by Rye Hart
“Do you need a nurse?” the officer asked.
His shirt said his name was Officer Fellows. What a friendly name, I thought, hazily.
“I – I don't know,” I replied.
My head felt fuzzy and my vision wavered when I sat up. I winced as the IV pulled at my arm. My mouth was dry and my throat felt parched and cracked. So, maybe I did need a nurse? I had no idea what I needed.
Fellows pressed the call button anyway, signaling for a nurse to come and check on me.
“Miss Haywood, we have some questions for you,” he said, his voice softening. “As soon as you're feeling up to it, I'll need to ask about what happened last night.”
I nodded. “I'll help as much as I can,” I said. “But I can't promise I can give you anything useful. I can't remember what happened or why I was there in the first place.”
“You don't remember anything at all?”
He raised an eyebrow as he looked at me sympathetically, but also with some skepticism in his eyes. I just shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts and failing to do so. My brain was so scattered that it was like trying to catch puffs of a dandelion on a breeze.
“Unfortunately, no,” I replied, my voice quiet.
I furrowed my brow as I tried to recall anything about the night before. What I'd been doing before I'd been hit in the back of the head. I came up empty. I had to admit that walking into a warehouse in the middle of an abandoned area, at two in the morning, was stupid. And well out of character for me. I wasn't a paranoid girl, but times being what they were, I was certainly a cautious and smart girl.
Which begged the question – why had I done it?
“Do you think it might be an obsessed fan of yours?” Fellows pressed.
I shrugged. “I honestly don't know,” I said. “I'm trying to think of something, anything, and I'm just drawing a blank.”
The nurse stepped through the door, a pleasant look on her face – at least until she noticed the cop sitting there grilling me. She shot Fellows a dark look and then moved quickly to my bedside, tending to me and checking my stats before getting me a small cup of water.
“Ms. Haywood needs some rest,” the nurse said, giving the cop a definite side-eye.
“It's okay,” I said. “I want to help. It's just – I can't remember anything but bits and pieces of what happened last night anyway.”
“That isn't surprising, given that you sustained massive trauma to the head,” the nurse said with a sympathetic smile. “But hopefully, everything will come back in time.”
“Hopefully?”
I felt a tingle of worry in my stomach. Hopefully didn't sound good. Not good at all.
“The doctor will be in later to discuss all the details with you,” she said, her voice bright and reassuring.
She turned and walked to the door, leaving me with Officer Fellows who watched her go before turning back to me.
“You're lucky to be alive,” he said.
I remembered the firefighter who'd somehow managed to claw his way through the smoke and flames and had found me there on the floor. Luck had nothing to do with it. I felt like I had a guardian angel.
“Could you give me the name of the fireman who saved me?” I asked.
“Sure, I think I have that info right here actually,” he said.
He pulled a small notebook out of his pocket and flipped through the pages until he found a scrap of paper. He plucked it out of the notebook and held it out to me. Taking it in a trembling hand, I looked at the name that had been scribbled on the small page. It was a name I recognized.
Oliver Miller.
“Figured you might want to thank him once you feel better,” the cop said.
I nodded. “I'm going to get some rest,” I said. “Do you mind giving me a little privacy?”
“I'll wait out in the hall with Officer Lewis,” he said.
He stepped out of the room, leaving me alone. And even though I was tired, I couldn't stop thinking about the man who'd saved me. There was a reason his face looked familiar. And now that I had a name to go along with the face, the memories started flooding back to me.
Memories of how I'd hurt him all those years ago.
What were the chances he'd be the one who saved my life?
CHAPTER THREE
OLIVER
“Heard anything about that girl you saved?” Jimmy asked me as we were ending yet another twenty-four shift at the firehouse.
“She's alive and is probably going to be released within a few days,” I said.
I tried not to think too much about Madison Haywood, or that night I found her tied up in a burning building.
“She's alive thanks to you, man,” Jimmy said, patting me on the back as we stepped outside into the chilly, Chicago air.
The Chicago wind was strong – naturally – and cold, making me pull my jacket in tighter around me. I loved this city, but winters could be brutal, and this year was no exception. No snow yet, but it was coming. I could feel it in the air. It was only a matter of time.
“Nah, it wasn't just me in there,” I said. “It never is. You know that.”
“But you're the one who found her and pulled her out of there.” Jimmy had a smile on his face. “I know her name. Isn't she some kind of local celebrity or some shit?”
“She has a podcast,” I mumbled.
“A podcast?” he asked. “About what?”
I knew all about Madison Talks Murder because I listened to her podcast. Often. I was impressed with her vast knowledge on the subject and with how far she'd come. I was also impressed with how often she turned out to be right about a case.
Most of the cases she took on were cold cases. Cases that had been dormant for years and years. Some of Chicago's most notorious crimes that were yet unsolved. Madison looked at the evidence, brought in experts, and used her whip-smart brain to come up with theories as to who was behind it.
All infused with her snarky-ass mouth, of course. It's part of what made her show so enjoyable – her personality.
“Yeah, umm... it's about murder and true crime,” I said, scratching my head. “Not that I really listen, or anything.”
“Maybe we should start,” Jimmy said with a wink.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
My reasons for listening were more complicated than just having an interest in the subject matter. Not that I expected her to remember me, but I'd known Madison years and years ago – long before she was famous. Hell, before she'd even gone away to college and achieved that impressive criminal science and journalism qualification that was making her so popular and successful today.
That was long before I became a firefighter. Before I even knew what I was going to do with my life. Back then, I was just another guy meandering through life without a plan. Without a clue. Just another guy who lusted after Madison – one in a very long line of guys who did.
She'd always had her fans, even back then. Being a tall natural blonde with blue eyes and the body of a supermodel, she'd always attracted attention wherever she went. But it was her mind – her love of reading and keeping up with current events – that first attracted me to her.
“Everything okay with you, Oliver?” Jimmy's voice intruded into my thoughts.
I blinked, staring back at my friend in confusion. We were an odd pair. Jimmy was about my age with dark hair and olive colored skin, thanks to his Italian heritage. He was five foot nine, stocky and stronger than a damn ox. Which was why he'd been able to carry my massive ass body out of that burning building.
“Yeah, I'm good,” I lied. “Just need some coffee.”
Really, I needed some sleep. And to check on Madison. To make sure she was doing okay. Not that it was any of my business.
“I hear that,” he said. “Get some rest, man.”
“Yeah, you too.”
I walked to my truck, climbed inside, and waved to Jimmy. He walked over to his SUV and, as the door opened, I saw the toys scattered all over the front seat. Kids, man. Som
etimes I forgot that Jimmy had kids. That he was more than just one of the guys. We rarely saw each other outside of work anymore, so it was easy to forget about the wife and babies.
I lowered the window on my truck and called out to him, “Tell Cassie I said hi.”
“Will do,” Jimmy said. “But you know what she's going to say if I even mention your name— ”
“I know,” I laughed. “Tell her I'm still not looking for a girlfriend.”
“Andi is pretty hot, man,” he said. “Just sayin'.”
“I'm sure she is.”
I still wasn't interested. Eventually, I'd have to give in and meet her. Cassie was a bulldog and once she got her teeth into something, she wasn't one who let up. And her current pet project was making sure I had a woman in my life.
“You'll get to meet her at dinner next week,” Jimmy called back. “You're still coming, right?”
I cringed. I'd already told him I'd be there, but that was before I knew Andi would be there. Check that, before I'd been set up on this blind date by Cassie.
And that was also before I ran into Madison. Or rather, before I saved Madison's life in a way that brought back so many painful memories, I didn't even know where to start.
I nodded, not really committing to anything. I still had plenty of time to come up with an excuse.
~ooo000ooo~
Jimmy was behind me as we entered the building. I knew the house well. The address was a familiar one, because, I'd just left it just hours before.
Jimmy grabbed my shoulder and shouted, “You sure you can—” but I shrugged him off.
There was no time for questions. There was no time to stop and think about whether this was a good idea or not. Of course it was. Because I was one more person who might find her. And right now, she needed as many eyes looking for her as possible.
I had to save her.
Her bedroom was on the second floor and I rushed toward the stairs before anyone could stop me. It was two in the morning; she would be asleep.
The photographs that lined the wall up the stairs were melting into a Salvador Dali-esque painting. Pictures of her and me blended into family photos, all becoming one. Frames were nothing but dripping plastic.
The floor underneath me cracked, the wood weaker already. But I pulled myself upward, remembering the steps instead of looking for them. I'd come up here numerous times. Countless times.
And this would be the last. Whatever happened – I would save her – her home was destroyed. There would be no more late nights together in this house. Not anymore. Not after this.
The Italian leather sofa she'd bought last month after her promotion was gone. Burnt to a crisp before we'd even gotten there. She'd have nothing left. All the little things she'd been so proud to buy, so proud to furnish her own place with – gone. Nothing more than smoldering ruin and smoke now.
But she had me and she could stay with me for as long as she needed.
Even if it meant staying with me forever.
I reached the top landing and called out through my mask, “Lauren?”
I turned the corner and felt along the wall until I found her door. Closed, as usual. She had a weird thing with leaving the door open while she slept. I felt the knob and turned it carelessly. I didn’t think when I opened the door and a column of smoke hit me followed by a wave of flame that rushed toward me like an enraged bull. The heat was intense and the smoke thick. It made it hard to see a damn thing.
“Lauren!” I screamed again, this time not sure if my words even came out of my mouth.
Maybe I was screaming in my head. I didn't know. Panic took over and I rushed, blindly, into the bedroom. I had only a moment to process what was in that room before I was standing smack dab in the middle of it.
Lauren's bed was on fire, flames crawling up the walls and scorching the ceiling. At first, I assumed she was in the middle of the bed, burnt to a cinder like her Italian leather sofa and my heart fell into my stomach. But, then I saw her body crumpled in the corner. I ran to her and found her unresponsive.
She wasn't breathing.
I ripped off my face mask and put it on her face. Her beautiful face. She'd needed air and she needed it right then and there. I wasn't thinking about myself.
I was only thinking about her.
It wasn't until later, when Jimmy dropped me onto the ground outside, on the grass, that I took another breath. It hurt to breathe in and the coughing about killed me coming out, but I was breathing.
My first words were, “Lauren? Where is she?”
But the look on Jimmy's face told me everything I'd needed to know.
~ooo000ooo~
I woke with a start. Sweat covered every inch of my body as I stared at the clock. It was just after nine in the morning, and I'd only been asleep for three hours. Groaning loudly, I collapsed back on my bed and stared at the ceiling, my heart racing as I tried to forget about the dream.
More like, I tried to forget about the past.
It was hard – if not impossible – to do when you were in this line of work. I knew that I let myself get too close to some things and didn't keep the proper perspective. No matter what we did, no matter how right we did things, we weren't always going to be able to save everybody, every time.
We could do everything right and by the book and, still, people were going to die. It was the nature of the beast. It was a hazard and an unfortunate reality of the job I'd chosen to do. The life I'd dedicated myself to. I hated it with every fiber of my being, but it was what it was. It was reality.
Maybe Jimmy was right – I shouldn't have gone into the house. But, I'd been compelled to. I couldn't just sit outside and hope for the best. Couldn't let somebody else do my job. Couldn't let somebody else try to save her while I sat outside, where it was safe, with my thumb up my ass.
But Jimmy was right because no matter what I did, I couldn't save her. Couldn't have possibly done anything that would have changed the outcome. By the time we'd rolled up, it was already too late. He knew it. Tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen. I just couldn't stand by, feeling utterly helpless and useless.
At least I could say that I tried. Tried to save her. Tried to do something. At least I could say that, even though I was going to have to live with the nightmares and the memory of my failure, for the rest of my goddamned life.
Feeling the familiar weight of depression hanging heavy upon my head, I swung my feet over the side of the bed and got up. No use trying to go back to sleep now, even though my body was exhausted. My mind wasn't going to let it happen. I knew the drill. Every time I'd close my eyes, the images would come roaring back to torment me. The images of one dead woman would dance on my eyelids like a horror movie straight out of the bowels of my own personal hell, playing out again and again on an endless goddamn loop. No matter what I did or how fast I moved, the ending would always remain the same. Always.
Lauren would always be dead.
Because I'd failed her.
I shouldn't have gone to work that day. It was my day off, a night when I was supposed to be with her. If I had stayed, I could have gotten her out of the burning house in time. If I'd stayed, I could have saved her and she'd be here with me today.
If only I'd stayed, I would have smelled the smoke. Would have known exactly what to do. The fire had started in the garage, directly under her bedroom. The exact cause was still unknown – a fact that didn't make me feel any better about it. If anything, it made me even more uneasy about what had happened.
Which was why I was getting more and more interested in Madison's podcast. She'd broached the subject of an arsonist preying on our city right before she was found inside a burning warehouse on the outskirts of town. Yeah, that wasn't fishy or anything. Not at all.
Thinking about Madison, I knew what I had to do. Maybe it would help the nightmares, maybe it wouldn't. Either way, it might save another life. I threw on some clothes and hurried out to my truck. The frigid Chicago air made it hurt to draw bre
ath, but I was still drenched in sweat from the dream, so the chill almost felt nice. Almost. Even I had my limits.
CHAPTER FOUR
MADISON
“There's someone here to see you,” Abigail, one of the nurses said as she popped her head into the door of my room. “Are you feeling up for a little company?”
“Who is it?” I asked.
My parents had just left, my sister wasn't in town, and my best friend was at work and would be stopping by later – all of which significantly narrowed down my potential visitors list. Knowing that, I had a feeling it might be more cops with even more questions.
To be frank, I wasn't feeling up to another round of questions. Abigail must have seen it on my face.
“It's the fireman who saved you,” she said with a grin. “Said he just wanted to see how you were doing but wasn't sure you were up to visitors.”
Oliver. Oh God, it was Oliver. No matter how I felt, he at least deserved a thank you. Turning somebody away who'd saved my life was a dick move. No matter how tired I was, refusing to see him and show a little appreciation was a total dick move.
“It's fine,” I said.
My throat was still raw and scratchy, but overall, I was starting to feel better. I'd had a few days of IVs, and doctors pumping all kinds of chemicals into my bloodstream, and I was starting to feel a little more human. Still couldn't remember much about the incident, but the doctors said to give it a few more days and that my memories should start coming back to me. They said my brain scans showed that I had a concussion and a minor brain bleed, but it was healing.
I was healing.
When Oliver stepped through the door, however, my breath caught in my throat. I wasn't prepared for the rush of endorphins that he brought out in me. Over the years since the last time I'd seen him, he'd grown quite a bit taller. He'd filled out too. Oliver Miller had always been an attractive boy but, now, I had to admit that he was an incredibly good-looking man.
The sandy blonde hair he'd had in his youth was now a shade or so darker, making it almost brown. He kept it shaved close to his head, these days, rather than the long, shaggy locks he'd sported back in high school. Back then, his hair looked messy. Unkempt. And yet, it still had a charm all its own. Because he was a football player, he'd had no shortage of girls clamoring for his attention, but he was more than just a jock. He'd also won more than a few girls over with his guitar playing and singing.
