by Dinah McCall
He began to circle the rooftop, running as fast as he could, looking for a break in the smoke, but it seemed now that it was coming up from all four sides. His panic was echoed by the others on the roof. Two of them found a small stack of wooden planks and began frantically dragging them to the edge of the building, intent on using them as a bridge to the next building over.
But when they extended the planks as far as they would go, they discovered the boards were about three feet too short. A wail went up from the group en masse as if one brief window of escape had suddenly closed before them.
“The fire trucks! They’re here!” someone yelled, and pointed as the trucks turned a corner up the street.
“We’re saved! We’re saved!” another cried, and began to weep.
But Foster wasn’t as elated. He didn’t see how any of them could be saved when it was obvious that the firemen couldn’t see them on the roof any better than they could see the firemen below. The way he looked at it, they were about to be royally screwed—or fried, as the case might be.
When he was just at the point of making peace with his sins and asking forgiveness from God, he heard shouts from the building directly north. He turned. The building was at least six floors higher than the one they were on, but at the edge, he saw a group of firemen strapping on rescue gear. Immediately, he understood what they were about to try.
“There!” he yelled, pointing up, and watched in openmouthed amazement as a helicopter suddenly appeared, then unfurled a rope ladder from one of the open doors.
Within seconds, the powerful downdraft from the rotors threatened to sweep them off the roof. Foster ran with the others to a central portion of the roof. As they watched, a fireman jumped onto the ladder, locked one arm through the rungs, and then rode it down to the top of the burning building.
The fireman leaned down and grabbed a victim, then pulled her onto the ladder, positioning himself behind her so that she was pinned between the ladder and his body. The ladder was swinging wildly, partly from the downdraft of the chopper’s blades, and partly from the wind being churned by the growing wall of heat below. The chopper rose slowly to keep from slamming the people against the wall of the next building. In moments the woman was dropped into the waiting arms of the firemen on the other roof.
One after another, they were removed that way until there were only two men left—Foster and an old man he knew only as Ralph. The roof of the building was so hot now that he could feel the heat through the soles of his shoes. He saw the chopper coming, calculated that there might be time for one more run before the roof caved in, and knew if they had to choose, they wouldn’t choose him. Desperate to save himself, he grabbed hold of Ralph’s arm and started to run toward the dangling ladder and the fireman hanging on to the rungs.
Only seconds after they’d moved from where they had been standing, the center of the roof began to give way, sinking slowly inward as the structure was devoured by the fire.
“Hurry!” he screamed, and motioned for the fireman to climb up out of the way.
The fireman was waving his arm and pointing to the far corner of the roof, where the outer wall still held. At that moment, Ralph stumbled. It was instinct, not a sense of bravery, that made Foster grab him under the arms and lift him off his feet. In one last desperate sprint toward safety, they reached the corner just as the ladder swung across his line of vision. With a desperation born of fear, he grabbed the ladder just above the last rung and screamed in the old man’s ear.
“Put your arms around my neck and don’t let go.”
“We’ll fall,” the old man wailed.
“Do you want to die?” Foster shouted.
“No!” Ralph cried.
“Then hold the hell on. I won’t let go if you don’t,” he promised.
At that point, the rest of the roof began to fall inward. He could feel the outer wall as it began to sway.
“Now!” he screamed.
The old man’s arms went around his neck. He grabbed the ladder with both hands and locked his legs around the old man’s waist just as the ladder swung out into space.
He looked up once and found himself staring straight into the soot-streaked face of the fireman, then looked away.
The chopper went up. The burden of the old man’s body was more than he’d expected. Almost instantly, his shoulder muscles began to burn from the pull of the weight. Ignoring everything but the feel of the rope against his palms, he closed his eyes, focusing all of his energy into his grip.
It seemed as if they were suspended forever, when in fact it was only seconds. Just when he thought he would have to let go, he heard the sounds of people shouting and then felt hands grabbing his ankles, pulling him down, down, to the safety of the other roof.
“Let go, man! Let go!” someone shouted as fingers grabbed at his hands, trying to make him turn loose of the ladder.
So he did—and immediately collapsed.
In the few moments it took him to realize they were safe, he opened his eyes and looked up. There were faces looking down at him, then hands pulling at his clothes and yanking him upright.
“Can you walk?” someone asked.
Foster nodded.
“Follow me,” one of the firemen ordered.
Foster did as he was told. It wasn’t until they reached the street below that he accepted they’d been saved. He stood for a moment, his legs trembling, his heart hammering against his chest, and then dropped to his knees.
“Good job,” someone said, and clapped him on the back as they moved past.
“Way to go, mister,” another said, and thumped him on the shoulder as he, too, passed.
While he was still trying to catch his breath, two men scooped him up by the arms and all but dragged him to a curb.
“Hey… I’m all right,” he mumbled. “Let me go. Let me go.”
They patted him on the back, shoved a bottle of water into his hands and draped a heavy blanket across his back before running back to the other survivors.
Rose was in the kitchen, preparing vegetables for the evening meal. The portable television she kept tuned to her favorite soaps was on a nearby shelf. She listened as she worked, and every now and then had to pause to watch a particular scene.
“That crazy woman,” she muttered as she stopped to point at the screen. “She breaks up every romance on this show. You’d think they’d have at least one man who could resist her charms.”
Anna nodded in agreement, although she was completely lost as to what Rose was saying. Her gaze was caught on a pair of daisy fabric pot holders hanging on a hook beside the stove.
“I like daisies,” Anna said.
Rose was getting used to the way Anna’s mind wandered and nodded without looking to see what had prompted the remark.
“Yes, I do, too,” she said. “And zinnias. I like zinnias a lot. I know they’re not as delicate and their colors are less subtle, but they’re sturdy. I like sturdy things. They survive when other things don’t.”
Anna moved toward the pot holders as Rose turned away from the stove to focus on a particularly intense part of her story.
“Look at that hussy!” Rose said, pointing to the television screen. “Someone needs to teach her a lesson.”
Just as the actors were about to reveal some plot secret, the broadcast was interrupted by a news flash.
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Rose muttered. “They were just about to—” Then she gasped as the station began broadcasting footage they’d shot at a fire in an old downtown hotel. “Oh my! Anna! Would you look at that fire!”
Rose’s gaze was fixed on a helicopter and the fireman hanging on to the ladder hanging from it. She was watching, transfixed as, one by one, the helicopter moved people from the roof of the burning building to a place of safety, until all but the last two men had been rescued.
Then, to her horror, she watched as the helicopter started back and the roof of the burning building began to collapse. She squealed in horror, the
n covered her mouth, frozen to the spot by the drama unfolding before her.
“Oh lordy, lordy, the fire, the fire,” Rose mumbled.
Anna laid one of the daisy pot holders onto a burner, then took down the other one and piled it on top. A flame shot upward, past the cooking pots and up into the vent hood. Without missing a beat, Anna punched the switch on the hood. The motor started, instantly sucking fire up into the vents and the ceiling.
“Fire,” Anna said without moving.
Rose nodded. “Yes, it’s a big fire, but thank the Lord they’ve rescued all those poor people.”
“Fire,” Anna said again.
Rose turned. Her eyes widened, and she let out a scream.
“Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Fire! Fire! Oh, Anna, what have you done?”
She turned off the stove and the exhaust fan, then grabbed the cell phone and Anna’s hand as she ran, dialing 911.
Marcus was signing the last of some papers for his secretary when his cell phone rang. He frowned, glanced at the number, then picked up.
“Hello?”
Rose was screaming and crying, and he could hear sirens in the background. He jumped to his feet and raced to the window, as if by moving six feet to the right he could be closer to whatever was happening at home.
“Oh, Mr. Marcus…the house, the house…Anna set it on fire. I turned my back for just a minute and—”
Marcus stifled a groan. “Are you both all right?” he asked urgently.
“Yes, yes, we’re all right. The firemen have it under control, but the kitchen is ruined, and the fire went up to the room over it, too. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Rose! It’s all right. Things can be fixed. I just needed to know you’re both alive.”
Rose was sobbing.
His heart sank. What the hell else was going to happen to their family? Then he stifled the moment of self-pity and got to the point.
“Don’t cry, dear. It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I shouldn’t have left an unstable woman in the house for you to deal with. We knew Anna had problems. I put off getting her help, and now this is a result.”
“What do I do?” Rose asked.
“I’m on my way. Just stay with Anna for the time being. When I get home, I will take care of it all.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Marcus, and I’m so, so, sorry.”
Marcus dropped his cell phone in his pocket and grabbed his sports coat just as his secretary came back into the room.
“Devon, I’m going home. There’s been a fire at the house.”
“Oh no! Is there anything I can do to help?” she said.
He thought of Olivia. She was due to come home tomorrow, and Terrence and Carolyn were arriving today. He paused by the door, then nodded.
“Yes. Call Detective Trey Bonney at the Dallas PD, in homicide. Tell him to call me as soon as possible. I don’t want Olivia to hear about this from the news and suffer any more distress. She’s had more than enough to bear.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir,” Devon said. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually, there is.” He pointed to his desk. “See those brochures?”
She nodded, picking them up, then followed Marcus out of his office to the elevators.
“Find out how many of those assisted-care living centers have vacancies. I’ll call you back later to see what you’ve found out.”
“I’m so sorry about your home,” she said.
“It can be fixed. Losing people can’t. I’m just grateful that Rose and Anna are all right.”
“Is there anything else?” Devon asked.
Marcus thought of Terrence and Carolyn, due to arrive at DFW airport later that evening. They were supposed to take a cab to his house, but that wasn’t going to work out now. Thankfully, Rose had a sister who lived close. He knew she would want to go there.
“Yes, one more thing,” he said. “Call the hotel at the Mansion on Turtle Creek. Make a reservation for me, as well as one for Terrence and Carolyn Sealy, arriving this evening, with an open departure date. Then send a limo to the airport to pick them up. Give them a detailed explanation with the number to my cell phone, and tell them I’ll join them for dinner at the hotel tonight…say, around eight o’clock. If there’s anything else, I’ll let you know,” he said.
The elevator arrived. He rode it down as Devon returned to the office.
Trey got the phone call from Marcus’s office just as he was arriving at the scene of the hotel fire. Four bodies had been brought out by the firemen before the building collapsed, and more than a dozen people, some burned, had been rescued from the roof. The arson investigator was already on the scene, making sure that it stayed as intact as possible, while emergency personnel were working frantically on the burn victims, trying to stabilize them for transport.
He pulled up to the perimeter, parked, then quickly dialed Marcus’s number as he was getting out of the car.
“Marcus, it’s me, Trey. What’s up?”
“We’ve had a problem at the house. I know this is an imposition, but I don’t want Olivia hearing this secondhand and getting all upset.”
Trey stopped walking. Marcus’s voice was shaking, and there was an exhaustion there that Trey wasn’t used to hearing.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Anna set fire to the kitchen. It spread to a couple of rooms upstairs, as well, before they got it out. No one is hurt, but for the moment, the place is unlivable. I can’t have Olivia coming home from the hospital to this mess, and Rose is a basket case.”
“Don’t worry about Olivia,” Trey said. “I’ll take her home with me. Are you all right?”
Marcus sighed. “I will be. Just knowing that Olivia will be in good hands is relief enough. I’ve got Anna to place in assisted-living quarters, and the arrival of a cousin I can’t stand. Other than that, everything is fine. Oh! I’ll be staying at the Mansion on Turtle Creek.”
“Got it,” Trey said. “And please don’t worry about anything on this end. I’ll make sure Olivia understands what happened without frightening her.”
“Thank you,” Marcus said. “Thank you more than you can know.”
“On the contrary,” Trey said. “I’m the one who should be thanking you for trusting me enough to do this. I know how much Olivia means to you. Please know that I will make sure she’s well cared for. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you my address and home phone number.”
Marcus patted his pocket, then took out a pen and paper.
“Yes, I’m ready,” he said.
Trey rattled off the information, then quickly disconnected. He had to get through with this as quickly as possible, then head to the hospital—and Olivia.
13
Foster had never been on the right side of the law before, and being hailed as a hero felt good. He considered the consequences of staying around and taking the acclaim the media wanted to give him, but if he didn’t make himself scarce and soon, it wasn’t going to last.
“Hey, mister! This way! This way!” a reporter shouted.
Foster looked up to find a camera aimed straight at his face. Startled, he wanted to look away, but he was frozen in the spotlight.
The cameraman moved closer, as did the reporter with the mike.
“Can you tell us what it was like up on that roof?” the reporter asked. “Did you think you were going to die?”
“Uh…”
It was as far as Foster got before another reporter appeared on the scene with a second mike.
“What’s your name? Do you know how the fire started? Was the man you saved a friend?”
Foster covered his face with his arm and pretended to be overcome.
“Get back!” an EMT shouted as he grabbed at Foster and began forcing him onto a gurney.
Trey came up just as they were strapping Foster down and flashed his badge at the EMT.
“Where are you taking him?” he asked.
“Dallas Memorial,” the EMT said as they pushed the gurney into the ba
ck of a waiting ambulance.
Trey nodded, slammed the door shut and then gave it a thump to indicate they were clear.
The ambulance pulled away from the scene, then sped off into traffic. Trey saw Chia about thirty feet away and headed toward her at a jog.
“What have you got?” Trey asked.
Chia looked up, then brushed at a lock of hair dangling between her eyes, which spread a streak of soot all the way across her face.
“We’ve got at least four dead and a suspicion of arson. Other than that, no one knows anything,” she muttered.
“Warren said you and Dave were primaries, so what do you want me to do?”
She scanned her notes, then looked up. “Follow the ambulance to Dallas Memorial and talk to the hero of the hour. He might know something we can use.”
“Will do,” Trey said. “Anything else?”
“They’ve already transported some of the worst-off burn victims there,” Chia said. “See if they know anything. Dave and I have this covered. We’ll trade info later.”
Trey nodded, then handed her his handkerchief.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
He pointed to her face.
She rolled her eyes, dipped the handkerchief in a standing puddle of water and began scrubbing at her face as she walked away.
Trey grinned, then headed back to his car on the run. With media interest in the Sealy family at an all-time high, it followed that the fire at their home would merit coverage. He needed to get to Olivia before the gossip did.
Olivia had fallen asleep in the tangle of her sheets. Her arm had slipped out of the sling and was lying awkwardly across her chest. At her insistence, they’d finally taken the IV out, but there was a large bruise on the back of her hand where the needle had been. Her face was a mixture of healing scrapes and bruises, her hair a jumble of curls escaping from the twist on the top. Her lips had parted slightly, leaving her with a hint of a smile. In sleep, she’d been able to go where tragedy was just a part of her past, where there was nothing before her but a bright and hopeful future—back to where the love of her life had taught her how to be a woman.
