Burn Out

by Traci Hohenstein

  “It should be a good weekend for it. Nice, cool weather, no rain.” Mack said, walking back to the front door. A glint of silver caught his attention. “Is that a new Halligan?”

  Paul hesitated. “Yeah.”

  Mack picked up the tool and examined it. The Halligan bar was a common tool firefighters used to gain access to locked doors. “What happened to your old one?”

  “Stolen. My whole toolbox in the truck was lifted. Probably by some neighborhood kids.”

  “Did you file a police report?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mack put the tool down and walked out the front door. “How long are you going to be gone?”

  “Just a few days. Wanna go?” Paul asked, even though he knew Mack wouldn’t take him up on the offer.

  “I wish, man. I got to work tomorrow. Besides I would like to hang around and help Rachel out.”

  Another jab, Paul guessed, at his unwillingness to help search for Sam. He decided not to even respond.

  Mack got into his truck. “Have a good time.” He waved as he backed down the driveway.

  Paul was glad to see him go. Mack could be a pain in the ass sometimes. All his insinuating questions were bugging him. He cleaned up all the paint mess and locked up the house. Throwing a suitcase in his truck, he decided it was time to get to the cabin and check on things there. He didn’t want to keep his lady waiting any longer than necessary.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lake Juniper, Thursday late afternoon

  Paul made a hard right off the highway onto a dirt road that seemed to go nowhere. The more he drove the truck down the endless dirt road, the darker it became. Not many people knew about this area. It was mostly hunting land and agricultural farms. He made a turn onto another bumpy dirt road and after driving about a mile, it was like the forest opened up. His little log cabin came into view. It was built by his grandfather many, many years ago.

  Paul was about five years old when his grandfather bought the land. It was over fifty acres of hunting and fishing property and came with an older cabin his grandfather deemed uninhabitable. So they made it into a storage place for all their hunting gear. It was decided the new cabin would be built closer to the lake. Paul, his dad, and his grandfather built this new log cabin by hand. Log by log. It was a small, two bedroom cabin with a living room, fireplace, tiny kitchen and one bathroom. The wraparound porch had views of the lake where fish were in abundance. This was an escape for the men in the family. Now his dad and grandfather were deceased and Paul was the sole owner of the cabin. He brought some of his buddies here for fishing and hunting, but most of the time he came by himself. He relished the quiet.

  Paul had plans to eventually add on to the cabin and build an additional bedroom and bath. If everything went according to plan, he would need the extra room.

  Driving to the cabin gave him time to think. He was ready to get away from the mess that was going on with the upcoming trial. He had already accepted the fact he was probably going to lose his job at the fire department. A job he had held for many years with an exemplary record until now. No one else would hire him. He would be lucky to get a job flipping burgers at McDonalds. It was ironic he would get caught in a drug dealing scheme. He was never one to do drugs…yeah, he smoked a little in high school, but he was mostly a beer drinker. Never in his wildest dreams would he think he would be caught manufacturing and selling an illegal substance. Marijuana. Never. But here he was. Arrested. Awaiting his trial for manufacturing with intent to sell, among other charges.

  He blamed himself, but he also blamed Ken. He let Ken talk him into the whole thing. The promise of big money and never getting caught is how Ken sold the idea to him. He made big money all right. That part of the promise came through. But he also got caught. So now Ken had ruined his life twice. First, he took away the girl of his dreams and now he was going to lose his job. And he had no serious prospects of ever having another job. And who would want to date an ex-con? No one he would be interested in – that’s for sure. So he had to come up with a plan. To get the girl of his dreams back and have a life which should have been his to begin with.

  As he parked his truck in front of the cabin, he felt himself starting to relax a little. He hopped out and started unloading his supplies. The front door squeaked when he opened it. He would have to remember to get the WD 40 and oil the hinges.

  “Honey, I’m home!” he yelled out. No one answered back, as usual. He unloaded some of the boxes and put them on the couch. He headed back to the truck to get the cooler.

  Whistling while he worked, he opened the refrigerator door and loaded up the eggs, milk, cheese, salad mix and beer he bought at Wal-Mart. Tonight the menu would be simple, but luxurious. A single man’s go-to dinner. Steak on the grill, buttered baked potato, and a salad.

  He marinated the steak with some brown sugar, soy sauce and other spices and placed it in the fridge. He grabbed the potatoes and washed them in the sink, scrubbing the skin with a vegetable brush. Grabbing a dish towel, he dried them, poked a few holes in the skin with a fork, and wrapped them in aluminum foil to place on the grill with the steaks. Then he took some time to tidy up the place. His date was waiting for him and he wanted it to look good.

  He lit some candles, which smelled like apples and cinnamon, and placed them throughout the small living area. He started a fire in the fireplace, taking pleasure in hearing the crackle of the fire, and he fluffed the pillows on the couch and straightened the afghan his mom had made.

  Glancing at the kitchen clock – a black cat with a swinging tail – another gift from his mother – he realized it was almost time for his date. He brought his suitcase in from the truck and took a shower, relishing the fact that in just a couple of hours he was going to be reunited with the love of his life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lake Juniper, Thursday night

  She was being held in some dark room that had a damp and earthy smell. She was pretty sure today was Thursday, but it was hard to tell because there was no light to keep track of the days and nights. And “the asshole,” as she liked to call him, took away her watch and other jewelry when he kidnapped her.

  She looked at her surroundings. There were a couple of small Coleman battery-operated lanterns – “the asshole” warned her she shouldn’t keep on all the time because once the batteries were gone, they were gone – an army surplus cot with a moldy smelling blanket and pillow, and a makeshift toilet. The toilet was basically a bucket for her to take a piss in. She also had a cupboard with a couple loaves of bread, some peanut butter, a jug of water and some Skittles. How considerate; “the asshole” remembered she liked Skittles. Some diet.

  But there must be some reason why he wanted her to live or he wouldn’t have left the food and water. One thing she knew, she would never eat peanut butter and Skittles again if she ever got out of here alive. Correction, she thought. When she got out of here.

  She had a lot of time to think and kept her mind active so she wouldn’t go crazy. The events on how she was kidnapped played over and over in her mind like a broken record. It all started the night of the warehouse fire.

  It was her turn to cook for the crew. Every shift someone was responsible for making dinner. Everyone raved about her homemade chili, so it’s what she made. Her cell phone rang as she was putting the cornbread and salad together. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered the call anyway.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, little lady. How are you doing?”

  It took her a second to recognize the voice. And only one person she knew called her little lady. She hated that. And hated him.

  “What do you want? I’m a little busy.” She popped the cornbread in the oven and then stirred the chili on the stove top. The smell of spicy tomatoes and onion filled the room.

  “I need to talk to you. Can we meet when you get off shift?”

  She put the spoon down, motioning to Mack to take over dinner. She walked outside where she could talk in
private.

  “I don’t think it’s wise we are seen together, let alone talk. I said all I needed to say to you last weekend.”

  “I think it’s really important we talk. There are some things you need to know before you go to court next week. Please.”

  Leaning against one of the fire trucks in the bay, she let out a deep sigh. “Whatever you need to tell me, you can say over the phone.” The last thing she wanted to do was see him in person again.

  “I don’t think it’s safe for us to talk about this over the phone. I need to see you in person.”

  This was starting to get old. She needed to end it, for good this time. “I am hanging up the phone now. I have nothing to say to you and have no desire to see you. I’m done. Please don’t call me again.” She disconnected and turned off her phone.

  As she went back inside, Mack was setting the table. She knew her face was hot with anger and she took a couple of deep breaths to settle her nerves.

  “Everything okay? You seem upset.” He knew she was stressing out due to her husband’s trial.

  “Yeah, sure.” She nodded towards the other guys sitting at the table listening.

  Mack got her meaning. Can’t talk. He was the one person she could count on right now and it killed her that she couldn’t tell him everything.

  “Ok, then let’s eat.”

  Just then the tones went off, indicating they had a call.

  Everyone froze and listened to the voice of the dispatch operator coming over the speaker. After getting the information on the fire, Sam and her crew quickly dressed in their bunker gear and took off.

  Sam could smell the smoke before they rounded the corner to Campbell’s Farmers Market. She directed her crew once they got there, knowing her first priority was to locate the victim and get him and her crew out safely.

  Once inside the burning building, she couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to run from her problems. Here was the perfect opportunity. She had already stashed a little money away in case she had to leave. It wasn’t enough to get far, but she could start over somewhere else. She knew Ken was in over his head with the trial and now the Mexican mafia wanted to hurt him on top of that. There were threats made to her as well, but she thought the kids would be safe with her mom. The thing was…could she leave her kids? She didn’t think so. They already lost their dad… at least until after the trial or jail time. No, her kids needed her. She chastised herself for even thinking that way. She put the thought out of her mind and focused on the task at hand.

  A few minutes later, they found the victim and she led her crew towards the front of the warehouse. She was bringing up the rear and saw Mack and Kevin already had the victim out the door.

  It was then she saw something. A quick flash before her eyes. She hesitated and turned back around to take a better look. It looked like the figure had on firefighting gear. Did someone else come in without her knowing? She made the split second decision to go investigate. Making her way toward the back of the building, her air tank warning went off. She only had a few seconds. When she got close, the figure suddenly turned and started rushing towards her. What the hell is going on here? She heard Mack’s frantic Mayday call over the radio. She went to answer the call when suddenly she tripped over something. The roof starting caving in and then everything went black.

  The next thing she knew, she was riding in the back of a van. She thought she was in an ambulance at first. Then she realized she was alone and bound by her legs and arms. Her mouth was so parched she could barely whisper and her head hurt. She felt nauseous and dizzy. After what seemed like a long time, the van came to a stop. She held her breath when the van door opened. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she said, croaking out each word painfully.

  “Shhh. Don’t talk. We will have plenty of time for that later.” He lifted her gently out of the van and brought her inside. “I’m getting you away from all this. Where you will be safe from everyone.”

  Sam tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down. “Just relax. If you play nice, you can stay here. I have to go back in a couple of days, but I will make you comfortable before I go.”

  He took out a needle and leaned over her.

  She started to protest. “What is that?”

  “Just a little something to help you sleep. Tonight has been traumatic enough.” She could barely feel the needle prick her skin. Before she could say anything else, her eyelids closed and she went into a deep sleep.

  The next time she woke up she was here. In this dank, dark place. She had no idea why he didn’t leave her in the cabin. The asshole had left a note that said he had to get back to town, but would be back soon. His explanation of why she was here, to keep her safe, made no sense whatsoever.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a gunshot. She had heard a few shots off in the distance when she first got to this hell hole, so she figured she was close by a hunting lodge. But the sound of this one was a lot closer. Like right outside the door.

  She listened for a few more minutes and thought she heard footsteps. Then a creaking noise. Sure enough, the door was opening.

  Instinctively she crouched in the far corner and waited for whatever hell she was going to face next.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Santa Rosa Beach, Thursday late afternoon

  Jeff Stanton had been staring at the open file on his desk for the past thirty minutes. The fire at Campbell’s Farmers Market had him baffled.

  Jeff had worked as the Santa Rosa Beach fire marshal for around six months since transferring from the Tallahassee office. He had a wife and a stepson who he adored. His other love was fire. He had been fascinated with fire since he was a child. Not in a pyromaniac kind of way, but a scientific way. How it started, what made it burn, how to put it out. What fuels the fire? So it was natural he became a firefighter. For the first two years of his career, he fought fires. But he realized he was more interested on how and why it burns.

  He trained to become a fire marshal. He worked in the Tallahassee region and when an opening came up in Santa Rosa Beach, he applied. His wife was from the area and wanted to move closer to her parents. His stepson was autistic – his wife’s former husband left her because he couldn’t handle the situation – and she wanted her parents’ help.

  This was the seventh fire his office had investigated since his arrival. It was also his most challenging. There had been two other suspected arson fires in the last two months, but this was the first one involving a missing person.

  The fire had proved to be set intentionally and whoever did it either wasn’t skilled or didn’t care it was sloppy. Gas was used as an accelerant – which was the most traceable source. The perp who set the fire splashed gas throughout the warehouse and then lit it on the way out. The warehouse was not equipped with smoke alarms, so the victim never knew what happened. The smoke had become so thick, he had no chance of escaping. Sam and her crew came at the right time. Another minute and a rescue would not have been possible. Plus, the propane tanks the owner had stored in back for weekend BBQ’s were full. They exploded with force a few minutes after the victim was pulled out.

  An interview with the victim didn’t glean much information. He had closed up shop at five o’clock and went to his office to do paperwork. He was turning off his computer and gathering his things to go home when he smelled smoke. He opened his office door to see the warehouse in flames. That was the last thing he remembered. Whether he was overcome with smoke or his blood sugar was low – he was diabetic – it was unclear. He had passed out and didn’t remember the firefighters bringing him out. His next memory was waking up in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

  What happened to Lt. Samantha Collins was the most puzzling thing. There was no reason for her to go back into the warehouse. Not only was it against protocol, but it was stupid. Even if she saw something or someone in the warehouse, she would have notified her crew. And th
en to leave her fire helmet at the back door was even more puzzling.

  He remembered some advice his old boss gave him when he was training as a fire investigator: “If you hear hooves, it's probably horses, not zebras.” In other words, sometimes the most logical answer is the correct one. Her helmet could have come off during the explosion. She became disoriented and wandered off. It was quite puzzling and he thought of the different scenarios so many times his head was hurting.

  As a fire marshal, the easy part of the job was done. He found the cause of fire. Who started it and why? And more importantly, what happened to Samantha Collins? He was still waiting on fingerprint analysis to come in, but he held little hope for it. The farmer’s market was a public place and it would be hard to exclude everyone. The gas cans were not found.

  The police department was helping with the investigation and so far they had not turned up anything, either. There was talk about the Mexican mafia, but so far he hadn’t heard of any concrete leads.

  Sam’s husband was in jail so it ruled him out…unless he had help. But according to the warden, Ken was surprised to hear about Sam and was upset when told the news.

  Of course, the family of Campbell’s Farmers Market was investigated thoroughly, but nothing had come up. Their finances were solid and they had a nice insurance policy – nothing outrageous or suspicious. As the owner pointed out, his son was in the building during the fire. Why put your life on the line? So they were ruled out. That left other unknown suspects. Now he was back to square one. Who and why?

  Jeff shuffled paperwork around his desk and thought about what to do next. He always worked better at the scene of the crime. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out his camera. On his way out of the office, he stopped by to tell his assistant, Valerie, he was leaving. Valerie Crumpton reminded him of his grandmother. She was in her late fifties and had an ample bosom and always wore themed sweaters around holidays. It didn’t matter if it was 80 degrees on Halloween. She had on her orange pumpkin sweater with orange and black beads. She brought in fresh muffins and sweet rolls once a week for the staff.