Part 2.5 – Whiskey and Steam
Perry was warm. No, warm didn't come near to describing it. He felt like he was in an oven set at four hundred degrees. He pushed the covers away but found no relief. The heat was incredible, his body literally burning alive. He clawed his way to wakefulness and as he became more aware, he realized that the heat source was beside him.
It was Della.
He sat bolt upright and flung the covers away from her. She was on her back, her body becoming rigid, eyes open but glassy and unseeing in the candlelight. Her hands clutched at the sheet and she let out a horrendous barking cough, followed by a terrifying gasp as she tried to draw air into her lungs. She arched off the mattress and her eyes closed, only to fly open as she coughed again, blood-splattered spittle spewing forth over her lips. He could almost hear the crackle of fluid in her lungs as she struggled to breathe and he was momentarily paralyzed.
He reached for her and pulled her stiff body toward him. She was hot, so hot, much hotter than a human being should be. She pushed against him as she fought to breathe and he feared she was on the verge of a massive convulsion from the extreme spike in her temperature. She battled the restrictive hold of his arms as he dragged her across the mattress and off the bed, holding her flat against him as he ran from the room. He had to cool her off, had to get her temperature down from this dangerous level. He briefly thought of filling the tub and submerging her, but that would take too long, so he ran down the hallway to the smaller bathroom, yanked open the shower door, turned on the water to what he hoped was simply lukewarm, and plunged into the stall with her. She let out a barking screech as the cool water hit her burning skin and her spine nearly snapped when she jerked backward, but within moments he could feel the rigidity in her body lessen.
"That's it, baby," he crooned, shifting her so that the water jetted directly onto her torso. "Come on, Della, fight it off. Let the water make you better." Her head fell forward against him as her body relaxed and even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he held her away from him under the shower head. "I've got you, darling. I won't let you go. We have to get your temperature down."
He began to shiver violently, from the cool water, from his overwhelming love for Della, and from his fear for her. But he stood his ground, turning her so that her back was plastered against his front, as the water continued to sluice over her fiery skin. She went limp and he nearly dropped her. He pulled her up and held her with shaking but strong arms. "Stay with me," he begged. "Listen to me, precious girl. You have to stay awake. You have to breathe, Della. You have to." He brushed wet curls away from her deathly pale face as her head lolled against his shoulder.
He shook her roughly, the force of his action necessary to save her life. "Wake up, Della! I'm the boss and I'm telling you not to leave me. Breathe, baby. Breathe!"
As if in reply Della suddenly stiffened in his arms again, made a mighty attempt to inflate her lungs, and then collapsed against him. He had to get her to breathe, had to somehow open up her air passages so he could get her to the hospital. The house had no phone and he couldn't leave Della alone and run to any of the neighbors – they were too far away, and would they even open their doors for a wild-eye naked stranger pounding on their door in the middle of the night?
Perry estimated they had been in the cool shower for nearly five minutes, with Della in and out of consciousness and laboring to breathe the entire time. Her temperature must be lower by now, he thought, his mind racing as to what should be done next to help her. He couldn't get any tea down her in this condition, and besides, it would take too long to boil the water. Steam! She had rallied after her shower, had seemed almost normal. Supporting Della's dead weight with one arm, he reached out and turned off the water. He opened the shower door, and half dragging, half carrying her, he used his feet to push the towels he'd left on the floor into a little nest and gently lowered her to it. He propped her against the tiled wall, in a corner created by the bumped-out shower stall and stroked her face.
"I have to get more towels, baby," he told her, trying to keep his voice calm. "Don't worry, I'll be close and I promise to come right back." He stood, reached into the shower and turned on the hot water full force. Immediately steam rose from the stall. Satisfied, he made sure she was securely tucked into the corner and hurried from the bathroom. He grabbed the remaining two towels from the large front bathroom and lost precious seconds arguing with himself about running downstairs for the bottle of bourbon in the kitchen. He remembered his aunt telling a story about when his cousin had croup and couldn't breathe, and how they had fed him whiskey. Perry didn't know if that was the proper thing to do, but his cousin survived and he was desperate for Della to breathe. He raced down the stairs, grabbed the bottle from the cabinet, and raced back up the stairs to the bathroom.
She was in the exact position he'd left her, and terror propelled him across the floor to her side. Oh God, she couldn't have stopped breathing, not in the short time he'd been gone. He shook her, slapped her face, called her name, until finally her eyes fluttered and she moaned. She coughed, that dry barking cough again and tried so hard to draw a breath. In an almost lucid moment her eyes looked directly into his and he nearly broke down in tears at the fear and pain he saw in them.
"That was good, honey," he encouraged her in a voice with much more strength than he felt. "You actually got some air, I know you did. Come on, Della, breathe for me." He pulled the stopper from the bottle of bourbon and held it to her lips. "I know you don't care for bourbon, baby, but drink it for me. Please honey, drink some. It will make you feel better. I promise you'll feel better. Della! Stay with me, you hear?"
He forced her lips apart and tipped the bottle, spilling a bit of the whiskey into her mouth and massaging her throat, trying to get her to swallow. "Della, listen to me, precious girl. I'm right here and I'm trying to help you, but you've got to help me, too. Swallow the whiskey, Della. Swallow it and you'll feel better."
Miraculously and to his utter relief, she swallowed feebly. He poured a bit more of the bourbon into her mouth and tears streamed freely down his cheeks when she swallowed again. She could hear him. She was listening and obeying. "That's my girl. Just a little more, baby. Just a little more and you'll feel better."
She gave a sputtering cough and he lowered the bottle, set it aside. It was then that he noticed the rash on her chest. What he had thought was the blush of arousal must have been this rash. How could he have allowed her to…how selfish was he to place his pleasure over her health? But she had been so alert, so funny, and she had wanted to pleasure him, was in fact, determined to.
Perry unfolded one of the dry towels and wrapped it around her shoulders. She definitely felt much cooler, and he didn't know if it was wishful thinking or not, but she seemed to be breathing. Shallowly and with great effort, but she was breathing, not gasping for air or Heaven forbid, not breathing at all like before. He glanced into the shower. The hot water was running out, the steam thinning. It was time to make a run for it, to get her to the hospital.