Getting Lost Page 6

  Stella arrived in a lather of sweat and barely in time to take her seat before the show began. Huge trees swayed overhead providing intermittent shade, and Stella soon became lost in the music, forgetting the uncomfortable dry heat.

  Keira Hannigan was striking. She captivated the audience, performing in a beautiful white flowing dress, framed like an angel against the backdrop of the spectacular gardens. Her rich, deep voice reverberated through the sound system, sending shivers down Stella’s spine.

  At the conclusion of the first song, Stella felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She spun around, unsure how she could possibly be obstructing the view for the person behind her. Her breath stalled in her throat.

  Phoebe Lancaster leaned forward. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  Stella forced her breath upward. “I could say the same to you.”

  “After last night, I hardly considered Keira Hannigan to be your style.”

  Stella frowned. Last night?

  Then it made sense. She had taken the group to a nightclub, and despite herself, had actually enjoyed dancing to the throbbing beat. After only an hour, it usually began to grate on her ears, but last night she had enjoyed herself regardless, flirting and getting to know her group.

  “I was working last night, Phoebe.” Stella smiled. “My job is to ensure people have a good time.” Her attempts at reassuring Phoebe her behaviour at the club was work-related apparently appeared unconvincing.

  “You seemed to be having an exceptionally good time with Matt and some of the other men.”

  Stella didn’t like where this was going. “As I said, I was working. If my behaviour in some way offended you, I’m sorry.” Her apology was genuine. “Phoebe, it’s honestly part of what I do.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Perhaps you felt I excluded you?”

  Phoebe rested back and turned her attention toward the stage. Like a good little girl, Stella was expected to turn around and watch the concert. With nothing left to say, that was exactly what she did.

  The concert was remarkable, but the heat was oppressive. A gap high in the trees allowed a patch of sunlight to beam directly down, burning Stella’s scalp. Sweat dripped down her forehead, along her eyebrows, and eventually down her cheeks and neck. A brutal thirst overcame her, and focusing became difficult. She was overheating, but when she leaned down to retrieve the bottle of water from between her legs, her unpredictable shaking toppled it over, spilling every last drop. She hadn’t replaced the lid securely.

  For the next hour, Stella, with her head throbbing and body aching, fought desperately to enjoy the music. She could hear Phoebe humming gaily behind her, and a part of her wished she had known she was coming so they could have at least sat together, although she had obviously upset Phoebe somehow.

  When the concert was over, Stella couldn’t remember anything beyond the conversation with Phoebe. It was all a blur, and her mouth and throat were dry. She was thirsty, so thirsty. Her neck and shoulders felt burnt, but she was sure she’d applied sunscreen. Unsure why she was feeling so poorly, Stella became frightened. She needed to find shade and drink some water. The throbbing, now extending to her temples and eyes, was relentless. She began to stumble toward the tiny kiosk and some much-needed shelter. Where’s Phoebe?

  Stella blinked as objects blurred and distorted. To her dismay, the only thing she could clearly identify ahead was the giant maze—the impressive Labyrinth—her confused, delusional mind told her to keep going and find Phoebe.

  After only three turns, Stella was lost and completely perplexed. The sweat trickled from her pores like a dripping tap, soaking her singlet top down to the small of her back. In sheer desperation, she slumped down against the prickly hedge—the only shade she could find. Within seconds, she could see nothing at all.

  Although not unconscious, Stella was oblivious to the events that unfolded. When she finally became cognisant, she found herself immersed in the pool of an artificial waterfall. Holding her head only centimetres above the waterline was Phoebe. Stella panicked. She’s going to drown me!

  “An ambulance is on its way.” Phoebe’s tone was unreadable.

  “What’s going on?” Stella mumbled, swiping away the hand of one of the gardeners as he dabbed her forehead with a damp cloth.

  “Heat stroke.”

  “You’re trying to kill me. Please don’t hurt me,” pleaded Stella.

  “Stella, you’re dehydrated. You need to drink.” Agitation crept into Phoebe’s tone.

  Stella was grateful for the water surrounding her, but her sunglasses had been removed, and her eyes felt like they were burning. Confusion engulfed her as people darted between her and the sun, creating frightening silhouettes.

  “Please, Phoebe, let me go.” Stella struggled with the hands that were holding her upright.

  Suddenly, in the confusion and disorientation with the sun appearing brighter than ever, Stella caught sight of Phoebe’s silhouetted arm, and in her hand, something glistened intensely. Stella slipped over the edge. “Jesus, she’s got a knife. Someone help me please. She’s trying to kill me. She has a knife!”

  Stella felt a sharp sting on the side of her face and stopped struggling, stunned.

  “Stella, it’s a fucking drink bottle, damn it!” Phoebe yelled.

  “What?” Stella was still recovering from the slap on her face.

  “Calm down and drink it, please.” Phoebe’s tone was laced with disappointment. “The ambulance is on its way, but if you don’t drink something right now, they’ll put you on a drip all night. Is that what you want?”

  In desperation, Phoebe straddled her, placing strong, tanned legs either side of Stella’s elbows to constrict her movement. With one hand, she cradled Stella’s neck and, tilting her head back, poured the water down, giving Stella no choice but to swallow.

  The severe thirst was overwhelming, and Stella soon realised the only thing relieving her thirst was the water Phoebe was offering. She gave up the fight and relaxed, allowing Phoebe to hold the bottle to her lips. She sipped desperately. The rush of cold water slipping down her throat and into her stomach provided a welcomed relief.

  Within minutes, Stella was voluntarily sipping a second bottle as the paramedics arrived. With little fuss, she was lifted onto a trolley and wheeled toward the ambulance.

  “Hold on,” whispered Stella. “Please,” she managed, louder this time. “Wait a moment.”

  The paramedic pulled the trolley to a halt.

  “Phoebe?” Stella looked around, searching for the familiar face.

  “I’m here.” Phoebe stepped into her vision.

  “Will you come with me? Please?” Stella didn’t want to go to the hospital alone.

  “I don’t know.” Phoebe hesitated. “Maybe it’s not such a good idea.”

  Stella saw the hurt in her eyes. How could she have killed anyone? “Okay.” Stella was so confused. Her fear felt real, but so did her attraction. In such a fragile state, and far from feeling on top of things, she let it go. “I’m sorry.”

  The paramedic was drumming her fingers impatiently on the side of the ambulance, and with that natural lull in the conversation, took the opportunity to push the trolley into the vehicle and close the door behind her. With a swift thump on the partition separating the driver from the main compartment, the vehicle slowly pulled away. No sirens, no hurry.

  Shit. Stella was all too aware of her responsibilities and rested yet another drink bottle in the crook of her arm and dragged her phone from her pocket. She had to call Russo. The young paramedic pressed a cool, damp cloth to her forehead and quickly intervened. “You must drink. Nothing else, just drink.”

  Stella smiled, holding the bottle aloft, silently assuring the woman she could do both.

  The conversation with Russo was brief and to the point. After the initial shock of hearing she was on her way to hospital, he assured Stella he’d take care of things. She trusted him.

  In contrast, the paramedic sim
ply glared at her and said, “Drink.”

  Stella was wheeled through to the bustling emergency department soon after the ambulance arrived in the designated parking bay. Within minutes, she was hooked up to a drip and left to ponder her disastrous afternoon. After a slow, silent hour, a nurse by the name of Sergio entered the room and spoke in excellent English. “Hello, Stella. You have a visitor.”

  Stella fought to contain her anger. If Russo was to round up the group and walk them to dinner on time, he’d be lucky to have a minute to scratch himself, let alone visit her in the hospital. She cursed. Her hospitalisation alone was enough to cause Janet to have a coronary. The knowledge that an entire evening had been ruined would likely cause her to drop dead.

  “Russo, you shouldn’t—” Stella stared in amazement as Sergio stood aside.

  Phoebe hesitated before shuffling inside the pale blue curtain. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” Stella smiled and then reluctantly turned her attention to Sergio who was checking her vitals.

  “Another bag of fluids, I think.” Sergio smiled and ignored Stella’s groan. Lying around while her body absorbed fluids intravenously required no assistance from her. She was bored and worried about the group.

  After Sergio quietly snuck through the curtain, Phoebe remained standing, awkwardly searching the room for something to fix her gaze upon. “You can sit on the bed if you like,” said Stella.

  Phoebe sat as close to the foot of the bed as she could. “How do you feel?”

  “Better. Much better, thanks. I think I was delirious back there.” It wasn’t an outright apology for her appalling behaviour, but Phoebe gave her the distinct impression she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Heat stroke is a pretty serious thing.” Phoebe refused to meet her gaze.

  “How did you know that’s what I had?” The small talk was unnerving, but Stella understood her options were limited.

  “I’ve seen it before.”

  Stella waited for further explanation, but nothing appeared forthcoming. “Was Russo on top of things?”

  Phoebe nodded, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts. “I can see why he’s usually the driver. He’s a bit like a drill sergeant when he has to do your job.”

  Stella grinned. “Yes, well, he does take bossing groups around very seriously.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled in the tiny cubicle.

  Stella finally plucked up the courage to speak. “Thanks for coming.”

  Phoebe shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t all that hungry, and I had nothing better to do.”

  “There are loads of things better than hanging around the emergency room while you’re on holiday,” said Stella.

  “It’s okay. I’ve been to Barcelona before.”

  “I get the impression you’ve been all over Europe.” Stella wasn’t fishing for information; it was merely an observation.

  Phoebe shrugged again. “Some of it. Maybe.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why she was on this tour. In fact, Stella had so many questions for the mysterious Phoebe Lancaster, the most pressing being the most inappropriate. Are you a murderer?

  Phoebe was clearly uncomfortable, and Stella wasn’t entirely sure why. Rebecca Dean’s death had occurred five years ago. Had there been someone else since then? Stella fleetingly wondered if anyone else Phoebe had been seeing, or even dating, had mysteriously disappeared. She chastised herself for considering such an appalling scenario. She had to admit though, the more she liked Phoebe, the more ridiculous the thoughts were that kept bombarding her mind. The confusion was sending her crazy. One day she was disturbed by the CCTV vision of Phoebe on the Paris Metro and her seeming indifference to such a tragic event, and the next, Phoebe shows up at the hospital in an act of kindness. You should leave this alone, Stella.

  Sergio returned to save the day and rescue them from further small talk. “You feeling better?” Stella nodded. “We are very busy and need the bed. The doctor will return soon, and then I’m sure I’ll be back to take some blood. If your tests show electrolyte improvement, we’ll probably send you home.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, nurse.” That was the best news Stella had heard all night.

  He looked to Phoebe. “She must continue to drink.”

  “I’ll make sure she continues her intake of fluids when we leave.”

  Sergio smiled and disappeared.

  Phoebe plucked the chart off the shelf. “Next paracetamol is due in an hour.”

  “You can read those things?” Stella hadn’t looked at a hospital chart yet that she could understand.

  Phoebe hesitated, appearing uncomfortable. “A little. It’s not difficult.”

  “Formal training?” Stella pushed.

  “Nope.”

  And there it was again, that familiar lack of information, coupled with an air of coldness. Stella left it alone, feeling an unexpected sorrow for Phoebe perched clumsily on the end of her bed. Who was she to press Phoebe for information she clearly didn’t want to give, especially since she had altered her plans to be with her in the hospital? How could she question the attitude of someone who, in the past, had the finger pointed squarely at them for the murder of another human being?

  Stella had always been a supporter of the underdog. If everyone hated the new kid at school, she liked them. She cheered for the least favourite team in sport, she would choose the runt of the litter, and she often defended those incapable of defending themselves. But feeling sorry for Phoebe wasn’t what had her insides in a twist. Phoebe had arrived at the hospital unexpectedly. Was there a genuine possibility that she felt something too?

  Stella sighed. All she had to do now was shake her paranoia. This was proving easier said than done.

  Even though the doctor ordered blood tests, and Sergio returned for the sample, it was another two hours before Stella and Phoebe slid into the plastic seats of the first cab on the stand outside the hospital. Stella’s clothes had been dried, and despite the dull ache that remained behind her eyes, she felt remarkably better than before. Now she was simply tired. Phoebe had made it quite clear additional paracetamol could not be consumed until she was safely tucked up in bed at the hotel, so there was no point in even asking. Stella stared at Phoebe. She couldn’t read her expression, nor form a judgement on her state of mind. It was all extremely frustrating.

  The taxi journey was completed in silence. Stella was struggling to pluck up the courage to ask Phoebe if she would sit with her for a while in her room. She soon discovered that not only did she lack the courage, she couldn’t find the appropriate words either. Everything she came up with sounded like a pathetic come-on. It occurred to her that she was entirely out of her depth and certainly out of practice when it came to normal relationships. She attempted to convince herself she’d be more at home delivering Phoebe a line to entice her into bed, but it had been so long since she’d done that, she wasn’t even sure she could pull it off.

  Inside the hotel foyer, ceiling fans rattled and simply pushed stale air around the already stinking hot area. Some hotels had excellent air conditioning, but Le Mediterranean on the Ramblas was run-down and the best her company could secure at a reasonable price in the heart of town.

  Phoebe broke the silence. “What room are you in?”

  Stella told her, and Phoebe collected the key from the reception desk, taking Stella’s hand and leading the way. It wasn’t until right outside her door, when the nausea hit Stella.

  “I think I need to be sick.” She rushed past Phoebe as the door swung open, but didn’t make it to the bathroom. Stella vomited water and stomach bile all over the old timber floor. “Oh, shit.” She began to sway as Phoebe quickly gathered her in her arms to prevent a fall.

  “You need to lie down and drink more.” Phoebe’s tone was gentle. “Especially if you’re going to throw it up again.”

  “I need to clean up first,” Stella protested, aware of nothing but the strong arms surrounding her. Phoebe was an alluring co
mbination of strength and softness, and Stella felt so poorly she yearned to melt into her embrace and replenish her energy.

  “I’ll fix all that.” She helped Stella to the bed. “Here, stay above the covers though.”

  “You can’t clean up my vomit, Phoebe. I’ll fix it. This is embarrassing.” But before Stella could utter another word, she darted into the bathroom, managing to reach the toilet bowl this time. She felt terrible, along with a churning stomach, her face was on fire again.

  “Much more of that and you’ll need to go back to hospital,” Phoebe called from the main room. “I can’t fill you up with water at the pace you’re vomiting.” She knocked on the bathroom door. Stella sat slumped in the corner, and Phoebe stepped over her to retrieve a towel for the clean-up.

  “I think there’ll be more.” Stella groaned, clutching her stomach.

  Phoebe knelt and felt her brow before soaking a face washer and resting it on Stella’s head. She smiled. “Try to make the next one your last one.” She squeezed her shoulder. “Otherwise I’m calling another ambulance.”

  Just great. Stella leaned over the bowl again, retching, but thankfully keeping everything down. Convinced she had produced her worst, she hobbled out and slumped on her bed.

  Phoebe was by her side immediately, holding out a bottle of water. “Sorry, but you really need to sip this, and at least another three, before you call it a night.”

  “Damn.” Stella sighed. “I just want to sleep.”

  Phoebe straightened, all business-like again and left to rinse the face washer in cooler water. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen unless you want to be on a drip in the hospital again.”

  “How do you know all this?”