Chapter 5: Fire From Above
Overhead the chandelier gave an ominous groan as it jerked downwards several feet. The crowd below quickly forgot the deformed man onstage as all eyes turned upwards with a collective gasp. Brielle came to her senses and shut her shrieking mouth with a snap. Bending over quickly, she snatched the large black satchel from the floor.
The pounding pressure in her head dissipated like a morning fog in sunlight, leaving the half remembered snippets of her dreams to come into sharp focus. They played out clearly within her mind now as if she were looking through a series of photographs. She saw the chandelier sway as the ceiling cracked, raining plaster down on the frozen crowd below. She saw it break free of its moorings and come crashing down into the audience. She saw blackened bodies twist in agony amongst the flames, heard people screaming until their breath was burned from their lungs.
She saw it all as if it had already happened. But it hadn't yet happened. They still had time.
"Run! Run, the chandelier is falling!" she cried at the top of her lungs, pushing the gentleman to her left towards the aisle.
The man started at her touch, being jostled out of his frozen panic and into motion. Brielle looked over her shoulder quickly as she continued to plunge forward, only to find Conner right behind her. Relief rushed through the growing panic at the sight of him, but her thoughts remained grim. It will fall any second. There isn't enough time!
Seemingly reading her mind, Conner leapt over the row in front of theirs and began shooing its occupants towards the aisle. He had half the aisle cleared in seconds. His tall stature and booming accented voice assisted him in drawing attention and commanding action.
Directly overhead the giant chandelier lurched once more, waterfalls of snow-like plaster cascading down, before giving into gravity and plummeting towards the terrified audience. The elaborate layers of faceted crystal tinkled together as it fell, the sound a strangely innocent backdrop to the terrifying scene.
The crowd no longer stared up in horror, the sudden motion of the chandelier driving everyone into panic stricken motion. In a split second the well bred members of the audience changed, giving into the animalistic panic saturating the air. Finely dressed gentlemen climbed unapologetically over young ladies in order to reach the theater's exits; young ladies tore at each other's gowns and pushed their neighbors as they ran. In that moment all bonds of affection were forgotten in a frantic bid to save their own lives.
Still attempting to usher people out of the way Brielle was first pushed roughly to one side and then another, no longer in control over her own movements. The tidal wave of bodies rushing towards the exits swept her up. She had not been born with great height; the top of her head barely reached five foot five, and so the crush of the crowd rendered her nearly blind, for she couldn't see what was happening over the shoulders of those pressed against her. In the sea of shoulders and chests she had no way of knowing how much time was left until the chandelier hit.
"Conner! Where are you!" she cried out breathlessly over the din of other panicked voices.
She elbowed the hysterical gentleman next to her as he tried to push her out of his way. Vaguely she could hear someone shouting her name, but she couldn't find the voice's source amongst the mayhem.
As bodies jostled against her own, Brielle's natural aversion to large crowds caused her heart to leap even further into her throat, choking the breath from her body. She pushed frantically against the people surrounding her on all sides, but the mob only seemed to squeeze closer. For a moment nothing remained in her head but the need to get out. To breathe. She fought fiercely against those who would have gladly climbed over her and was able to remain upright, barely.
A deafening explosion marked the impact of the chandelier as it fell into the first three rows of the theater. Brielle, along with those around her, was knocked to her knees by the force of the collision. She lay stunned upon the floor for a moment, gasping for breath. She felt the weight of someone's knee as they crawled over her legs, heard many footsteps as people regained their feet and fled. Awkwardly Brielle heaved herself into a sitting position and stared dazedly about, her ears buzzing painfully from the concussive sound wave.
The room tilted drunkenly as she blinked at the chaos all around her. Thick, black smoke billowed from the orchestra pit in great rolling waves; obscuring the stage and quickly filling the great space above her head. The eerie unsteady light of flames danced up from below. Strange shrieks and groans issued from the heart of the fire as the instruments abandoned by the orchestra succumbed to the heat, the strings popping free of their stays and metal super heating to twist unnaturally amongst the flames.
Reaching up Brielle gripped the arm of a seat to steady herself. Using it she pulled herself up into a crouch then into a standing position as the dizziness and disorientation faded.
The press of bodies about her had thinned somewhat in the moments she had lain in shock and so she was able to turn easily and see greedy flames completely engulfing the orchestra pit. God rest their souls if anyone was still in there. Terrible tortured cries began to rise up from near the front of the theater, screaming above the hiss and roar of the fire. The voices of the injured soon overtook those of the fleeing patrons filling the theater with pained gasps and frightened pleas.
Brielle glanced towards a nearby exit, the need to escape the noise and the smoke momentarily overpowering her senses. She took several hurried steps toward the open door, her heart pounding frantically against her rib cage and her breath sawing in and out of her lungs all the while. But then she slowed and stopped, turning her head slowly to look back at the destruction behind her.
The heat from the growing inferno hit her full in the face, making the skin across her nose and cheeks seem suddenly too tight for her bones. She squinted her eyes against the bright blinding light of the fire and could just make out the dark outlines of people scattered throughout the aisles. The fear clawed within her, moving like a living thing in her gut. The exit and the cool clean air beyond called to her.
Once again her eyes flickered to the people who still remained within the theater; to those lying upon the floor clutching at injuries, their wailing resounding in the air. How could she leave them behind? What was all of this for if she turned and ran now?
Her brows pulled down and she closed her eyes for one steadying moment. Her hands shook as she licked her lips and turned away from the exit. Clutching her black leather bag in a white-knuckled grip she stumbled towards the blaze.
Brielle skidded to a halt and dropped her bag upon the floor when she caught sight of a young lady running wildly down the aisle, her skirts on fire. Racing after the girl, Brielle tackled her from behind. They hit the ground hard but Brielle recovered quickly and, using her own skirts, doused the flames flickering about the other girl's ankles. The young woman burst into relieved tears as Brielle helped her to her feet.
"You aren't hurt badly, so hurry and leave this place. Tell anyone who will listen outside that we need their help. There are many who are injured that we must treat at once. Do you understand me?" The girl nodded her head quickly, more than willing to run from the growing fire upon the stage.
As the girl ran up the center aisle Brielle turned and picked up her leather bag. Opening it, she pulled out several rolls of gauze, a bottle of strong whiskey, a sharp pair of scissors, and a suturing kit. She had packed all the items earlier that day from her personal medical kit at home.
Juggling the medical supplies Brielle moved through the aisles, quickly assessing the injured as she came upon them. Her movements soon became automatic as she bandaged and sterilized an array of wounds and burns. Most of those she came across could walk out of the theater on their own, but there were a few that would find it difficult to ever walk again.
Those that could walk or crawl she practically shoved towards the exits, hoping that they could make it out under their own power. But as the number of serious causalities climbed into the double digits Brielle began to feel the strain of being the only one running the triage. I am not strong enough to carry these people out. I can't do anything more for them in here. They have to get out of here and to a hospital.
The older gentleman whose leg she was currently splinting was staring at her intently. "Are you a nurse young lady?" he asked politely, noticing the competency of her actions.
"No monsieur I am not a nurse," she said with a brilliantly contrived expression of serenity upon her face, forcing herself to ignore the heat and the roaring at her back.
Noticing the man's confusion, she continued with some hesitation. "My father was a surgeon in the military for many years. I grew up watching him work. I would often visit him at the hospitals and spent a great deal of time reading medical texts in his various offices."
The man nodded and patted her hand. "How terrible for such a pretty young girl."
Brielle frowned at his comment for it hadn't been terrible at all. It had been enlightening. When her mother died when Brielle was still young her Father had been left to raise two children alone. With nothing to guide him except memories of his own upbringing her father had raised her more like a son than a daughter; teaching her botany, anatomy, medicine, and mathematics. He encouraged the analytical and independent bent of her personality; buying her microscopes and medical books rather than ribbons or dresses for her birthdays.
When she was older he even took her to work with him where she not only witnessed surgeries and various diseases but assisted him in caring for his patients. It was there at his side that she saw the devastation a one ounce Minnie Ball could inflict on the human body; splintering bones and tearing flesh in moments, leaving no other choice but amputation to save a life. That was if the soldier was lucky.
But all too often he was not so lucky. As a result Brielle was well acquainted with death by her early teens. And it had never ceased to amaze her how one moment a young man was there, his heart beating, his lungs breathing, thoughts and feelings moving through his mind, and then the next moment he was not. The spark that had giving him life and animation went out and he was simply gone.
She had been nursed upon humanity's greatest cruelties in the halls and wards of those hospitals and as a result nothing surprised her now. No matter how heinous the deed, she had seen worse.
"No Monsier, it wasn't terrible," she murmured as she wrapped the man's ankle tightly with a long swatch of cotton. "I have always been grateful for my upbringing. Even though it was rather unusual."
Not looking very convinced by that the man winced when she tied a tight bow to keep the wrap in place. "I should think teaching you such things would put you at a disadvantage. When did you have time to learn the subjects better suited to young ladies?"
Brielle gave the man a long measuring look. There was a time when such a statement would have ignited Brielle's temper, and prompted a biting retort. But now she merely felt a passing flicker of annoyance that barely even caused her to frown, the anger damped just as everything else by heartache.
Looking away from his face Brielle stuffed the remaining bandage back into her bag. "I was provided with that form of education as well," she muttered, a slight tint of distaste coloring her tone.
For many years Brielle assumed that she would one day become a doctor, like her father before her. She absorbed any scrap of knowledge she could in order to achieve this one goal. But then when she was thirteen one of her father's co-workers explained that it just wasn't right for girls to go to medical school. That she would never be accepted into any program. A woman's tendency towards emotional displays and her natural aversion to the baser realities of life would make it impossible. And no gently raised lady could be subjected to the male patient and his anatomy without being disgraced.
It had been a blow to realize that no matter how much she learned or how skilled she would become she would never be considered to be anything other than a woman playing at being a doctor.
It was around that time that her father had begun insisting that she learn subjects more appropriate to her sex. He had bowed to the gentle suggestions of his co-workers and their wives; believing that perhaps he had made a mistake in her upbringing, that he had set her up for a lifetime of disappointments.
So she learned how to embroidery pillows and paint in water colors, all the while secretly planning to prove everyone wrong. Somehow she would be an exception to the rules. Somehow she would be taken seriously and she would be able to help people. But then her father became very ill and followed her mother to the grave and her hopes of a brilliant triumph and career evaporated into nothing. Leaving her and Connor alone to make their own way in the world.
The older gentleman gave her a fatherly smile. "Well in any case, you do better work than my son does Madame and he is actually a doctor." She gave a half-hearted smile at that statement, shaking her head. The man smiled with her, missing the more subtle emotions hidden by her expression.
"Give me a bit of that whiskey and I will be able to assist you. I have been retired for two years but I think I can manage well enough. A doctor never forgets I suppose." She nodded, thankful for the help, as she pulled the gentleman to his feet. He hobbled slowly on his sprained ankle to another injured person a few feet away.
Now that some help had arrived Brielle straightened tiredly and wiped her sweating forehead. Her pewter gray gown was blood spattered and the intricate pile of hair upon her head was coming undone. Strands of white hair hung ignored about her face as she wiped her hands absently upon her skirt.
Brielle stood still for just a moment as she tiredly surveyed the once beautiful theater. Gray tufts of ash floated eerily through the air, gathering upon the red velvet seats like dirty snow. She even felt the light touch of it in her hair, heard the flakes whisper past her ears. She fought fatigue as her heart slowed to a more normal level. Even breathing felt like a hardship in the heavy and heated air.
She glanced away from the stage when she heard the unmistakable lilt of her Brother's Irish accent over the steady hissing of the flames. A relieved smile crossed her face when she saw Conner run into the theater, the fire brigade upon his heels. She raised her hand and slowly waved to draw his attention through the gathering smoke.
"Conner, over here! We need litters to carry out the injured!" He nodded his understanding turning towards the fire chief to relay the request. The chubby fire marshal waddled out of the theater to harangue some of the young noble men into being on litter patrol.
Conner hurried over to stand next to his sister as she passed the elderly gentleman a roll of gauze. "Are you injured?" he asked her tensely, his eyes sharply examining her face.
"I am fine," Brielle stated simply, the sight of her brother making her voice shake ever so slightly. "The blood isn't mine."
"Lord, Bri. When I lost sight of you I nearly lost my mind. Here I promised to protect you and within seconds I lose you." Conner burst out, guilt and anxiety carving stark white lines across his face.
"You couldn't have done anything about that Conner. I got caught in the crowd. And I know you ran to get the fire brigade," she said as she watched a makeshift bucket line form down one of the side aisles. Water began splashing over the flames at regular intervals, creating large puffs of steam but finally the flames began to diminish. "You did everything you could have. Your actions, I am sure, saved many lives." Reaching out she grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze.
He smiled at her assurances the uncertainty fading quickly. "Well of course. You shouldn't have expected anything less," he replied to her arrogantly, puffing out his chest slightly. His haughty attitude bringing a tired smile to her face.
"Alright hero," she sighed, giving him a push. "Go and do something else useful and let me get back to work!"
He wrinkled his freckled nose at her and turned upon his heel to help carry the injured out of the theater. He turned at the doorway to the foyer and shouted at the top of his lungs. "I would have hugged you lass, but you look like death!" And with that he turned and disappeared, his overly lighthearted words further easing the panic crouching within her chest.
Brielle turned, calmer now, back towards the fire, her gray eyes searching for those in need of aid. Her gaze quickly swept the theater aisles, then rose to the stage. She squinted through the thickening haze, starting when she made out the form of a large man lying upon the stage mere yards from the blazing chandelier. How could I have missed him!
Picking up her skirts Brielle ran towards the front of the theater, carefully dodging about the flames in the first and second rows. Placing her hands upon the stage she hauled herself up until she could hook a knee over the edge. She had chosen a relatively safe section of the stage, yet she still had to pick her way around smoldering planks to reach the unconscious man.
Kneeling down, she shook the man's shoulder calling out to him. When the man didn't move she shook harder, becoming concerned. Brielle was hesitant to move the large man but she slowly turned him onto his back. She knew the man was dead instantly. His fat face was devoid of any sign of animation; his eyes were utterly blank. He was obviously clothed in a costume from Don Juan.
One of the performers who hadn't escaped the chandelier? His was the first death she had come across within the theater. She shook her head sadly, getting to her feet. Only then noticing the rope tangled about his throat and the small pistol in his hand.
She bent to examine the man more closely when a strange sound drifted to her over the crackling of the nearby fire. As Brielle listened, she was reminded of popcorn popping over a cozy hearth. Slowly that pleasant image faded as she took several steps towards the lip of the stage. The picture of wood snapping and popping free of its nails assailed her senses, causing her expression to quickly lose its cool. And the noise was growing louder.
Brielle glanced down in shock when the wood under her feet lurched beneath her. With a gasp she staggered to the side, her heart racing into her throat, choking the scream rising to her mouth. Oh no…nonono. The stage can't be unsound! The fire didn't even reach this far…
The white haired woman stood perfectly still, her breath coming in short pants. She shut her eyes tightly, praying for the horrible popping sound to stop. Brielle bit her lip and opened her eyes when the groaning ceased. A relieved smile was just beginning to grace her pale features when the wood under her feet gave out beneath her. Within seconds her form disappeared from view. The only trace of her presence upon the stage was the hole she had disappeared through.