIX

E
scorted by Helene and the two firemen, Dulcie came around the front of the building, where an EMT immediately rushed to her.

‘Miss, please. Over here.' He was gesturing to an ambulance: its open back door revealed an oxygen tank and mask, ready to go. ‘Miss?'

‘No, I'm fine.' Dulcie wasn't, not really. Her throat hurt and her head still spun, but as she'd emerged in the front of the building, she felt Esmé start to squirm in her arms. The last thing she wanted was to lose the young cat here, in what was becoming a mob. ‘Really.'

Instead, she turned around, partly to shelter her pet from the wailing siren, partly to look for some kind of refuge. Helene had been ushered away, and Dulcie could just see her over by a police car, talking to someone. A woman she vaguely recognized, the kind you smile at on the street, stood nearby, and Dulcie made for her, only to realize the way was blocked. The street had filled in, and although a uniformed cop was pushing people back, Dulcie still felt the weight of the crowd, pushing against her. Two boys, both in Red Sox caps, strained to see. A small child started crying, and a large man hoisted her up. Farther back, another face – light eyes beneath a mop of dark curls – sparked a memory, but was quickly obscured by a fat man in shorts making his way forward. She was the day's excitement. But there was something more at work here. A sense of malice, of joy in this destruction. Were all these people really her neighbors?

Esmé squirmed. ‘I know, girl, I know.' Dulcie turned away both to shield the kitten and to hide her own tears. She knew she was being silly. The people on the street were simply curious. It must be the smoke, she told herself, that made her suddenly feel so vulnerable. After all, she had her cat. But a quick, reflexive glance back up at the apartment only made it worse. The kitchen window, where she'd seen Esmé, was gone, knocked out by the firefighters. And while no more smoke was visible, an ashy smell filled the air. There would be no returning to this apartment – not today, anyway – and the crowd did not look any more inviting.

The EMT was still watching her, and for a moment she was tempted to go to him. Perhaps she could hide in his ambulance, away from all those eyes. But what would happen to Esmé then? With that thought in mind, she walked a little way down the sidewalk, aware as she did so of how narrow her world had become – defined by her one-time home to her right and the surging crowd to her left. One lone tree, still leafless, offered something like shelter, so she leaned against its rough bark. Only then did she let herself bury her nose in her kitten's silky fur.

‘Dulcie!' It was Chris. ‘Dulcie!'

Hearing the panic in his voice, she emerged from her slight harbor. ‘Chris! Over here!'

‘Dulcie?' He was yelling now, struggling against the fire-fighters who held him back. ‘Let me go!'

‘Chris, it's OK.' She ran over. ‘I'm here.'

He turned toward her, eyes large in his white and stricken face. ‘Dulcie, oh my God.'

‘I'm OK, Chris.' Holding the cat to her with one hand, she reached out to him. The firemen released him, and he turned to take her in his arms. In the midst of a hug, Dulcie realized that Esmé had started purring.

Too soon, the fire marshal was clearing his throat. Dulcie, still in Chris's embrace, looked up.

‘Miss? Are you the primary tenant?'

‘I have a room-mate, but she's not here.' Silently, Dulcie gave thanks. ‘Why?'

‘We're going to have some questions for you – for you both.'

‘Hasn't she been through enough?' Chris burst in, wiping a tear from her face.

‘We need to do this as soon as possible.' The firefighter sounded tired, and Dulcie realized that he probably often had to deal with other people's emotions.

‘It's OK, Chris. Officer?' She looked up at the man and tried to smile. He seemed a decent sort. ‘Can I take my kitten away to someplace safe first? I think she's a little freaked out.' On cue, Esmé meowed, long and loud.

The firefighter smiled. ‘Of course, miss. Do you have a place to stay tonight?'

‘She'll be with me,' Chris butted in again.

Dulcie turned. Of course, she'd want to stay with him, but there was an edge to his voice that she couldn't place. ‘Chris?'

The firefighter looked from Dulcie to her boyfriend and back. ‘Miss, if you'd like some privacy, we can have emergency housing set you up with a motel room.'

‘No, really. This will be fine.' She looked over at Chris. ‘I think we're just all a bit upset.' She gave her own cell number to the firefighter and let Chris provide the rest of the info. Anything called ‘victim's services' was simply too depressing to deal with. Finally, with Esmé now mewing constantly, she promised to call Suze right away. ‘I'll have her call you, honest. I just think, well, it'll be better if she hears it from me.'

Just then, the landlord showed up and started yelling, and Dulcie was happy to let Chris lead her away.

‘So what was that about?' Dulcie asked. One block away, and the world was quiet again.

Chris was still walking, his hand on her arm pulling her along.

‘Chris!'

He whirled to glare at her. ‘Don't you ever think? About your own safety or – or about anyone else?'

‘What?' This wasn't what she'd expected.

‘Don't lie to me, Dulcie Schwartz. Helene told me what you did, climbing into the back of your apartment. It was on fire, Dulcie. On
fire
! You could have been killed.'

‘But Esmé was in there.' She scrambled to remember exactly what had happened. ‘That's why I ran, Chris. I got a message. Mr Grey called to me, Chris. He told me to get home as fast as I could. He knew I could rescue Esmé, Chris. He knew I had to.'

‘And so you broke into a burning building without a second thought?' Chris was shaking his head, his voice low and cold. ‘Did you ever stop to wonder if that was truly your beloved pet speaking to you, Dulcie? Or if there's something else – something unhealthy – going on?'

‘But—' Dulcie started to protest when the enormity of what Chris had said hit her. Had she heard Mr Grey? Had the shade of her faithful pet really put her at risk? ‘That's ridiculous, Chris. Mr Grey wouldn't hurt me. He must have known that I'd have enough time.'

‘Enough time?' He reached out to touch her hair, and Dulcie could smell the smoke. The edges of her hair, she knew, had singed and burned. ‘And it had to be you, right?'

‘The firemen might not have gone in looking for a kitten.' He had to understand. ‘And Esmé was scared. She might have hid from them.'

‘But Mr Grey knew you could save her?' He was shaking his head. ‘Dulcie, do you think maybe it's time to start rethinking these messages?'

‘You mean, you don't think that I hear Mr Grey?' For a moment, she couldn't think. This made no sense. It couldn't be happening. ‘But Mr Grey has saved me – he's saved my life.'

‘Your own common sense has saved you, Dulcie. Your wits, not some ghost.'

‘You don't believe.' Now she was the one backing away. ‘You don't believe that I hear Mr Grey.'