by C. S. Won
“Madeline?”
Panic contorted her face. “What are you doing? Move!”
Another flash of lightning. The world went white again. He grunted and averted his eyes, his ear ringing. He turned back to look at her but saw only the furious storm raging all around him.
“Madeline! Where are you?”
The storm snatched the words from his lips and threw it in the vacuum of its fury, rendering his calls unheard. He took a step forward but fell to a knee in the cold, thick mud, bullied into submission by the storm. He tried to stand, but the storm held him down, denying him that right.
“Run!” a voice screamed.
He looked up, squinting through the lashing rain. Was it Madeline? A lightning bolt screeched toward him with unmatchable speed. Like a cheetah pouncing on its prey, it struck him. But he didn’t feel any pain, oddly enough. Rather, he felt an overwhelming sense of calm. Warm light washed over his body, caressing him like a mother’s embrace. The world shimmered away, and all was quiet. The chaos of the storm drowned out by a humming peace. Doesn’t feel so bad, he thought. The voice called out to him again from somewhere in the distance, shouting his name. He opened his eyes, searching.
“Madeline, is that you?” No reply came. Darkness swallowed his world, silent and eternal . . .
Jae sprang up, swinging his fists. His breath came in quick, desperate gulps, heart thumping against his sternum. He couldn’t focus or think. Where . . . ? He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The realization was slow at first, but he came to recognize the furniture hiding in the darkness and that familiar smell wafting in the air. He was home, in his own bed.
He drew his knees inward and placed a hand against his forehead. It was hot, and his hair was sticky with sweat. Goose bumps blistered across every inch of his arms and legs. Only a dream. Or was it? It seemed too vivid to be any dream. Judging by everything he saw and experienced—the storm, and the lightning bolt that hit him—could it have been the absent memories from six months ago starting to take form? Was that how everything went down?
He looked to his left. Madeline slept at his side, snoring through parted lips, her body loosely covered by the blanket they shared. They had made love a few hours ago, his first night back from the hospital, and it was good. She looked better, too. Her frame was already starting to fill out, skin and bone replaced with muscle and firmness, and her skin was regaining its vibrant tone, pale winter white whisked away in favor of peach pink. No longer was her hair frizzled and lacking; there was strength to it now, a shine that almost made her hair glow.
His abrupt awakening didn’t disturb her, and for that he was grateful. The last thing he wanted was to wake her and have her worry about him. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it upward to the nape of her neck. Madeline stirred, groaning softly, but continued to sleep. He kissed her cheek.
He replayed the events of his dream, still fresh in his memory. The storm was pure chaos unlike anything he’d ever seen. He could still remember how everything felt, the rain lashing against his skin, the wind howling in his ear, the thunder rumbling in his pit of his stomach. He even remembered the impact of the lightning as it struck him; although, strangely enough it wasn’t quite what he expected. While it did hurt, it didn’t seem all that bad. Perhaps, it was the haze of his dream dulling the pain, but he was sure a lightning bolt would have hurt more than that, even if was just a dream.
He lifted himself out of bed and searched for his pants. It was still dark out, but the sun was starting to make its way up, its light painting the edges of the horizon. The clock on his nightstand read 6:49 a.m. Jae stepped into the bathroom and turned on the light. A pale, tired face surprised him in the mirror, a ghoulish apparition suited to scare little children. He couldn’t believe how ragged he looked. As he inched closer to the mirror, a frown formed on his face, adding to the ugliness. He looked better when he’d just woken up from his coma.
Food, he thought, I just need to eat some food.
He left for the kitchen. Light leaked in thin rays through the kitchen’s small window. Outside, songbirds sang out their first morning calls. Jae looked around and saw a few slices of cold pizza sitting on top of the stove. He bit into one, grimacing immediately. It was tasteless and bland, like the cardboard it had occupied. Jae picked up the rest of the pizza and dumped it into the trash bin. Unwashed dishes from the night before still sat in the sink, many of them stained with hardened tomato sauce and crumbs.
He walked over to the refrigerator. Inside, nothing stood out. There were some beers, a bottle of ketchup, some mustard, cold bread, a gallon of milk, and a variety of other condiments that would be pointless to eat or drink on their own. Pushing aside the milk, he found a green apple sitting on top of a small plate. He reached in and grabbed it, then brought it to his nose. It smelled okay.
He walked over to the sink and grabbed the faucet handle, pulling it. It snapped in two with a slight clink. Jae shuffled backwards, holding the metallic piece in his hand. “What the hell?” He examined the handle, turning it sideways. It was broken clean, with no sign of bending or distortion. It could almost be considered art, judging by how perfect the snap was.
Madeline walked in, wearing a pink robe, and stretched her hands toward the ceiling, yawning. She rubbed her eyes and gave Jae a quick peck on the lips.
“Morning, honey,” she said, smiling. She looked down at the handle in his hand. She pointed at it, confused. “What’s that?”
Chapter 6
Jae stood outside the fire station, his breath smoking in the air. He scanned the building for anything new that might catch his eye, but nothing stood out. A lot had changed since he’d awoken, but it seemed like time stood still for Station 4.
He made his way up the driveway, the concrete almost as smooth as glass. Both trucks were parked outside the garage and already cleaned in a spotless, waxy sheen. Red paint glistened in the dull winter sun. The grass around the station was brown but freshly cut, manicured to a fine, even trim. Overhead, both the Georgia state flag and the United States flag clattered against a metallic pole attached to the roof, fluttering as though they were trying to take flight. He entered the vacant garage, and the frigid winter chill gave way to a settled, comfortable heat, which spurred him to shed his coat. He looked around but saw no one in attendance.
“Anyone here?”
No answer came. He looked at his watch. Half past noon. Lunch, most likely. Winter light left behind, Jae made his way to the break room down the hall. Already, he could hear the rambling of conversation and the tinkling of silverware. Smiling, he increased his stride and entered. He met a rush of activity. They were all there—Gabe, Stephanie, Tommy, and all the rest—clumped together at a long, narrow table. Whooping laughter and slapping knees filled up the room. Everyone’s were cheeks cherry red with amusement. There were also a number of people that Jae didn’t recognize sitting near the far edge of the table, eating their food in silence. Many of them looked no older than the legal limit to drink alcohol, with their baby-fat faces, crew-cropped haircuts, and uncertain demeanors. They threw glances at the ruckus occurring but didn’t join the fray. New recruits, Jae deemed, judging by how timid and quiet they were.
He took a step forward. Eddy Velasquez, a six-year veteran at the station, took notice. Recognition did not come immediately; in fact, he seemed confused and regarded the man standing before him with squinting eyes and furrowed brow. It was as though he were trying to figure out an optical illusion, floundering around until he saw the trick. But as if he had finally figured out the deception, the skepticism shimmied off his face. Eyes going wide, he raised a pointed finger at Jae.
“Holy shit! Look who it is!” Eddy said.
Forks and knives clattered down onto dishes, and all laughter and conversation halted into silence. One by one they looked at Jae, in a manner similar to Eddy’s—skepticism and confusion. But then, like water breaking through a dam, recognition poured out of their faces, and they all rose up in a near fre
nzy, pushing away screeching chairs as they swarmed around Jae. Old colleagues greeted him in an almost endless chorus, anxious to get a word in with the man who was at one point—for all intents and purposes—dead. Hands reached out to shake his, and he responded in kind, grabbing every hand within reach with a smile and a nod as if he were some kind of seasoned politician on the campaign trail.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Gabe said, a large grin on his face.
“It’s a Christmas miracle!” Someone called out from the group.
“Were you really struck by lightning?” Stephanie Lenhardt asked, eyes shifting up and down his body. “Because you look damn good, considering.”
“I never thought this day would come,” Tommy said, patting him on the shoulder.
“Our guy, back from the dead!” A voice echoed near the back.
“Welcome home!”
Jae thanked them for the warm welcome. The chatter grew more boisterous. Laughter swept the room. Even the rookies couldn’t help but join in on the gathering, wandering close to the outer edges of the group with eyebrows arched in curiosity. Gabe beckoned them over and introductions were soon made. Jae memorized the names of the greenhorns, greeting each one with a firm handshake and a welcoming smile.
It felt like the good old days again, back before Adam’s accident. Joy and merriment and good-natured ribbing, just like how it used to be. Jae was thankful; he remembered all too well how distraught everyone was after he pulled Adam half-dead from the fire. The memory still burned bright in his mind. His entire crew had been rattled to the core, some more so than others, and he often wondered how they were going to cope, if at all. But seeing the smiling faces around him was a welcome sight, one that he needed to see after so many months.
The enthusiasm surrounding his arrival began to simmer down. Curiosity took root, and what began as an impromptu celebration of his return turned into intense questioning, with many of the crew wondering what he had experienced in the past six months.
“What was it like being hit by lightning?”
“Did it hurt getting struck?”
“What did it feel like being in a coma?”
“Describe the pain, man. I want to hear it!”
“What did you dream of during your coma?”
“Did you think you were going to die?”
“Did you see your life flash before your eyes?”
On and on it went, with everyone speaking all at once, talking over one another to make sure their inquiry was heard first. He tried to answer every question lobbed at him, but every time he spoke, it only seemed to make his audience hungry for more, with questions being thrown at him at an even more frequent and intense pace. Jae raised his arms to signal a reprieve, recognizing the need to quell the fervor before it got out of hand. Calm swept the room under the gesture, and the overture of questioning settled down into a hushed silence.
“I appreciate the concern, everyone. I really do,” Jae said. “First off, let me just say this: goddamn is it good to be back. I missed you all.” That drew a raucous cheer from the peanut gallery. He pointed a finger at Eddy. “You still owe me twenty dollars. Don’t think I’ve forgotten even after six months.” That elicited laughter, and some teasing of Eddy. “Now, as far the lightning strike and coma goes . . . my memory of the whole event is shot, so I can’t recall anything that happened. I only know what I’ve been told, and it would be pointless to repeat it since it’s most likely information all of you know already.”
“You mean . . . you don’t remember getting hit by lightning?” Stephanie asked.
Jae shook his head. “I remember everything prior to it—the apartment fire, visiting Adam at the hospital, spending time with Madeline—everything. But the actual day is empty, as if it never happened.” He lifted his arms. “I wish there were some scars I could show or something, but I lack even that. Sorry. I know it’s disappointing to hear, and I hate to come here emptyhanded, but there’s really nothing I can say about the storm, unfortunately.”
He may as well have been speaking a foreign language. Confused glances were exchanged, along with furtive whispers. It was plain to see that his audience was let down. They expected a fantastic story, one rife with compelling detail and captivating action, and all he could deliver was a dud. But what could he do? His memory was gone. He wanted nothing more than to spin an extraordinary tale, but there just wasn’t much yarn for him to spin.
“I tried to tell them that you wouldn’t remember, but these knuckleheads wouldn’t listen,” Gabe said, shrugging. “I guess they needed to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth to be convinced of it.”
A pause. It seemed nobody knew how to proceed.
“Maybe this is all just a dream, then,” Stephanie said, parsing in small laughter. “And you’re still in your coma.”
All at once voices began to rise up, spurred on by the humorous comment. Joke or not, it got them going. If Jae wasn’t capable of giving them the story they wanted, then they would fill in the blanks for him.
“Maybe you’re actually dead, and this is heaven,” someone remarked, unhelpful.
“Dumbass, why would this be heaven for him?” Gabe said. “Heaven would be like a strip club, full of beautiful, naked, gyrating women working to get his attention. It wouldn’t be some sweaty, pigsty of a firehouse filled with burly, hairy men.”
“I bet that’s Stephanie’s heaven!” That one got a good bit of laughter.
“Maybe you’re actually in the Matrix,” Tommy said. “Your mind is shackled to a simulation while your robot masters suck the energy from your real body.”
“Maybe you were abducted by some aliens and anally probed repeatedly, traumatizing you to the point of amnesia,” another said to a chorus of laughter.
“Sweet Mother of Jesus. The dead walk the earth.”
That quieted the laughter. Chief McAdams stood at the entrance of the break room. His beard had grown more robust, almost to Santa Claus proportions, but the girth around his waist seemed to be going the other way, inward rather than outward. He no longer sported a belly that was in danger of spilling over the edge of his belt. The chief was still a round man, but he was a smaller kind of round since the last time Jae had seen him. McAdams threaded his way through the group and clenched Jae’s hand in his. “It’s good to see you up and running again, son.”
“It’s good to be back, chief,” Jae said.
“When did you get out?”
“Last week.”
“I heard the ruckus before I came in. Let me take a look at you.” He eyed him up and down. “You look like a new man. Are you really okay? Nothing is wrong?”
“I feel great, better than ever. In fact, it’s why I’m here.” He exchanged glances with the company around him. “I’m ready to work.”
“Work?” The chief looked at him with eyebrows raised. A murmur swept through the gathered crowd. “You’re already looking to get back into the thick of things? Son, it’s only been a week since you were released.”
“It’s better than sitting at home all day, believe me. Put me back in the game, chief. I’m ready.”
The chief scratched his beard, a look of uncertainty on his face.
“I won’t lose my nerve,” Jae assured him. “If I screw up, you can suspend me, demote me, dock my pay, whatever. You can even fire me if you need to. All I ask is that you give me a shot. I won’t let you down. I promise.”
The chief crossed his arms and stared at the ground, looking contemplative.
“Come on, chief, look at him: he looks great,” Gabe said, placing a hand on Jae’s shoulder. “If he said he won’t let you down, then he won’t let you down. He’s a man of his word.”
“He’s in really good shape,” Stephanie said. “Best he’s looked in quite some time, in fact. I’m confident he’ll do a great job.”
“He’s one of our best. Always has been,” Tommy said. “No reason to think that he suddenly lost it. Give him the shot he wants, chief. I’m sur
e he’ll do well.”
More talk of encouragement swelled up, echoing the same sentiment as Gabe and the others. They chanted for Jae’s reinstatement, turning it almost into a song, voices in unison as they called out his name. The chief stopped all that with a raised hand, silencing the voices around him. He looked up at Jae, big, round jaw moving as he worked the words in his mouth.
“Fine. You’re back on, Yeon,” the chief said to a thunderous round of applause. “But it’s your ass on the line. You screw up, and you won’t step foot in here again until I know for damn sure that you’re good and ready.”
“Thank you, sir. I won’t disappoint,” Jae said.
The alarm sounded. Everyone turned and made a beeline toward the door, streaming out into the hallway and toward the garage. Jae turned to follow but stopped when a hand grabbed him by the arm.
“Don’t make me regret this,” the chief said.
Jae nodded and exited the room.
Chapter 7
The condominium loomed over them, the tip of its tower spearing the winter sun. Near the apex, smoke leaked out from several shattered windows, puffing out in thick, curling stacks. At street level, Jae couldn’t see the fire raging inside, but he could see its brilliant light reflecting off the windows of neighboring buildings. Red and orange flames shimmered wildly.
“First day back and already shit has hit the fan,” Gabe said. “Must be your lucky day.”
Bystanders and tenants were gathering into a crowd, looking up at the burning condo with squinting eyes and worried expressions. Fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances surrounded the base of the building in a blockade of sorts, preventing anyone from passing without permission. Several news vans were stationed near the rear of the crowd, reporters already hard at work compiling stories for the evening news. Stern tones recapped the events leading up to the fire.
“So it’s only the twenty-fourth floor that’s on fire? It hasn’t spread?” Jae asked.
“I have no idea. I know Station 9 is having a hard time containing it since it’s so high up,” Gabe said.
