Mend the Seams (Buried Secrets 3)

Chapter Two

A loud monotone beeping blares from the old speaker on the wall, startlin’ me from sleep. I react immediately, jumping into my turnout gear then sliding down the pole behind Adams to the ground lev

el. The CAD System alerts overhead: ENGINE 17, Ladder 48, Truck 21 Residential Structure Fire, occupied…the voice becomes muffled as I pull my tired body up into the passenger seat of the engine. Wilson, the driver checks that the other two firefighters have seated themselves on the buckets, then shifts the engine into gear urging the truck towards the scene as I begin the en-route planning. Glancing up at the monitor I begin shouting out directions to get to the scene as quickly as possible. Staticky voices scramble across the radio between Dispatch and our Response team, but I’m too busy planning the rescue with my men to acknowledge the conversation. Heavy adrenaline courses warm blood through my veins, loud echoes of the shrilling siren booming in my ear as I crank the mechanical siren system, warning other motorists of our hurried presence on the road. We rush through the stop lights quickly but carefully, trying to avoid any further incidents in the cross sections as we make our way across town.

“Dispatch to Engine 17.”

“Engine 17, LT. Ashton here. Over.”

“Engine 17, clear call, I repeat clear call. Over.”

“Dispatch, under what orders? Over.” This rarely happens unless another house made the call first.

“Battalion Chief Marcum has ordered Engine 17 back to the Fire Department. Another Engine is en-route. Please correspond accordingly. Over.”

“Turn around Wilson.” I instruct the driver. He rolls his eyes as I crank the siren, warning drivers of our impulsive stop in the middle of the intersection. Pulling the radio back to my mouth I look over at the Mobile Data Terminal to recall the address we were called to. Static fills the air as my voice catches in my throat and cold, dead fear crawls through my veins.

“Engine 17 to Dispatch. I need a confirmation on the address of the structure fire please. Over.”

98 Winchester Avenue. No. 98 Winchester Avenue. Hell No. 98 Win…

“Battalion Chief to Engine 17! I am ordering you to return to the Fire House IMMEDIATLEY!! Over.”

I slam the radio against the dash, tiny black pieces of plastic shattering in every direction as an exasperated breath rushes through my lungs.

“Wilson, I’m ordering you to proceed with the call. Move, NOW!!” Wilson doesn’t argue. He doesn’t question my motive, or the struggle I’m battling with right now. He simply nods, a look of desperation and worry filling his eyes. I crank the siren urgently, but nobody understands my personal urge to be on the scene.

Thick, grey smoke bellows from the rooftops of the house, vanishing the twinkling stars from plain site. I jump from the cab as Wilson slows the engine to a stop. Charging toward the blaze of flames as quickly as my legs will carry me, a deafening silence falls upon my ears muting all noise that surrounds me. Suddenly the world beneath my feet comes to a slow pause. I try to press forward but a mass of hands grip my arms, pulling me away from the blazing structure. Tormented screams break through the silence and my heart lurches in my throat as I realize there is no saving them. My knees grow weak and I try to fight harder to get inside the house, but the strength of the men holding me back is too great. Windows shatter at once and a heavy boom shakes the earth. My weight defies my legs as I come crashing down to the ground, and my hands instantly form steeples at the tip of my nose. A silent prayer is whispered but as the silence fades into the crackling of wood snapping and breaking under the pressure of the fire, I know it’s too late.

A scolding heat blankets my flesh as a cold, slick sweat prickles my forehead and my body jolts upright, a heavy breath strangling to release from my throat. My heart drums rapidly against my ribcage as tremors roll through my body. My eyes skate around the room wildly and the panic attack begins to draw to an end as I realize my surroundings. Falling back lifelessly against the old, worn out mattress I gaze up at the ceiling as my breathing steadies.

It’s over. Just the same haunting demons that have consumed my sleep for the last two years replaying the one moment in my life that I can never change, but would die trying. The screams from the nightmare are now a distant voice echoing in my head as the jumbled mess of memories from that fateful night come flooding back. These thoughts never leave me, always lurking in the dark recess of my mind, ready to present themselves at the worst possible moment.

I need to clear my head, bury the memories just for one more day. For the last few weeks only one person has been holdin’ my attention, keepin’ my demons at bay when the sufferin’ is just too much to bear.–Savannah. Glancin’ over at the clock I see that it’s way too early for a visit. So I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom for a shower. The steamin’ heat washes away the clammy sweat and eases the tension from my nightmare; but it ain’t enough. I still feel on edge and rattled. After gettin’ dressed I grab my keys and head out the door.

I drive. In no particular direction, I just drive to clear my mind. My thoughts rush back and forth, every detail of the night that my heroism failed the people I loved the most. I should have saved them.

Guilt rips at me because I could have altered the fate of my family, but I put work first thinkin’ the extra hours and pay was what we needed at the time. Turns out none of that was needed. The job promotion, the pay raise, it was all for nothing. No, I needed to listen to my wife for once. But I was so caught up in my new job position, proving myself as Lieutenant of the fire department that I let things that needed tending to at home go undone and my procrastination cost my wife and son their lives. Ten minutes and a one dollar part could have spared me the anguish that I relive each and every day. A damn faulty outlet caused an electrical fire that spread through the walls of the house, trapping them in a blazin’ fiery inferno. Devastated by the sight before me, I knew the outcome of their fate. I’d fought too many uncontrollable fires in the line of duty to expect them to survive the dance of flames that blazed into the night sky. I stood there on the ash charred sidewalk listenin’ to the agonizing screams, their tormented cries shreddin’ my heart into a million pieces because it was my job to protect them. It was my job to save them, but I couldn’t.

The night stars begin to fade into the mornin’ sun and before I realize it I’m pullin’ up the long driveway and slammin’ the gearshift into park. I climb out of my truck, easing the door closed and make my way up to the porch swing. I sit down slowly, careful not to let the chains rattle or my phone will be ringin’ in three seconds to come check on Savannah when I’m already here.

Restin’ my head back on the swing, I push my feet off the floor, swayin’ the swing at a slow and steady pace. Peace washes over me and I inhale a calming breath as my eyes flutter closed. Does it make sense that I randomly show up on Savannah’s front porch, nap on the swing just so I’m close if she needs me? Probably not. But I find myself waking up on her porch swing more than I wake up in my own bed.

After she was released from the hospital, I spent six nights here until she finally asked me to leave because she was feelin’ dependent on me. I really tried to stay away, but there’s something about Savannah and I have a constant draw to her. A strong desire to keep her safe, shield her, protect her.

Sometime later I feel the swing dip low then sway as a burst of giggles sing like music to my ears. I rub my sleepy eyes and look over to see the amusement dancin’ in Savannah’s green eyes.

“Bed broke?” She asks and I grumble, rubbin’ my sore and stiff neck.

“Got bed bugs?” I shoot her a sideways glance.

“No? Dirty sheets then?” She laughs to herself, bumpin’ her shoulder into mine. I peer at her from the corner of my eye and can’t help the grin the tips up on my lips.

“I’ll remember that the next time the wind blows too hard and you’re callin’ my number at three am.”

“I kid, I kid.” She giggles again and I swear that sound could heal every single open wound my heart has.

“How’d ya sleep last night?” I ask, pullin’ her closer to my side and pushin’ the swing into a lazy sway. She sits silently for a minute before answerin’ me, suddenly nervous.