As soon as the horn blows, I hit the button and the time rolls. They hustle out in good time. Their gear is ready next to their positions on the truck. Some more organized than others.
Boots and bunker pants get slipped into first. Up the legs, straps over the shoulders. Nomex is slid over their heads. Jacket goes on, helmets finally, then they’re jumping in the truck. Doors slam all around, and I hit stop.
“Twenty-eight seconds,” I call out. “Let’s do it again!” And they do, over and over, until they’re at twenty-six seconds before the fire bell rings, and we’re called to a warehouse fire.
The ride there is tense as they prepare for what we’re heading into. We already know three ambulances will be on scene as well as another station house, with the possibility of more on the way.
Adrenaline courses through my veins when I see tempestuous flames bursting through the roof of the building and licking at the windows.
Mark calls out orders as we jump out of the truck. “Decker, take Matthews with you to the east side. No reports of civilians, but do a quick sweep, then get the fuck out.”
Removing my helmet, I double-check my air, watch Matthews do the same, and slide the mask on and heft the pack on my back. Securing my helmet, I slip on my gloves and lead the way into the burning warehouse.
Fire eats away at the room, so I know we have minimal time to do the sweep, but I make the most of it. “Lieu!” I hear Matthews, but I don’t see him when I turn.
“Where are you?” There’s a loud crash down a hall to my right, and that instinct that has kept me alive all these years screams at me now. The kid went that way. I’m going to kick his ass for not staying on my six and bolting before I could ask his reason for calling for me.
Smoke makes visibility difficult, so I don’t realize what I’m looking for until I’m on it. Matthews is out cold. “Firefighter down. First hallway on the right,” I relay before tugging the heavy cabinet off his back. Flames filter through the floor, and I assess that I have seconds to get the kid out of here.
“Come on, Matthews. Wake up!” I shout at him, knowing he’s unable to. I hear a crackling sound just as voices burst through my radio, warning me to get out.
But there’s no time.
The roof collapses over us as I get the fucking shelf off the kid. In time to cover him with my body, but not fast enough to move us both out of the way as something pierces my side, knocking the wind out of me and dropping my body flat to the ground.
“Mayday, mayday. I’m down. Fuck,” I hiss as the burn of metal slices through me like fire through ice.
My vision blurs, and I register yelling, but my sight goes in and out. When I feel hands on me, pulling, I let out a scream loud enough to be heard across the state. Whatever is wedged inside of me is large and not budging.
There’s more shouting, more pressure, but eventually, the injury takes me out of commission. I can only hope it’s not for good as I feel my heart rate slow and my consciousness fade away.
Ophelia
I finally made it out of the house today. Had to borrow Laken’s shower so I would be presentable, but I still feel and look like death. Sleep has remained elusive since those pictures, even more so after Torque left. I’ve felt bereft. Dead inside. Like I’m unable to breathe.
I regret how miserable I was to him. I wouldn’t listen as he spoke. Only after he’d gone and my house quieted, except for my angry sobs as I lay on the kitchen floor, did I allow myself to hear what he said. And I hated myself. Because it made sense. He would never have recorded us without my permission. Deep down, I knew this to be true. I realized the idea of someone violating our moments like that had to have been an anomaly because who does that?
The same asshole who violated our privacy.
But then, I kept going back to those pictures of us in public, and I knew it wasn’t Torque who had done something foolish.
It was me.
It’s my fault, and I have no idea how to make it better because, if I’m honest, I have my suspicions of who’s behind this.
It can only be one person.
Baxter.
He’s the sole individual in my life who would be so cruel. That I’ve had any negative interaction with in months, maybe years. But I’m at a loss at how to have him investigated and apologize to Torque.
Which I must do.
Something inside me screams to call Torque. He just worked a double shift, so he should have a couple of days off. That’s if he even wants to talk to me after the horrific things I said to him.
Flipping to the closed sign since no one’s in the store, I shut off the lights and make my way to my office, hoping to invite him out for dinner. I’d cook for him, but I destroyed my house looking for cameras. I found three and was sick for hours. I couldn’t believe it.
His phone rings until I get the voicemail. I leave a short message and finish some bookkeeping before trying him again an hour later—still nothing.
With nothing more to do here, I walk home, and it’s lonely and cold, despite the warm air. A storm must be brewing. Approaching my house, I’m filled with dread. Not only because of what the inside holds but because I find another white envelope popping out of my mailbox.
I remain outside this time as I rip it open, prepared for more inappropriate pictures. What I find instead, drops me to my knees with a wail of anguish passing my lips.
There in all their colorful glory, are images of Torque being carried out of a fire with some kind of pole puncturing his side. One is of the paramedics trying to shock him, another of blood dripping off his coat. More of him being loaded into the ambulance, then at the hospital as someone administers CPR.
Is he dead? Could he be, and that’s why he’s not answering? No. I shake my head, refusing to believe it. He can’t be. If he were, Hale would have called me. He would have come by or sent someone. I wouldn’t be left in the dark.
Unless Torque told them how terrible I was to him.
“Oh god.” I feel sick to my stomach as I hear sirens approach.
Turning around, I see Dorian Wagner skidding to a halt in front of my house, and my worst fears are coming true.
“No, no, no, no.” My hands cover my mouth as my head shakes back and forth, and my eyes blur with tears I’m trying desperately to hold onto. I can’t handle it if something has happened to Torque. If the last thing I did to him was throw him out of my house.
“He’s critical,” Dorian fills me in, reaching out a hand for me to take. It’s not until I grip him that I realize I’m trembling so badly that I’ve crumpled the pictures in my palm. I almost drop them when he reaches out. His eyes scan them quickly before ushering me to his car.
The drive is nerve-racking. Dorian doesn’t ask about the pictures, and I don’t inquire about Torque because I’m terrified of the answer. I don’t know how I’ll cope if he doesn’t make it.
Before I know it, we’re stopped in front of the hospital, and another firefighter is there to open my door and escort me out. Balancing on shaking legs, I don’t process how I make it inside or how I’m breathing when it feels like my world is crumbling.
“Ophelia!” I hear Laken before I see her. Hale holds her in her chair, keeping her in place. Jesse sits on her other side.