Forbidden Firefighter

by R. S. Elliot

  “It could have gone better,” I finally responded.

  “Why? Did she not leave you anything?” Aly asked.

  “Rather the opposite, actually,” I exclaimed. “She left me practically everything.”

  Silence on Aly’s end of the phone; then she said, “Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, wouldn’t you want something of your grandmother’s to remember her?”

  I didn’t need anything to remember my grandmother.

  There were some things even time couldn’t erase, I supposed. I certainly didn’t need a house this big. How my grandmother managed to stay here by herself all these years without anyone else around to fill the silence was beyond me. How had she not felt immensely alone in a house that could easily fit three families?

  I’d go crazy. I’m already going crazy! Hearing people walking around the house and imagining ghosts slipping in between walls.

  Maybe I had just grown accustomed to my two bedroom apartment with Aly. But now, even Aly was gone, and my lease would be up in a couple of months.

  “Are you okay?” Aly’s voice chimed in through the phone.

  “Yea,” I said. “Sorry. I just haven’t been feeling myself lately.”

  “Losing someone you care about is hard. It isn’t something you recover from quickly. You just need to get out of your head, do something productive,” Aly explained. She was no stranger to heartache and loss. The poor girl had lost her father at the age of fifteen and spent years trying to help her mother pay off debts left behind as a result of his medical bills. She knew what it meant to work hard and have direction and purpose.

  I had never felt that way. I never felt drawn in one direction or the other. There never seemed to be a reason for it in the past. Instead, I let the wind take me where it did. In every aspect of my life, I let whims and fancy guide me along each path. That’s how I ended up with five different changes to my major and an extra year spent at the university to complete my coursework.

  “I don’t even know what to do to be productive,” I said. “I’m not sure what the next step for me should be.”

  “What do you want to do? Where did you see yourself after graduating college?”

  Nowhere. I saw absolutely nothing. I’d grown so accustomed to living in the here and now, I’d forgotten to prepare for the future. Even my degree afforded me no direction at all.

  Independent Studies.

  There was no way to be any more vague than that. “I don’t know, Aly. I thought about going back to California and figuring it out from there. But now, there are all these responsibilities to tend to and relatives to piss off.”

  “Ooh.” Aly laughed. “Sounds juicy. I may need some details.”

  “There isn’t much to tell.” I passed into one of the small guest bedrooms, the one my grandmother had claimed for herself after my grandpa passed away. “My aunt and uncle weren’t very happy with my grandmother’s decision to leave the family business and house all to my parents and me. They were livid.”

  “I can imagine,” Aly exclaimed. “But you have a house now. Um...how do you feel about that?”

  I trailed a finger along the dresser in grandma’s room. All the same decorations and porcelain figurines from my childhood adorned the top, littered along the surface like shelves in an antique shop. “I don’t know. I feel like I can’t go anywhere. Like this is it. This is my responsibility now. I’m going to die in this house.”

  A burst of laughter erupted from the other side of the phone. “Wow. You’re really bent up about this. It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be. If you don’t want the family home, why don’t you just sell it to your cousins?”

  That might work. Even if my cousins couldn’t afford the actual price of the house, I could lower it to a price range that worked for them. That would certainly turn their scowling faces away from me and onto some other poor unsuspecting fool.

  Except for my parents.

  Mama and Daddy would never allow me to sell Hummingbird Hollow. Not to anyone, and certainly not to my cousins. They would concoct some legal excuse to prevent it from happening. Something excruciating and costly that would completely bankrupt me in the process.

  “I don’t know. Things are complicated down here,” I said. “Everyone is at war with one another.”

  A small jewel-plated box crossed my gaze. I gasped and set the phone down to free my hands. My fingers wrapped around the tiny device, a music box no bigger than a tangerine.

  “What is it?” Aly asked, shouting loud enough for me to hear her.

  I tapped the speakerphone button on my phone and continued my examination of the treasure. “It’s the music box my grandmother used to play for me every night before bed. Whenever she would visit, or whenever I would spend the night here, she would wind it up, and I would fall right asleep.”

  I easily found the windup mechanism and twisted it around until the music played. Two figure skaters emerged from the box, twirling about on the ice as they clung to one another.

  That was it. That song. It’d been playing in my head every night since the funeral.

  It brought back the stories about how my grandparents first met, in the middle of winter at a skating rink. The music box had been a gift from my grandpa to my grandma to commemorate the day their lives changed forever. A beautiful sentiment for someone else perhaps. But, I had decided long ago that true love was not in the cards for me.

  The tune floated through the room, filling it with all the same warmth and feelings of love I enjoyed while my grandmother was still alive. The gentle lullaby calmed me, and I smiled for the first time in days.

  Shortly after, I said my goodbyes to Aly and left the room. I still had an entire trunk of clothes to remove from the car and sort through before the end of the night. Like a trick of the mind, that lullaby once again lured me into the realm of sleep, and I felt more tired now than ever before.

  I dragged the trunk inside but made it only about halfway through the living room before plopping down onto the couch. Damn, that music box turned me into Pavlov’s dog, triggering the snooze cycle as soon as I heard it. My eyes fell closed, and I was out.

  I wasn’t sure how long it had been since I nodded off to sleep, only that the sounds and smells that woke me would haunt me in my sleep for years to come.

  A scent like charcoal wove its way through the house, replacing the peppermint and cinnamon signature fragrance of my grandmother’s home. A gentle crunch like crisp autumn leaves beneath one’s feet echoed down the halls. It swept to my ears in a cautionary whisper. Not a roar, nothing overtly booming, but enough to draw my suspicions toward the back of the house.

  What in the actual hell?

  I rose to my feet, finding my steps surprisingly unsteady. I lost my balance and tumbled into one of the cabinets—luckily nothing containing grandma’s good china. My shoulder stung like hell though, and the force of the collision was more than enough to jar me out of my stupor.

  What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel this way?

  I made my way toward the back of the house, where the kitchen and the stairs leading to the second story of the house were. I made it only a few feet deeper into the house before I realized the source of those horrific smells. Billowy clouds of smoke filtered into the room, preventing me from taking another step further. I couldn’t make out any flames or any light, beyond that of a distant spark or two in the distance. But all this smoke could only mean one thing.

  Fire.

  My pulse leaped into my throat, strangling and robbing me of the last few gasps of air left around me. My first instincts told me to run. I needed to escape, to put as much distance between me and the house as possible.

  As soon as I reached the outside, I was equally as surprised by the collection of fire trucks and vehicles poised outside my house for help. Where had they come from? Had a neighbor seen the fire and called them? How long had the fire been going on for?

  None of it made any sense. This was a small town for sure. But
even I couldn’t have imagined the fire trucks would get here that fast.

  I pinned the argument in my mind for later, making a note to revisit the unsettling feeling I had about all of this with a clearer head. Instead, I turned around to face Hummingbird Hollow. A weight plummeted from my chest down to my toes in an instant.

  If I wasn’t still breathing, I’d have thought my heart had stopped. Flames lapped up the side of the house, exiting through a window in the upstairs part of the house.

  It was a bedroom, an old guest room decorated in the French Colonial style—or maybe not. I was remembering it as it was three years ago, and I hadn’t stepped foot in it since. Even today, I kept away from the second floor of the house. There was enough nostalgia and memories to keep me company on the first floor without venturing any further.

  So, if I haven’t even been up there, then what would start the fire?

  A fireman appeared beside me, tugging on my arm and turning me around to face him. “Is there anyone still in the house?”

  I shook my head, still in shock. “No. Just me.”

  “Where’s it coming from?” he asked.

  “It looks like it’s upstairs.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t go up there.”

  The only rooms I had explored were downstairs, mainly the living room and my grandmother’s bedroom. Fear pierced through my chest, awakening my thrumming pulse with another spike in pace.

  The music box.

  I’d never forgive myself if something happened to it. All the other memories, almost every other part of the house, I could part with. But not that. Even as an adult, I replayed that song over and over again in my mind. It was a soothing sort of lullaby that had kept me going all these years. Another chant to champion my way forward. Just as my grandmother always had.

  I wasn’t about to let it all go up in flames without a fight.

  I bolted off into the house, tearing through clouds of smoke and fending off a fireman or two. My skill at avoiding them and my dedication to entering a burning building had me looking as much like a quarterback as it did a madwoman.

  I was also painfully aware of someone on my heels, waiting to pry me from the door jambs if necessary. They could take me out kicking and screaming. I’d allow it. But not until I found that box.

  Five seconds in the house and I realized just how stupid I’d been. Fine, not stupid. Just hopelessly distraught and clinging to whatever remnants of my grandmother I could.

  My lungs constricted against the thick clouds of smoke. The air tasted dark and chalky. It stole the breath from my chest and dried my lips like sand in the desert. The world around me blurred into tiny gray and white swirls, but I pressed ahead. I stumbled into a wall, propping myself up against it for support. My grandmother’s room was somewhere close. I knew the house so well, there was no need to see the rooms to navigate through the smoke.

  I made it to the room in just a few short seconds, flailing the door open as I propped myself up against the frame. I could barely make out the details of the figurines on the top of the dresser. Not even the dolls were discernible in my diminishing focus.

  The colors on the music box twinkled brightly through the haze encircling my head. I felt dizzy, so dizzy, but still I reached for it. My hands slid down off the table, pulled down by some unknown force. All the while, the floor rose up to meet me, slamming into the side of my head with a numbing pressure.

  Am I on the floor? Did I slip and fall?

  If I did, I couldn’t remember any of it. All I knew was how incredibly tired I was and how difficult it was becoming to keep my eyes open. I strained against the weakness in my throat compelling me into silence. Nothing fled past my lips. No cries for help, no sobs.

  Nothing.

  A shadow passed in front of me.

  A ghost, maybe? Or something sinister.

  No matter the case, I was helpless to fight it.

  The world around me slid into the abyss until nothing remained but the darkness.

  Chapter Two

  Hunter

  I would honestly like to say I’d never seen anything like it, but then that would be a stretch, even for me.

  There was never any surprise anymore to how foolish people could be when it came to preserving their material possessions. They would even do something so stupid as risk their lives by running headfirst into a fire, just to salvage a perfectly replaceable, perfectly ordinary object.

  The girl in front of me was no different.

  She bolted into the house—no warning, no reason. Led purely by a whim, she not only put her life in danger but mine and my men.

  It took us half an hour to put out the fire. By then, she had already come to and had inhaled enough oxygen to restore at least part of her strength. I eyed the music box stationed between us on the back of the truck.

  All that trouble for a silly trinket. It had better be worth it.

  “Thank you,” she said weakly. The rough undercurrent of her words revealed just how much of the smoke she had inhaled. She must have been asleep for a while, taking in all that smoke without even realizing it.

  I pushed down the feelings welling up inside of me. No matter how many times I did this, there was always something about the potential loss of life that struck a nerve. Some people get pretty numb to it after a while.

  Not me.

  At least not in the last six years or so.

  I watched her, curious to know what would possess a woman like her to put her life at such a risk. The long blonde strands framing her face made her look so sweet and innocent. She couldn’t have been much older than twenty. So much time ahead of her—so much potential.

  Almost lost forever.

  “What were you doing?” The words blurted past my lips before I had the chance to capture them.

  Fuck, I was already out of line. But this woman had to see reason.

  She stared up at me, still somewhat dazed from the smoke inhalation, but more confused by my tone. Hell, even I was confused. Where was all of this coming from?

  She shook her head. “I don’t—”

  “You put everyone’s life at risk by running back into that building,” I explained. “Including your own.”

  The woman tilted her chin upward, exposing the slender line of her throat. I tried not to notice how pretty she was, or how the self-assured stance she now took made me imagine things that were even more out of line than my scolding. “I had my reasons.”

  I reached down between us and held the trinket box out to her. “This? Is this worth your life?”

  She snatched it from my hand, quickly clutching it to her chest as if it were her only tether to this world. The slight pout of her lips distracted me.

  Damn it! This woman was trouble. “It’s worth it to me.”

  A pause of silence lingered between us. The box looked as though it cost a small fortune. I could see how she might think to protect it. Losing something that valuable would be a loss, especially when faced with the damage to her house.

  I’d seen it a hundred times. Spoiled, wealthy citizens concerned with the financial loss of their home would grasp at any item of value they could think of in a time of panic. Judging by the size of her estate, I imagined she fit that bill quite nicely.

  “I am sorry that I put you and the others at risk though,” she added softly. Her straight blonde hair fell down around her face, shielding her features from view as she peered down at the music box in her palms.

  Maybe she wasn’t a spoiled socialite who cared for her material possessions. But she was still trouble.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing.” She lifted her head. “A silly trinket, like you said.”

  Sarcasm littered each word. She had closed herself off, escaping the rush of emotions taking hold of her. I couldn’t blame her. She’d nearly lost her entire house. It would likely cost a small fortune to repair it.

  And here I was, scolding her as if she were a child throwing a tantrum.

&
nbsp; A soft trail of tears lined her eyelids, cresting just past the surface. One broke free, falling down her cheek and blazing through the dark smudges of ash and soot lining her skin. Instinctively, I reached out to wipe it away. A pulse of electricity shivered through me, soft and subtle, yet awakening.

  She faced me and I had to remind myself to breathe.

  Her soft lips parted in questioning, wanting to speak, wanting to ask for help even. But no words spilled forth. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

  In that moment, she seemed so broken, so vulnerable; I didn’t know how to respond. I felt almost guilty for accusing her of being one of those pampered, young girls with no other direction in life but to max out their father’s credit cards. Clearly, there was more going on. Something she wouldn’t discuss with a random stranger, no matter if I did just save her life or not.

  I sighed. “Look, I shouldn’t have been so hard on you.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” Her soft eyes leveled over me, a dark, cobalt blue in the midnight sky.

  “I’m trying to apologize.”

  “Well, save it,” she said. “I don’t need your apology, and I don’t need your sympathy.”

  Damn. The woman was stone cold. All because I’d scolded her? I got the impression people didn’t normally talk to her that way. A fit, sculpted Amazon like her surely garnered her fair share of attention. Men probably threw themselves at her feet, while she likely enjoyed every last minute of it.

  Well, I would not be one of them. I’d chased around enough hard-headed blondes in my lifetime to know it was the last thing I wanted to do again. I wasn’t about to add another one to the list, no matter how soft her lips looked or how perfect each curve of her body fell into place.

  “Hunter, we found the cause of the fire.” Gerald approached us, drawing me away from my thoughts of the woman’s body. I was heading into dangerous territory. The sooner we washed our hands of this mess, the better.

  Gerald toted a small ball of something in his hands. He held it out to me, and I claimed it, twirling it between my fingers twice before realizing what it was.