The whole damn thing made her nervous. She didn't like loose ends.
Caroline Newberry sat up in her bed at the mental hospital and rubbed her eyes. God, she hated the groggy feeling from the drugs they were feeding her. Her head was in a constant fog. She pushed the covers down, leaned back against the wall, and drew her knees up to her chest. She stared out the tiny reinforced window high on the wall. A thin beam of moonlight drifted in, making a yellow line that divided the floor of her tiny room in half.
She wanted to go outside and walk barefoot in the grass. Wanted to breathe fresh air. But she knew they wouldn't let her. It didn't matter that she'd been a better doctor than all of them put together. The door to the hallway was locked precisely at 10 pm every evening. They couldn't see that she didn't belong in this place. She was trapped.
Trapped.
Alone.
Like Trent had been.
She'd failed in her mission and now he was free and she was the prisoner. She banged her head back against the wall. Not how her life was supposed to turn out.
An image of her and her husband driving home from the hospital with Ed as a newborn filled her mind. No. She banged her head back again. Saw Trent and Ed playing outside in the backyard together. Happy. No. No, no, no! Her head slammed back again, the pain focusing her mind.
Yes! That was it. Focus. Her head snapped back. Again. The pain vibrated through her skull. Think. Harder. Faster.
By the time the doctor and orderly on duty were alerted by the patient in the next room's shouts and unlocked the door, blood was pouring from her split scalp, soaking the back of her white nightgown. Still, she fought them, kicking, screaming, biting, trying to get free.
Trent stood in the basement of the abandoned warehouse. He felt the water pouring down over him from above, could see it pooling on the floor at his feet, and for a moment he was unable to move. He stared at the wall of flames in front of him. Useless. He couldn't save anybody. Couldn't even save himself. The flames called to him to come closer, to end his agony. They danced and beckoned him forward into the heat.
“Barlow.” The voice seemed to come from somewhere far away.
“Barlow!”
Trent shook his head.
“We need to pull back, now.”
Trent blinked, staring into the waves of red and gold. Heard the crackling as the fire devoured everything in its path. He felt something pulling on the back of his coat, tried to shake it off.
“I said now, for fuck’s sake.”
Trent found himself spun around and looking into Ted’s dirt and soot streaked face. He turned his head and took one last glance at the fire then ran towards the door, up the stairs, and into daylight. Ted’s footsteps pounded behind him.
“What happened in there?” Ted asked as soon as they were clear and he'd regained his breath.
“Nothing. I just froze for a second.”
“Trent, you were walking towards a damned wall of flames.”
Trent blinked. “That's not what happened.” He had to say the words even if they both knew they were untrue.
“Is there something going on here?” Ted asked, spreading his arms out.
Trent clenched his jaw. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“I'm going to take your word on that because you've saved my ass in a fire more than once. But if I see any more shit like what I saw today, I'm going to the chief.”
“Fair enough.”
Ted turned and walked towards the truck.
“Thanks, man,” Trent added.
Ted turned back and nodded over his shoulder.
Trent stood where he was and let out a relieved breath. Partly because Ted had his back. Mostly because he'd looked into hell, and while he'd been tempted to give up the fight, he couldn't do it. He'd been wrong. He couldn't give up. Not now. Not when there was still so much work to be done, so many people to save. Maybe, eventually, it would be enough to save his own damaged soul.
They got another call just before dawn. A fire at an historic downtown six-story hotel that had spread to the office building next door. They were the second company on the scene and were instantly immersed in the familiar organized chaos as they jumped from the truck. Despite the dire situation, the shouted orders were precise and efficient, the movements automatic. This was what they lived for, what they trained so hard for. Trent stepped over a hose line as the chief sent them to work on the office building. Trent and Ted headed for the roof.
Trent kept one eye on the hotel while they made the ventilation holes. He knew many of the guys in the other company and knew how capable they were. But dammit, he didn't want to be working an empty office building, he wanted to be with them, getting people out of the hotel.
He glanced up at the clouds rushing by in the dark sky. The winds were picking up, feeding the flames, giving them the momentum to spread out and devour everything in their path.
He heard the squawk of a radio as someone called for additional ladder and engine trucks. The fire was out of control on the fifth floor of the hotel and the firemen couldn't get up to the top floor. He could hear the screams from the guests still trapped inside echoing through the night.
They were losing the hotel. People were going to die if they failed. If he failed. There was only one way he could think of. And he had to try. If there was even the slightest chance of saving even one life …
Ted stood in front of him and looked from the roof of one building to the other. He looked back at Trent and shook his head. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I can do it, now get the fuck out of my way.”
Ted took a reluctant step back. “HeyHeyHey, if you have a suicide wish then who the hell am I to argue.”
Trent took two quick breaths and rushed forward. He pushed off the edge of the building with his right foot, sailed through the air, and landed on the roof of the hotel, his heels a mere inch from the edge, the weight of the oxygen tank on his back threatening to pull him backwards. He didn't look down, just threw his weight forward, turned, and motioned for Ted to throw his axe across.
As Trent broke down the hotel's stairwell access door, Ted radioed the ladder truck to move into position and requested more backup.
Scott and the probie ran across the roof towards him minutes later, carrying the ladder he'd asked for.
“Where's Barlow?” Scott asked, looking around.
Ted shook his head and waved a hand towards the hotel. “The asshole jumped across.”
“Crazy son of a bitch,” Scott mumbled as they set up the ladder as a temporary bridge between the two buildings.
By the time the three of them reached the floor where people were trapped, Trent was already inside one of the hotel rooms, helping a frantic middle-aged man through the window and into the waiting arms of the fireman working the bucket.
They made their way down the smoke filled hallway, methodically clearing the rooms. Ted's low air alarm beeped. He glanced at Trent, knew his had to have gone off minutes ago.
“I'm not going back. No time,” Trent shouted to him.
Ted scowled, but he wasn't about to leave Trent alone in there.
“How's your air, probie?” Ted asked.
“I'm good,” the probie said.
When they reached the next room, Ted realized the probie wasn't with them anymore. “Probie,” he called out.
No response.
“Drew, where the hell are you?”
Still nothing.
Trent turned back towards him and shrugged. Scott shook his head. “Shit,” Ted muttered. “I'll go track him down.”
He ran back into the hallway, shining his flashlight through the thick dark smoke. He found the kid a few feet away, gasping for breath, a panicked look on his face. Ted took his arm, pulled him to his feet, and led him to the room they were clearing.
“Get him out of here.” Ted pushed him towards Scott who helped the kid through the window and into the bucket.
“Two more rooms,” Trent
gasped out, as he moved back into the hall and broke down the next door he came to.
“All clear,” Ted said into the radio after they'd searched the last room and found it empty.
Trent waited until everyone else, including Ted, was safely out of the building before climbing into the bucket.
As they descended, the probie gave him a weak thumbs up from his position slumped on the sidewalk, oxygen mask in hand. Ted was squatted down next to him. Trent stepped out of the bucket and walked towards them.
He coughed. “Damn, that was close,” he said, still breathing hard.
Ted stood and shoved Trent hard in the chest, pushing him a step backwards. “You stupid son of a bitch. The guys look up to you, want to be like you. You can't be reckless like that.”
Trent moved forward until they were face to face again. “Those people would have died.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But we have to go by the book.”
“Fuck the book. We saved them. That's our job,” Trent shot back.
Ted stood in front of him on the sidewalk, blocking his way. “What you did up there was stupid.”
“What I did saved lives,” Trent countered.
“There were better ways to do it. But no, you had to do it your way and could have gotten us all killed in the process. It wasn't even our assigned area.”
“Jealous, Ted? Afraid of me getting all the glory?”
“What happened to you, man? You used to be part of this team.”
“I still am,” Trent said quietly.
“Then start acting like it, you son of a bitch.”
Trent knew he should walk away, knew it was the smart thing to do. Instead, he punched Ted in the jaw, enjoying the brief release of pressure.
Ted swore and came at Trent, pushing him up against the side of the ladder truck. It took four of the guys five minutes to separate them.
A half-hour later, Trent watched the chief slide papers around on his desk for a full minute before he looked up. The instant Trent's eyes met Burt’s, he wanted to back out of the office. He swallowed hard instead and waited for his boss to speak.
“What, you miss being in the paper that much? Trying to make headlines by fighting with a member of your team in front of the entire city block?” Burt spat out.
“I'm sorry, Chief. It was a rough call. We were all on edge.”
“I didn't ask for an excuse, Barlow.”
Trent kept his mouth shut and waited.
“You want a hero’s death, is that it? Do you place such little value on your own life that you can’t wait to risk it, to give it all up for someone you don’t know? If that’s the only reason you’re here, then get the fuck out and don’t come back. This isn’t the place for someone who wants to kill themselves but doesn’t have the courage to do it by their own hand. I will not let you do that under my watch.”
Trent swallowed hard again and kept his mouth shut.
“Go home, your shift's over.”
Trent looked at his watch. “I still have five hours left.”
“I said, your shift's over. Now get the hell out of my office and send Ted in here.”
“Your turn,” Trent said as he jerked open the door. Ted watched Trent stalk past him without a backwards glance, then turned and walked into the chief's office.
“Ted, got a few minutes?”
“Sure, boss.” He could tell by the tone of the chief's voice that this wouldn't be pleasant.
“How's the jaw?”
Ted rubbed the side of his face. “Hurts.”
“I need you to keep an eye on Trent,” the chief said. “I need you to make sure he's all here.” He looked at Ted and tapped the side of his right temple.
Ted had been prepared to have his ass handed to him for the fight, not be asked to keep tabs on one of their own. “What, exactly, do you mean?” he asked.
“Three strikes and I’m taking him off rotation. Today was one.”
Ted blinked in surprise.
“I don’t care how good he is. No cowboys. I won’t let him risk our guys’ lives because he has a death wish. I should have insisted he go through a psych consult when he first came back.”
“He’ll be fine. He’ll settle down,” Ted said, ignoring the throbbing in his jaw and the guilt over not telling the chief about the day's earlier incident.
“I hope so. For his sake and this house's.”
Trent walked through his front door and eased his aching body down onto the couch. He flexed his hand and shook it out. He was damned lucky it wasn't broken. Ted's jaw was like a block of granite.
He was doing a fine job of screwing up what was left of his life. Fighting with one of the guys and risking a job ending injury as well as a suspension. Real fucking smart.
The chief's words echoed in his head. Did he have a death wish? He knew he was on the edge of losing control, that much was all too clear. If he didn’t get a grip soon, he wouldn't be of any use to anyone.
He laced up his running shoes and didn't get home until well after dark.
Trent was so wiped out when he got home he skipped dinner and went straight to bed. Sleep came fast, a deep crushing darkness.
He didn’t have enough speed built up and he plunged down between the two buildings, landing in a fast moving river that sucked him down into blackness and whirled him around and around as he was pulled farther down into its depths. Dizzy, unable to breathe, chest so tight it hurt.
He couldn’t see a damned thing. But he could hear Caroline’s voice in his ear. “What does death look like Trent? You can’t come back until you find Eddie.”
But he couldn’t see. How was he supposed to find Eddie? Light-headed now, he frantically reached out with his hands. The water was thick. He tried to scream but the water flowed into his mouth and down his throat, choking him. He tried to fight it, tried to find his friend but he was going to die in the crushing blackness.
Caroline’s voice was gone. He was alone. In hell.
He was falling again. He landed hard and gasped in a breath. He forced his eyes open. Still blackness. And yet, there were shadows, shades of grey that were somehow familiar. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, reached out his hands. He was on the floor. In his bedroom. Nightmare. He’d fallen off the bed. Shaking and too weak to move, his fingers found the sheet and pulled it down off the bed and around his bare shoulders.
Chapter 22
The old three-story house was on the edge of their firehouse's jurisdiction, barely within city limits. Burt was on the radio giving the assessment to dispatch as they pulled up to the curb. “We’ve got medium to heavy smoke, visible flames first and second story on both B and C sides.”
Trent, Ted, Scott, and the probie headed for the front door of the burning house while the engine company directed the streams of water. It was cold for early November, damn cold, the frozen mist from the hoses stuck to them as Ted kicked in the door.
The fire raged in the kitchen at the back of the house. Hot orange flames shot straight up the wall behind the stove, licking along the ceiling and moving outward toward the other walls. A young woman lay crumpled in the corner, an overturned chair next to her.
“Got her,” Scott said, easily scooping her up in his arms and heading for the open front door.
The piercing sound of a child crying from somewhere above rose over the sounds of the blazing fire.
Trent nodded towards the stairway in the hall, which was already partly engulfed in flames.
Beams and debris fell as they started up the stairs through the thickening smoke.
“Structural collapse starting,” Ted shouted into the radio, one had raised over his head. “We’re going up.”
They hit the second floor landing. The crying continued, still above them.
“Shit,” the probie said, his foot nearly going through a hole in the step. He paused as Trent continued on up what remained of the stairs.
“Fall back,” Ted told him. “We’ve got this.”
The probie shook h
is head and followed them up. Ted glared at him. No time to argue. They'd deal with not following orders later.
The third floor was a scene straight out of hell. Thick black smoke, red-hot flames, the eerie creaking and groaning of the old wood home dying. The entire floor was comprised of a single long narrow room, lined with toys and stuffed animals, a child’s crib at the far end. No windows.
They slowly picked their way across the burning floor towards the screaming boy. The floor shook underneath them, the wood cracking as a section in front of them gave way. The crib shifted and slid towards the gaping hole, the kid hanging on to the rail, making no sound now, just a shocked expression and wide eyes as his world tilted.
Trent scrambled closer, making his way around the hole. He grabbed the crib with one hand, the child’s tiny hand with the other. The floor creaked and groaned as it continued to give way. He let go of the crib and it tumbled through the widening hole. The child screamed and thrashed as his world fell away. Trent struggled to get a better grip. Ted threw himself across the floor and grabbed Trent’s ankles to keep them from following the crib into the inferno.
Flames leaped higher. Trent ignored the pain in his hand as he reached through the flames for the kid’s other hand. His glove was coming off as the kid instinctively tried to grab onto whatever he could reach. Trent could smell his own skin burning and clamped his teeth together. Sweat and smoke blurred his vision. He would not let go. His arm felt like it was ripping out of the socket as he pulled with everything he had. Then he was lying flat on his back and the kid was safely in Ted’s arms. Someone helped him to his feet.
He finished the job in a blur of pain and adrenaline. Despite the arrival of backup, the house was entirely destroyed. They packed up their gear, as smoke continued to drift from the black shell that had once been a home. The next thing Trent knew, he was in the truck and on the way back to the station.
The Drowning Man Page 9
