by Kym Roberts
I thought of Bob and his wife and baby daughter and prayed they got the chance to go on as a family. I thought of Stone, the man with fathomless eyes who might have allowed me to see the future and wished he’d find more reasons to smile. Then I thought of my father, and hoped he’d be able to cope with the help of Betty.
A quote from one of his favorite movies came to me at that moment. Looking up, I witnessed Tommy desperately trying to free himself on one of the metal clothing racks. His arm bleeding from where I’d sliced him.
“‘If you lose your head, and you give up, then you neither live nor win.’” I quoted the Outlaw Josie Wales.
Tommy stopped and looked up at me. I could see a smile forming on his face under the duct tape before he returned to the job of working his hands between the wheels of the rack and the brake lever. How he did it in that position was beyond comprehension. His blood and the paint thinner now making the job even more difficult. And undoubtedly painful.
The first hint of hope began to blossom. “What happened to the box cutter I cut your arm with?”
Tommy shrugged, but continued pulling and twisting. The tape had rolled around his wrists, making it look more like a rope, thinner, but tighter than ever. With a frustrated pull, the entire rack fell on top of him sequins and tassels sprawling across the floor.
“Tommy, are you okay?” He had to be okay.
He grunted then coughed under the saturated costumes. The clothes, heaped on top of him, reminded me of Bogart struggling to get the towel off his head when I gave him a bath. At another time it would be funny.
Bogart. The dog could open my shop door. My bathroom door. Even my back door. Could he open the two doors at Woody’s to reach us in time?
Looking at the window covered in black paper, I yelled for my dog, not caring who heard. “Bogart!”
Tommy stopped moving for a moment, but then continued with his struggle to get free.
“Bogart, here!” I listened for familiar sounds of the dog, before repeating the call. Still nothing.
“Bogart!” My voice held the tone of panic and I tried to swallow it.
The faint sound of scratching carried down the hall. Too shocked to get my hopes up, I whistled then called, “Here boy!”
More scratching noises followed and I almost cried with the possibilities that noise represented. I heard the distinct sound of the handle twisting and snapping back into place.
I yelled for him again, and it was at that moment that I remembered the Exacto blades in my back pocket. Struggling to get my hand inside, my wrist seemed to bend in the wrong direction, but finally, my finger slid inside.
I hissed in pain. The blade drew blood as it sliced into the raw flesh under my fingernail. But I was used to it. I had cut my fingers numerous times. Normally I’d clean the cut and move on.
Now, I just moved on. Which resulted in another cut, this time along the side of my index finger and blood saturating my pocket. I attempted a third and fourth time. Each with the same results – new cuts, new pain, same problem. Then I decided to try my other hand, hoping the angle allowed a better place to grip the blade. Two fingers later, I gave up the struggle. I needed another plan.
Bending over, I discovered I could possibly stand up. I rocked at the waist, trying to push my weight forward. Blood surged to my head creating an explosive pressure behind my eyes. My fingers dripped on the floor, the blood making the entire area slippery. Teetering on the edge of spilling over, I leaned my head back to stop the hammering.
“Spread your legs wider.”
“Excuse me?” What the heck was he talking about?
Out of breath and covered with women’s under clothing, Tommy peered out from under red sequins. He had somehow got the tape removed from his mouth and was now struggling with a wire hanger at his back while coaching me from across the room.
A man his size most definitely wasn’t built to be a contortionist.
“Spread your legs to get a wider stance, you’ll be able to stand.”
Spreading my legs, I straddled the chair like a horse. I bent over as far as the tape allowed, and stood up immediately on somewhat wobbly legs. I could make it to the back door like this, but despite the fact that my hands were free behind my back, my chest and elbows had been wrapped like a mummy to the chair with duct tape. I couldn’t open the door, I couldn’t get Tommy loose and I couldn’t defend myself against Brendan who was still somewhere in the bar.
Taking a few breaths of the toxic fumes, I began wiggling myself loose from the chair. Quarter inch by quarter inch, the tape slowly worked up the back of the chair, pulling my hair the whole way.
A new smell began making its way to the door — the acrid, sooty odor of burning plastic and fabric.
“Oh. My. God.”
Brendan had finally done it. The interior of the bar was on fire. I froze for a second, thinking of Jacob and his last moments before he died, knowing there was no way out. What had gone through his head? Had he thought of me, as I now thought of him? Fear would consume me, if I allowed it, but somehow thoughts of Jacob calmed me.
He was with me, pulling for me to be strong. And I had to continue to push forward. If I didn’t, Brendan would either be back to set this room ablaze, or I was wasting valuable time when he was already gone. It didn’t matter, I didn’t have time to mess around.
“Don’t panic. Just keep working, it’s better than the alternative.” Tommy wasn’t looking at me, but I saw his arms and legs were no longer bound together and he was trying to get his arms in front of him.
With a final shrug, the chair dropped to the floor, freeing my shoulders of the weight but not all the tape. I yanked at the bindings, pushing the wrap in one solid piece above my head, sacrificing all the hair it had tangled, I pulled my t-shirt off with it as smoke billowed in the bottom of the door.
A small feminine cough echoed through the noise of flames crackling behind it. A door slammed open against a wall and Bogart barked at record volume, ferociously stalking someone.
Brandy Kay screamed.
Brendan yelled in between coughs. “Get back, you stupid dog!”
Two shots rang out and I nearly died inside.
“Go! Get out of here!” Tommy yelled at me from his side of the room.
But I wasn’t leaving without him. “No. ‘Dying ain’t much of a living.’” Quoting that movie was my one of my dad’s favorite things. I hoped I lived to tell him it helped get me out alive.
A smile spread across Tommy’s face. “I won’t argue with a woman who can quote Josie Wales.”
I reached down and yanked the pole and clothing off the top of him. “I thought it was Clint Eastwood. My fiancé would never leave an innocent man to die, I won’t either.”
Once the clothes were off, I tried to stand Tommy up, but the tape twisted his ankles, making it impossible. Obviously Brandy Kay and Brendan had been guilty of under-estimating my ability to escape, but not Tommy’s. His bindings were strong and taut. I reached in my back pocket, this time able to grab the blades without cutting myself more, despite the slick red blood covering my hands and jeans.
Bending over Tommy once more, my body now soaked with perspiration and covered in blood, I noticed the temperature had increased in the room and the ceiling was quickly filling with rolls of dark smoke.
Bogart continued to bark somewhere in the bar and the unintelligible screams told me Brandy Kay was becoming panicked with fear and smoke inhalation.
I worked to free Tommy’s feet, slicing at the tape now twined like a rope from his efforts to free himself. We coughed in unison, in competition and in a Row, Row, Row Your Boat singsong pattern.
Just when I didn’t think things could get worse, the electricity went out, pitching us into darkness. Swallowing down the fear that threatened to come up with the bile at the back of my throat, I continued to cut.
“Hurry.” He ordered in a raspy voice.
Obediently I followed his instructions cutting at the tape, my lung
s unable to expand enough for comment. I moved to his hands and began to cut at an easier section. The blade slipped – falling onto a darkened floor.
“I dropped the blade.” I rasped.
“Forget about it. Let’s go.” Tommy spit out as we struggled to get him up, leaning and coughing we bounced to the cubicles.
My hand hit something on the counter and the image flashed in my head. My bride. Reaching down I groped where I thought it had gone. Instinct honing in on my prey, latching onto it like a hawk capturing its dinner, with no hesitation. The sculpture fit perfectly into my hand and I wasn’t letting go.
We made our way to the darkened hallway where I stumbled over my dog. Hunkering low to the floor, he was no longer full bravado. The three of us scooted down the hall toward the back door, Bogart completing our round-about coughing song.
We reached the back door, the exit sign illuminating in orange. I turned the handle and pulled, but Tommy was the one to yank open the heavy metal barrier to the outdoor air. We fell to the soft moist ground, each of us sucking in the gloriously fresh air, our coughs a raspy echo against the flames breaking through the roofline. Bogart licked my face, wiggling his bottom, all the while coughing and slobbering, all over my face. Normally I would have been grossed out, but I was so happy to be alive, I actually welcomed his warm goo.
I set the bride down in the grass, then reached over and began pulling at the tape around Tommy’s wrists. As I got the last of the bindings off, we heard sirens screaming in the distance and Tommy sat up, looking around.
“Where’s Brandy Kay?” He graveled out, scanning the woods. Obviously he hadn’t realized Bogart had chased her deeper into the bar.
I shook my head, unable to speak between my ragged breaths.
His eyes widened, the revolting truth of her death mirrored in his tortured expression. But he didn’t give up. He jumped to his feet and tore off his shirt.
“You can’t!” I croaked.
He ignored me and ran back into the burning building, this time his shirt balled in front of his mouth and nose. I grabbed Bogart and held on tight to his neck, staring at the door.
Please let him come out. Please. Please.
Seconds turned to minutes. The fire crews were still a distance away, but townspeople began to gather in the parking lot, mesmerized by the fire.
“Rilee!” Stone’s voice traveled through the woods, causing me to cry with relief and Bogart to whimper with happiness. Too exhausted to do much more than wiggle the stump of a tail on his rear end, the dog’s ears drooped, and I swore he was crying right alongside with me.
Strong arms embraced me and I clung to his strength, willing all the bad to disappear. He leaned back and examined my face, wiping away the tears with his thumb. And then moved to my hands, still bleeding from my poor attempts to retrieve my carving blades from my pocket. Bogart squirmed in between us, and the hug would have felt complete, but Tommy...
“Tommy, went back in...” I cough.
Stone looked up at the flames working their way toward the back of the building.
“Brendan and Brandy Kay, are behind it all ... but Tommy ... couldn’t leave her...” I couldn’t give him more as I hacked the smoke I’d ingested.
Like Tommy, Stone didn’t have to think about it. He released me and took off his shirt.
“NO!” I grabbed at him.
“I have to try, Rilee.” I saw the dedication in his eyes. His memory of Max reflected in the light, and I knew he needed to return the gift of life that he had been given.
“Then I’m going with you.” I fought to get to my feet.
Stone pushed me down. “You’re in no shape, you’ll slow me down. Besides, from the smell of you, I think you’d just act as kindling.” He pried my hand from his arm and changed gears into full speed. I knew he was right, I was physically drained and my pants still reeked of paint thinner. I’d been lucky to get out. It just hurt like hell to watch him disappear into the flames of the fully engulfed bar. Once that door slammed shut, every last fiber of my being remembered being torn apart when Jacob died. Only this was worse. Because I was seeing it first hand, like Tommy had experienced when he realized Brandy Kay was still inside. I crawled to my feet just as my dad and Betty arrived.
“Thank God, you’re safe.” Dad said as he leaned me against him and pulled my arm over his shoulder. “Let’s back up away from this before the building collapses.
“Dad … Stone and Tommy, they’re inside.”
My second tragedy in the making was written all over the sympathy on his face. Betty made a strangled noise in her throat and fire trucks pulled up front.
“Betty run, tell the fire fighters two men are inside.”
I pointed at the back door.
“I’ll tell them they went in the back,” Betty called as she ran for the front of the bar, her running shoes making good time for a woman her age. I definitely couldn’t compete with her right then.
“There’s still hope, Rilee.”
Dad grabbed my carving and then led me to sit on one of the logs that formed a fence around the parking lot. Reaching down to pet my dog, I found empty air. Startled, I looked around and saw him sitting at the back door of Woody’s staring in anticipation.
Dad saw the direction of my attention, and called, “Bogart!”
Instead of coming away from the bar, the dog clawed at the door, then bit the handle and turned his head — refusing to give up hope. And my heart nearly cracked at the sight of him. We were both stuck with the worst feeling in the world — powerlessness.
The flames licked the sky, the entire roof engulfed with the orange demon. A paramedic approached me and put an oxygen mask over my face. Fire fighters uncoiled their hoses. Two ladder trucks expanded their ladders. Bogart pulled at the door and it burst open. Two heroes rushed out the door, smoke coming off their bodies and billowing up behind them. Tommy carried a limp, soot-covered Brandy Kay, the image so innocent I wondered if I dreamt the whole thing.
And Stone practically carried Tommy. His arm under the bouncer’s shoulder, Stone held him upright as they struggled to catch some air. A couple firefighters and emergency medical techs from the ambulance service ran up to help.
Grunting into the mask, I gently pushed the medic looking at my cuts, toward the men emerging from the smoke. Brandy Kay was passed off to a fire fighter and rushed toward the ambulance. Stone and Tommy were guided in my direction to take seats away from the flames where medical personnel could assist, without the danger of a building collapse. And Bogart followed along at Stone’s side, content with nudging his hand with his nose as they went.
The men took seats on each side of me. I turned to Stone and tried to show him with my eyes how happy I was that he was safe. Along with how stupid I thought he was for going into the building in the first place, and how grateful I was that he saved Tommy.
Tommy coughed and leaned over his knees. His eyes watching Brandy Kay being laid onto a gurney. So much sorrow and pain, I couldn’t relate to some of it, but the loss was right up my alley.
Officer Martin walked up to us eyeing the three of us like maybe we were more trouble than we were worth. But then he addressed Tommy.
“I would imagine this has something to do with why you didn’t meet me after the bar closed last night with information about some stolen prescriptions?”
“Yes, sir.” He coughed. “I need to talk … to you about that and … a whole bunch of other things.” Tommy’s voice was sincere but weak, his face gaunt and solemn.
“Then I’ll let the medics take care of you and meet you at the hospital.”
There was no need to wait for his reply, Tommy said, “Yes, sir,” quicker than a private answered to a four-star general.
“You two will wait at the hospital until I’m done with Mr. Keyes.” Officer Martin met Stone’s eye. “And Stone, I will need your whole name.”
“Not a problem, sir.” Stone replied while lifting his oxygen mask.
I look
ed at him with anticipation. Had Brandy Kay known his real name?
Stone winked. It was a wink that made my toes tingle.
As Officer Martin turned to talk to my dad and Betty, I placed a hand on Tommy’s forearm, the one I had cut so ignorantly, and he glanced down at the mixture of blood, soot and tears we shared. The heat of his body felt starkly different than the cool chill I was experiencing from the wind drying out the flammable liquid on my legs.
“Thank you, Rilee.” He paused to take a breath of the oxygen the paramedic was placing over his face. Then pulled it back to finish. “I wouldn’t be here … if it wasn’t for you. Neither would Brandy Kay.”
Pushing his mask back into place where it belonged, I indicated with a head bob that it was Stone he should be thanking.
And like a typical man, he ignored the paramedic’s urging to keep his mask in place to quote Josie Wales, “‘Reckon, I’m right popular.’ Thank you.” He shook Stone’s hand and gasped between coughs.
I smiled through my mask.
Stone, on the other hand, followed Tommy’s lead and pulled his mask away from his mouth to add, “No you’re just one of the guys. Clint Eastwood is popular.”
All three of us smiled the shit-eatin’ kind of grin Tommy loved so much. Thank God no one spit like Josey Wales. We just coughed in unison — including Bogart.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bride and groom reunited. Their gaze of timeless love might be fictional, but it was very real for Missy and me – our timeless loves had been ripped from us just moments before our lives were to truly begin. She stood at the beginning of her journey of grief, I was somewhere in the middle. But both of us agreed. This bride and groom needed to be put to rest.
So much had transpired since the beginning of their relationship. Each had been damaged, both on the surface and to their very core. Each had survived in their own right. But in this life, their time had come to an end.
Missy had chosen the place for their burial. And when she told me where she planned to do it, I couldn’t have agreed more. It was the place Ryan had proposed to her. The location where she had shared so much joy and sorrow with her family. And it was my groom’s final resting place on Mount Hood, at the site where her parents’ cabin once stood.
