Firestorm: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Ellie Masters

  Prescott waits on the small porch while I head inside. Gracie follows me in and he’s right behind us. The door closes with a snick and I can’t help but feel a little trapped.

  “It’s going to be awhile,” he says. “I’ve asked for an expedited trial, but we have some work to do. I hope I don’t need to explain that you won’t be able to disappear.”

  Disappear.

  He means head back to the trails; my version of escaping reality.

  The house comes fully furnished. Prescott really did think of everything. The inside is country cute; not exactly my style. I’m more into clean lines, muted colors and understated elegance, not the vibrant splashes of color decorating every surface. The sofa looks like a florist vomited on it. The bright yellow arm chairs make me want to wear shades. At least the carpet is somewhat neutral, although whoever thought white was a good idea for carpet needs their head examined.

  A bright red and blue afghan covers the back of the couch. Depending on how long I need to stay, I’m going to need to hire a designer and do a complete overhaul on the house. We walk through it together and I bite my tongue at the bright yellow and blue color scheme in the kitchen. It’s going to take more than an interior designer to take care of that, and fire engine red appliances? My eyes need bleach.

  “It’s…” I turn in a circle and take in the riot of colors.

  “Unique.” Gracie gives a nod. “Very—unique.”

  “That’s one word for it.” I wrinkle my nose at the garish colors. “It’s country cute mixed in with art deco disaster.”

  “It’s the best I could do on such short notice.” Prescott shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down. “We can find alternate accommodations if you want.”

  There’s no way I can do that, not when Prescott went above and beyond.

  “It’s definitely different, but I can make it work.” I go to him and wrap my arms around him in a hug. “I’m thankful for everything.”

  “Ah, hunny.” Gracie comes up behind me and gives me a hug. “You know we’d do anything for you.”

  Prescott pulls his hands out of his pockets and wraps them around us both. We stand in silence for a moment, but then he starts laughing.

  Lowering his hands, he takes a step back. “It’s hideous, isn’t it?”

  I smile at him. “Hideously perfect.”

  “I’ll call a designer and see what can be done,” he says.

  “That’s not necessary.” I can’t bear for him to do any more than what he’s already done. “It’s kind of growing on me.”

  “It’s up to you, but you’re going to be stuck here for a while,” he says. “There’s a fine line between wanting to rush the trial and needing to prepare your defense. I haven’t had a chance to look at the arson report, but we’ve got our work cut out for us. Come, let’s sit and chat.” He gestures back toward the living room.

  Gracie and I follow him. Over the next hour, he lays out his conversation with the judge and his plans concerning my defense. I tell him all about the hike, coming up on the scraggly man, and getting knocked out. Gracie covers her mouth when I describe waking up in the middle of the forest fire, my mad dash through the flames, and how I flew over the edge of the ridge falling head over heels down the steep bank. I tell her about the injury to my ankle which healed remarkably fast and why I tunneled into that cleft between the boulders.

  “Oh dear,” she exclaims. “How did you keep your wits about you? I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

  “I’ve learned a lot, actually.” It’s the truth and I’m proud of myself. I’ve gone from being a ditzy socialite whose biggest concern in life was whether my nail polish and lipstick matched my evening gown, to an independent self-sufficient woman who tackles the outdoors like a professional. When I think of who I was a year ago, and the woman I’ve become, I don’t recognize the vapid waste of breath I once was.

  That girl no longer exists.

  I shiver wondering where I would be now. I would be married, probably with a kid on the way. My days would be spent relaxing from all my non-existent stress in a day spa to picking out the most fashionable baby clothes and complaining about the stretch marks marring my perfect skin.

  Do Gracie and Prescott see the changes? Or do they only see the woman their son would’ve married? The daughter they never had? Is it possible for them to like the new me rather than the old?

  Prescott listens to my story with practically zero reaction. That’s not exactly true. He’s quiet, but the muscles of his jaw bunch and I’m pretty sure I know what he’s thinking.

  It’s impressive how he’s holding his tongue. At any moment, I expect the ‘I told you so’ to come spilling out of his mouth, but he grits his teeth and lets me continue. He’s listening to my account as the lawyer who will defend me in court. He’s not taking notes, but I’m sure every word I say is being indelibly stored in that impressive mind of his.

  “Well, that is a terrifying story.” Gracie pats my knee. “I’m glad everything turned out all right.”

  It’s not all right. I’m facing felony arson charges which can put me away for up to twenty years. Or more.

  I’ve seen that look in Prescott’s face before. The challenge of a particularly difficult case. My life is literally in his hands.

  “How about we put your things up, get you moved in?” Gracie grabs one of the many bags full of our shopping spree. I wanted simple, she shopped like she always did. Half the things inside these bags will never get worn. This town simply doesn’t cater to that echelon of society.

  I did manage to get in some sensible clothes, jeans, shorts, cotton panties instead of silk and lace, and an assortment of cotton tee-shirts instead of the designer blouses she insisted I buy. I grab several bags and join Gracie in the larger of the two bedrooms.

  “We can move the bed out.” She points to the smaller bedroom. “And set it up as an office.”

  “An office?”

  “I know this place isn’t what you’re used to, but we can make it work. If there’s not a gym nearby, we can set it up with what you need.”

  Yes, I forgot Gracie’s life revolves around keeping her model perfect figure.

  “I saw several day spas we can check out.” She gives another pat to my arm. “We’ll find you something suitable.”

  How do I tell her I don’t need a workout room in my home because I get more than enough exercise on the trails? My worry isn’t if I’m getting enough exercise, but whether I can consume enough calories not to lose precious muscle mass.

  I’ve always been thin, but now I’m thin and lean. Strong. Self-sufficient. I don’t need a day spa home or a fitness center with a coach.

  That’s not my life anymore.

  It is for the foreseeable future, however. Prescott says no more disappearing for weeks at a time. I process what that means as Gracie and I pack the drawers of the dresser with things I don’t need and hang all the fancy dresses I’ll never wear in the closet.

  When we’re done, we rejoin Prescott and head out for dinner where our conversation is stunted and filled with awkward pauses. I get it. We’ve all been through shit and no one is dealing with any of it particularly well. Fortunately, dinner is a quick affair and I’m home before I know it.

  They leave me in my new home with no television, no WiFi, and nothing in the fridge. I’ll get groceries in the morning when my car arrives. Prescott thought of everything, even down to delivering a car.

  For the rest of the night, it’s me and my garish little home. I’m so damn bored I could cry.

  Spending the day with Prescott and Gracie emotionally drains me. It’s been a long, lonely day without Asher. Odd how much I miss him, but I refuse to be clingy. I could call, but I don’t.

  I don’t want him to know how much I’m thinking about him. Or admit it to myself. There must be something I can do to entertain myself.

  Not a book in the house?

  How is that possible? I’ve got the most hideous country cute dec
or and not a single book or magazine? If I had my old phone, I’d read on it, but my new phone is a virgin piece of technology, completely unlinked to my previous phone.

  I would download my old phone from the cloud, except after a year of barely looking at my phone, I remember none of the passwords to any of my previous accounts. So, I can’t even download the extensive library I’d built up over the years and I’m too damn lazy to start new accounts.

  This means asking Prescott for another favor. Hopefully he can restore my phone from wherever its backup is stored. Until then, it’s just me, my empty home, and the walls which feel as if they’re closing in on me.

  Funny to think I feel more comfortable sleeping outside in a tent than under a roof. None of the designer stores Gracie took me to sold what I need for that. Not to mention, I didn’t want Prescott giving me the eye. For the foreseeable future, my backpacking is on hold, which leaves me jumpy around all this civilization.

  The house creaks and groans, speaking a language I don’t understand. I try not to jump at each unfamiliar sound, but I swear it sounds as if there’s someone else in here.

  My head knows it’s nothing, but my nerves are uneasy and restless.

  All houses make noise, but I don’t know these sounds. I don’t feel safe. Which leads me around the house on a mission to check all the locks, inspect all the closets, and look under the beds. There’s no one but me, but I can’t help feeling as if there’s a presence watching me.

  Shrugging the feeling off as nonsense, I head to the bathroom where I draw a bath. One thing this ugly house has going for it is a massive clawed bathtub. It looks dreamy. A little soaking and suds sounds like the perfect thing to settle my nerves. And while I have no food in the house, our little shopping trip netted me an entire host of bathroom necessities, along with a box of scented bath bombs.

  Water pours out of the copper faucet warming up while I sniff the box of bath bombs. The lilac and rose one smells the best. After testing the water, I plug the tub to let it fill and head back to my room to grab my robe.

  A flutter of movement in the living room catches my eye. When I go to investigate there’s nothing out of sorts.

  “It’s just nerves.” I say this out loud. If I speak it, it must be true. Honestly, I don’t know where this unease comes from. It’s almost as if I’m afraid to be alone, which is silly considering I spent most of last year with only myself and the outdoors for company.

  Shrugging off the odd feeling, I return to the bathroom, strip out of my clothes and sink into the luxurious tub.

  Lilac and rose fill my senses. The hot water lulls my mind and the tight muscles in my legs let go. My arms grow heavy on the side of the tub. My head leans back and I allow my eyes to close. It’s been a long time since I allowed myself to let go and enjoy the creature comforts of a home drawn bath. Into this, I let myself float away and doze.

  A fit of coughing wakes me, along with an acrid stench and heated air. Black smoke billows into the bathroom and rolls across the ceiling, filling my lungs. Each breath pulls in more of the smoke. Tears pour down my face, brought on by the coughing fit, and the thick smoke.

  There are no alarms going off, but there are most definitely flames licking along the carpet and climbing up the wall.

  I leap out of the tub and grab my robe as I go to my knees. The smoke is thick, suffocating, and the heat unbearable. The orange flames are garish against the brilliant blues, yellows, and red of the furnishings. Paint bubbles as the intense heat consumes it.

  I’m trapped with no way out.

  But wait.

  My only option is the bathroom window and a twelve foot drop to the yard below. There is no other alternative.

  I can’t stay here.

  Before I put on my robe, I dunk it in the tub, getting it thoroughly wet. I’ll need what little protection it gives. My only problem is the window is high, barely big enough for me to fit through, and it’s completely covered with smoke. A quick glance around the bathroom and I grab the plunger behind the toilet.

  I take in a deep, scalding breath of smoke and superheated air, then stand to bang against the window. The glass breaks and I sweep the shards to the side. Out of breath, I kneel back down to the floor to take in another lungful of air and smoke. I only have one chance.

  Already the water saturating my robe is turning to steam.

  Using all my strength, I pull myself up and through the window, where I drop down to the ground below. Flames lick along the roofline and all I feel is terrible heat.

  The ruddy glow of the fire lights up the night sky. Sirens screaming through the night reach my ears. I race around to the front of the house, breathing hard, and see the brilliant red and white lights of emergency vehicles racing up the hill.

  Outside, anxious neighbors gather in the street, huddling with one another as their cellphones capture the blaze. I turn back to the house only to see the entire thing engulfed by the deadly fire. A window blows out and everyone ducks as hot shards of glass shoot onto the lawn. I’m barefoot and naked beneath my robe and feel incredibly exposed.

  One of the neighbors rushes up to me. “Are you okay?” He’s an older man in his mid to late-sixties. He wraps his arms around me and leads me off the lawn and into the street.

  I give a shaky nod.

  “Anyone else in the house?” He’s concerned, but I shake my head.

  “Just me.” My heart pounds and I cough from smoke inhalation.

  I’ve done this before. This is the worst déjà vu ever.

  What is it with me and fire?

  Videos of house fires are woefully inaccurate when compared to the real thing. I’ve seen footage on TV before: black smoke billows into the sky and flames lick along the wood. But the real thing is much different. For one thing, the heat is intense.

  Even standing in the road, the heat scorches my skin. The yellow, ruddy glow fills the sky and the smell of wood and plastic dominates every breath. The flames roar, louder than I think they should, as they devour what was once a quaint, yet hideous home.

  As the flames engulf my Art Deco disaster, the surrounding trees curl back from the flames, their leaves singeing in the intense heat. I take a step back, pushed further into the street by the conflagration.

  The older man holding me does what he can to console me, but I need Asher and his strong arms. His reassuring words. Instead, I lean on a stranger, unable to process what’s happening.

  Down the lane, sirens announce the cavalry is here to save the day. I glance down at my robe, at the scorched areas which protected me as I escaped the house and hold back the tears threatening to spill forth.

  Once again, everything I own goes up in flame. The house is like a macabre bonfire chewing through my possessions with relentless hunger and the need to destroy.

  The siding on the house bubbles and slides down like melted chocolate in summertime. Smoke curls into the sky and rains down dirty ash.

  Sirens wail as two firetrucks scream down the street with an ambulance in tow behind them. They pull up alongside the curb and men in heavy protective gear jump out. A couple of them go to man the hoses. One heads right at me.

  He places a gloved hand on my shoulder and there’s a tender voice which seems familiar. He says something, but I can’t focus on the words. All I hear is the roaring of the flames.

  My house is burning.

  Acrid, chemical infused smoke fills the air as the fire devours my home.

  “Evelyn!” The firefighter shouts and gives me a little shake. “Is this your house?”

  I tear my attention from the flames and look at the firefighter. I know that face, even if I don’t remember his name.

  I nod, unable to speak.

  “Is there anyone else inside? Is Ace in there?”

  My head shakes the other direction. “No. Just me. I was alone.”

  He’s one of Asher’s friends. One of the Malone brothers and his name begins with a G, but for the life of me, I can’t remember his name


  He says something to the man standing beside me then lifts his arm to wave someone over. Two men carrying a stretcher and bright orange bags come trotting over to me.

  “Treat her for smoke inhalation.”

  That’s all I hear as Asher’s friend hands me off to the two men. A rush of dry oxygen hits me as they place a mask over my face.

  The firefighters train their hoses on the burning house and send jets of water to douse the flames.

  More sirens sound down the lane, but these flash blue and white lights. A cop car slams to a halt behind the fire engine and a man climbs out of the vehicle. He goes to the firefighters while the paramedics place me on the gurney and wheel me back to their ambulance.

  There’s nothing they can do to save the house. When this is done, it’ll be reduced to nothing but ash and charcoal. My entire body shakes. I cough into the mask as the paramedics take my vitals. I can’t process everything going on and am unable to believe what my senses tell me.

  The house is fully engulfed. The firefighters and the paramedics are every bit the heroes I expect. They can’t save my home, but they will save the houses on either side.

  For me, I’m alive.

  I’m still alive. My fingers curl around the edges of my robe, gripping it as I try to process this event.

  I need comforting, strong arms, and reassuring words. I need Asher by my side, someone I can lean on and who will protect me.

  One of the paramedics flashes a light in my eyes. “Miss, is there anyone we can call for you?”

  I give a sharp nod. It’s hard to speak. Every word brings a coughing fit, but I spit out what I need to say.

  “C-call…A-Asher La Rouge.”

  The cop comes into view. I know this man too. He’s the brother of the firefighter, the one who arrested me.

  “I’ve got this.” He places his hand on the paramedic’s shoulder, then puts the phone to his ear. “Hey, Ace, something’s happened…”

  I listen to him as if from a distance. My body is shutting down, going into shock, and I sway on the stretcher.