Crescent Hill

by Jackie Wang

  Alice had passed away two months after Christmas Day. I’d only seen her once more, after the first time, and that had been at the hospital. Roman, Amelia and I were there for her till the very end. Both of them were sad, but happy too, that their mother’s suffering had finally ended. Alice had been in pain for so long, that when she finally breathed her last, Roman and Amelia celebrated her life, and her achievements, instead of undergoing prolonged mourning.

  In January, I went back to Closette’s pastry school, and enrolled in a full-time, six-month baking program, eventually obtaining a nice certificate that made me prouder than anything. I was finally following my passion, and that infused my life abroad with purpose and meaning. Before I went on maternity leave, I spent most of the time running the staff at The Cupcakery, my very own café and patisserie (the one inside Maggie’s Inn). One of the first people I hired was actually Mandie Baumgart, who quickly became my right-hand woman and best friend. It had taken almost a full year, but eventually, I got on Amelia’s good side too.

  As promised, Roman had flown my entire family over several times over the years, and we visited them on the island too. At first, Jesse was worried I’d turn into some stuck-up British bitch, but his fears were assuaged when he realized how humbly we lived, despite Roman’s celebrity status. We had a nice, three bedroom townhouse in Chelsea, and yes, I did have a chauffeur, but William was more of a family friend than anything. Other than that, I still wore baggy hoodies and Doc Martens. I didn’t have a huge walk-in closet, and my boys didn’t have expensive smartphones or huge allowances or anything. We were just a regular family, and regular was more than I could ever hope for. Regular was perfect.

  Jesse also proposed to Caitlyn (finally) on their latest visit, and they were planning to buy their first house in Northbridge. I just received their wedding invite last week! Mom and Dad were planning to retire by next summer, and they’d finally moved out of the hotel attic, and found a small apartment to live in.

  In short, life was fantastic, and against all odds, I’d found my soulmate and best friend. What more could a woman ask for?

  I looked at my husband, and in his beautiful eyes, I found my stronghold. My forever home. “Roman, you made me whole again. I’ve found my calling, my dream husband, and I’ve finally got the daughter I’ve always wanted. We’ve built a home, and a family, thanks to you. You made all of this possible. I love you.”

  “We did it together, Maggie. It was a joint effort.” Roman leaned down and kissed my belly. “Besides, didn’t I promise you the moon and stars?”

  “You have,” I said. “That, and so, so much more.”

  “Trust me, love, this is just the beginning of your happily ever after.”

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  Sneak Peek of Fireproof

  On December 21, 2016, the day of my twenty-ninth birthday, three things happened.

  Three things that destroyed me.

  Three things that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst nemesis.

  Three things that unraveled everything I’d worked so hard to build over the past decade.

  They say bad things come in threes…whoever ‘they’ are.

  Well, they were right.

  Yet, out of the ashes of my downfall, a phoenix arose.

  A beacon of hope.

  Something brighter and more promising than anything I’d ever seen in my life.

  It encouraged me to spread my wings and love again.

  It wanted me to be free.

  Too bad my wings were clipped, and I couldn’t fly.

  Too bad I chose to remain caged instead.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Station 52, 606, respond to a possible house fire, 159 Acadia Street. 159 Acadia Street. Map page 1056. Time out 20:17.”

  As soon as I heard the ear-splitting alarm, my body kicked into high alert. I slipped into my black, steel-toed boots and put on my turn-out gear. After hooking the red suspender straps around my shoulders, I slipped on my heavy firefighter jacket. Then, I grabbed my helmet and Self Contained Breathing Apparatus (my air supply). Without my gear, I’d be useless at my job. Yes, it added about sixty extra pounds on my shoulders, but for good reason: it enabled me to withstand heat up to a thousand degrees. Under ideal conditions, I was invincible until my oxygen supply ran out, which worked out to be about thirty minutes, give or take.

  Thanks to all the endless, gruelling hours of training at the academy, I geared up and hopped on the rumbling engine within minutes. I gave a curt nod to my team as we mounted the vehicle.

  The equipment bay’s roll-up doors opened, and our engineer, Nathan Hawkes, (a.k.a. chauffeur) floored the gas. We left the garage sirens blaring. Chief Andrews sat in the front with Nathan, occasionally answering updates from dispatch as they came through. The Chief was in his late forties, with a Tom Selleck ‘stache and a crooked nose that looked permanently swollen. I rode in the back next to Paul, a dark-haired, beady-eyed man of action and few words, Ed, a recent college grad, and Darryl, my best friend. Darryl and I had known each other since college. We spent two years as roommates, and we knew everything about one another.

  Darryl stared out the window, intensity painted all over his stubbled face. He’d scraped back his shoulder-length, jet-black hair into a ponytail. His dark eyes were hard and lined with fine wrinkles.

  “What’s with the long face?” I asked him.

  “Just thinking…”

  “About what?”

  “Nothin’.”

  I knew Darryl was probably thinking about his parents, who’d perished in an explosive house fire five months ago. Guilt had eaten him alive for months after the funeral; nothing—no one could console him. “Well, get your head in the game, buddy. We’ve got shit to do. Lives to save.”

  Darryl shrugged. “Don’t worry, Sam, I have no problems doing my job. You just cover your ass, all right?”

  “Glad to hear it.” My face mask swung back and forth across my neck, dangling by its straps. My turn-out gear, which consisted of my coat, pants, gloves, and Nomex fire hood, rested stiff and bulky against my 6’2”, two-hundred pound frame. This was my second call-out during my twenty-four-hour shift. The first one had been a minor dumpster fire, which we promptly extinguished. A house fire could get nasty though, especially if it spread to neighbouring structures.

  “Six-oh-six, calling party can see flames engulfing the exterior structure.”

  “Shit,” the Chief muttered. “Nathan, step on it.”

  Minutes later, the engine made a sharp, ninety-degree turn onto Acadia Street. As soon as it straightened out again, I saw the smoke, white like thick fog licking the dark night sky.

  I pulled my mask over my face and slipped my helmet back on. This was a one-alarm call-out, but given how dry the last week had been, could quickly escalate to something more. While I checked my gear and regulator, Chief Andrews assessed the situation and drew up an attack plan. Ed hooked up attack lines to the engine’s pumping units, and began the exterior attack, with Paul close behind. High-pressured water exploded from the hose nozzles, aimed at the second-floor windows. Ribbons of flame curled around the double-pane windows and the French door, bold and unrelenting. Bits of stucco and framing were already charred, and ash sloughed off the house like dandruff. Even standing ten feet away, the heat was unbearable. I felt as if I’d been tossed into a massive kiln and baked at eight-hundred degrees.

  “Darryl, Sam, head inside and check for possible rescues,” Chief Andrews commanded.

  I nodded at Darryl and the two of us cautiously approached our formidable nemesis. The house resembled a fiery giant in the throes of a destructive tantrum. We broke down the front door with our axes just as the gutters began to warp under the heat. The wood split with a scrrptt, and we kicked the door knob until it yielded.

  Darryl and I were on the rescue squad. It was our job to scour every inch of the house (as a pair) and look for victims to save. Som
etimes they were pinned down by toppled objects, other times, they were unconscious from smoke inhalation, and suffered severe burns. Excessive smoke damage to the lungs was one of the primary causes of death in a house fire. It was our job to bring everyone out alive.

  Visibility was low, due to the heavy amount of smoke, so we shuffled around slowly, our arms stretched out in front of us. Even with my turn-out gear on, I felt the heat squeezing sweat from my pores. I reeked, and I couldn’t wait to step into a hot shower after this. Unfortunately, by the looks of things, I wouldn’t be getting my damn shower for a long ass time.

  Darryl gestured to the west side of the main foyer, near the staircase. I followed him, my mouth already bone-dry, and my throat scratchy. Moisture clung to every inch of my skin as I squinted through my face shield. With the mic open, my heavy breathing made me sound like Darth Vader. We had no idea if anyone was even in here. I prayed our efforts wouldn’t be futile.

  “Over here,” Darryl called out, waving me over. He was hunched over, examining something.

  I shuffled toward him, my eyes watery, and my nose stinging. “What is it?”

  Darryl’s gloved hand held a broken picture frame. His other hand pointed to the smudged photograph within. “Isn’t this—”

  “Fuck,” I swore under my breath. I nodded. “It is.”

  Darryl tossed the frame aside. “All the reason to hurry, then.”

  I nodded, adrenaline shooting through my body. If she was here, I had to find her. All my training taught me to remain calm in situations like this, but knowing that she might be trapped somewhere in this inferno made my heart thump like a roadrunner.

  “Help.” It was a weak mewl, almost drowned out by the cackling fire, but I heard it.

  “Over here,” I said to Darryl, trying hard to locate the source of the whimpering. I carefully stepped over a few toppled chairs before I finally found her, twisted up under a table. Her legs were pinned down by a heavy metal planter. Shit.

  “I found her!” I notified Darryl. “Come help me get her up!”

  Darryl’s boots thumped toward me, arriving to my aid within seconds. The two of us hoisted the planter off her bleeding calf. Crimson blood streamed down her bare, soot-covered legs. “Are you all right? Can you hear me?” I asked.

  She nodded. Her cheeks were smudged, and her dark hair, damp with perspiration. Her pale lips wobbled as she tried, but failed to say something.

  It’d been ten years, but I’d still recognize that heart-shaped face anywhere. How could I not?

  Carrie Bridges.

  Of course, she didn’t know who I was, since my face was obscured by a bulky mask, hood and helmet.

  “How’s your leg? Can you stand?”

  Carrie shook her head. “I—I don’t know how any of this happened. I—how did this—”

  Before Carrie could finish her sentence, I swooped her up in my arms and made my way toward the front door. She was so light, she weighed next to nothing. “Is there anyone else in the house?” I asked her.

  Carrie shook her head and coughed. “No, just me. I—I remember falling asleep…”

  “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” I reassured her. Something crashed behind me, and I sped up. I held Carrie tightly, pressing her against my thumping chest. As we exited the burning building, I made my way straight to the paramedics van and placed her on the gurney. Fiona, the paramedic on site, took over.

  “Look after her Fi,” I said, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. “She—I know her.”

  “Even if you didn’t know her, I’d still do my damn best,” Fiona answered, grinning. “Now get back to your job.”

  I mouthed another ‘thank you’ before I returned to the inferno behind me.

  Darryl and I returned to assist with the exterior attack. We didn’t have time to chat about what had just happened. That would come later. I really didn’t want to talk about it, though, but I had a feeling Darryl wouldn’t let it go.

  It took us four gruelling hours to extinguish everything. Carrie was alone when the fire started, so there were no other rescues. By the time we put out the fire, the house was unrecognizable—a charred skeleton; an unrecognizable timber corpse.

  As we rode back to the station, my arms felt like limp noodles, and my back, as if I’d fallen asleep on a family of angry porcupines.

  “You going to visit her? She’s at Parkland,” Darryl said, taking off his gloves. He wiped sweat off his forehead with a rag. I knew he’d seize the first chance to bring her up.

  I shook my head. “Probably not. It’d be weird.”

  “You saved her life. Why would it be weird?”

  “Trust me, she doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “She deserves to know who pulled her out of that fire tonight.”

  “You want to play hero? Why don’t you go visit her?” I shot out.

  “Maybe I will.” Darryl smirked. “I wouldn’t mind taking the credit for saving a beautiful woman.”

  “Don’t you dare go near her,” I snapped, sounding more jealous and overprotective than I’d intended.

  “You’re not in a position to tell me what to do, Hanover,” Darryl said, taking off his helmet and running a weary hand through his disheveled hair. “If I want to see her, I sure as hell don’t need your permission.”

  I was too exhausted for a comeback, so I chose to look out the window instead. It was well after midnight, and Dallas was asleep. I couldn’t wait to hit the hay myself; I’d earned it. But I suspected that I’d be plagued by thoughts of my ex-girlfriend instead.

  After all this time…she somehow found her way back into my life, albeit by accident. Would I seize this opportunity, or let her slip through my fingers again?

  “Baby, wake up, you’re late,” Aaron cooed in my ear. His warm, coffee breath smelled heavenly.

  “I am?” I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “What am I late for?”

  “Your appointment. It’s in an hour.”

  I flung my arm across my face, trying to block out the early morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains. “I don’t feel like going today. I’m going to reschedule.”

  “Stop putting it off, Carrie. Now act like a grown woman. Get up, get dressed. I’ll drive you.”

  I shot Aaron a sheepish grin. “You’re sexy when you use your bossy voice.”

  “If you behave, and go see Dr. Bianca, I’ll reward you when I get home from work. How’s that?”

  “Oh? What kind of reward?”

  Aaron winked. “The best kind.”

  “I’m not a child, Aaron.” I stuck out my tongue at him. “Fine, I’ll go, but I’ll hate every second of it.”

  “I’ll take you. We can grab some donuts after.”

  I could never say no to donuts. “Deal.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Carrie, can you hear me? Just nod once for ‘yes’.”

  I nodded.

  “Do you know where you are, Carrie?” The incorporeal voice floated in the air, soft, soothing and familiar. It belonged to an older female, I was sure of it.

  I shook my head. I felt as if I’d just eaten an entire bag of charcoal bricks. My windpipe was so raw I couldn’t speak. And my skull…felt as if it’d been forced into a too-small helmet. Pressure. So much pressure I wanted to scream. But of course, I couldn’t, because my voice had abandoned me. Random memories floated through my head, disorganized and ephemeral; nothing made any sense.

  “You’re at Parkland Hospital. We’re treating you for smoke inhalation, Carrie. And you have a few second-degree burns and deep cuts on your legs. You’re in the ER.”

  How was that possible? I didn’t feel any pain, other than a general haziness and…drugs. Of course, they must’ve pumped me full of morphine. I tugged at the irritating mask on my face, but the nurse stopped me. “You need it, Carrie. It’s oxygen, for your poor lungs.” I relaxed my arm.

  The nurse continued, “We’ve called your sister. She’ll be here by soon. Is there anyone else
you’d like us to call? Your parents? Another relative?”

  I shook my head and closed my dry eyelids.

  “Then get some rest. I’ll come back to check on you later.” I listened as the nurse’s light footsteps faded away.

  Darkness lapped against me like a familiar tide, calling me home.

  I was so, so homesick.

  Learn more: FIREPROOF (Standalone Kindle Worlds Novella)

  Also by Jackie Wang

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  About the Author

  Hi! My name’s Jackie, and I’m a 25-year-old mom and wife living in beautiful Vancouver, Canada. I love tea, Kit Kat bars, adult coloring books and geocaching. I’m also a bit of a social media whore.

  Writing is my passion and obsession. I’ve been journalling, blogging, writing short stories, novels and poems since I was thirteen. I’m crazy about the written word, and I love sharing my ideas with the world! Thank you for reading this book, and please don’t hesitate to connect with me!

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