by Linda Mooney
“Because at some point you find out who your true soul mate is,” he answered. “Jolee, do you know how many millions of people spend their entire lives searching for that one special person they can spend the rest of their lives with? Who they can be truly happy with? Even though the window is brief between the time we finally discover who they are, and when we lose that chance forever, we still have that chance! I give the Seeker copies of his pictures so he can physically seek her through ads and the Internet.” He started pulling on his pants. “We have a lot more success at finding our true mates than it sounds.”
“But I barely know you,” she protested without conviction.
He appeared to realize that as well. “That's okay. We have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.” Leaning over the bed, he brushed the hair away from her face and gave her a soft kiss. “Get some rest, Jolee. I'll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?”
He turned around in the doorway as he continued buttoning his shirt. “Out for some Chinese, and to get rid of that disk before it melts.” A quick smile, and he was gone. Jolee heard the front door open and close.
Hunching down in the bed, she lay there, listening to the sound of the air conditioner turn itself on. He had gone out for Chinese. How did he know she liked Chinese? Her gaze shifted to the little plastic purple unicorn. Maybe he knew about her food preferences the same way he probably knew about a hundred other little things she was still unaware of.
One thing was very, very clear, though. She had fallen hard for the man in the photos. And there was no way she could deny she was now in love with the picture that had come to life.
Get some rest, Jolee.
Pretty sound advice, she admitted to herself, closing her eyes. She had a hunch it was going to be a long night when he returned. A smile crept onto her face. Oh, yeah. Definitely a long night.
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Chapter Seven
The smell of smoke woke her. Jolee lay in bed half-dazed as the pungent scent of something burning filled the air. Her throat seized up, forcing her to sit up and cough.
A hissing sound came from the living room. Hurrying over to the closet, she grabbed a simple shirt she normally wore to lounge around in and threw it on.
The air was quickly turning grayer. Halfway down the hall, a thickening cloud of smoke obliterated all sight of the living room. Jolee ran into the bathroom where she snatched up a washcloth, wet it, and placed it over her nose and mouth.
The shrill beep of the smoke detector going off startled her. She tried once more to go back into the living room, but the acrid cloud filling the apartment burned her eyes, and she was forced to follow along the wall with her hands. The front door was somewhere ahead, although she couldn't see it through her tears.
Over the sound of the detector she thought she heard someone pounding on the door.
“Jolee! Open up!”
Mike!
Something popped, sending a bright flare of light toward the ceiling. Jolee realized it was the computer. Her computer was on fire. Her computer was...
Exploding.
She'd downloaded copies of the photos onto her hard drive. Now they were disintegrating just as he'd said they would. Melting. Burning. Taking the computer and ultimately her whole apartment with it.
Vaguely, she remembered the last two pictures on the roll. The ones that were already black and rimmed with a reddish light. The photos had already started to burn when she'd gotten the roll developed. When she transferred them to her computer, their immolation had continued.
“Jolee! Open the door!”
Her hand encountered the side table behind the couch. The table where she always dropped her purse and mail whenever she got home. Her fingers felt something hard and with rough edges. The keys. Mike hadn't taken the keys with him when he left because he expected her to open the door for him when he returned. She tried to call back to him, but her throat closed up. Tears poured down her face. Her eyes burned.
She backed up until she felt the wall. The door was at the end of the short entryway, but how far was she from there? The computer was on the desk facing the wall leading into the hallway. To get to the door, she would have to pass right by it.
Dropping to the floor, Jolee started crawling. She could hear more popping noises. The smell of boiling paint and fabric was everywhere. Suddenly, a giant whoosh! of heat and sound washed over her. The sick stench of burning hair warned her she was on fire. Holding her breath, she frantically used the washcloth to beat out the embers.
The entire living room was in flames. The source of the fire directly blocked her path, preventing her from reaching her only exit. She heard Mike beating again on the door. He had to be aware of the fire by now. He had to know she was trapped inside.
Jolee retreated to the bedroom, but the air was filled with billowing, thick, grayish plumes around the ceiling. She had coughed so much, her lungs ached.
The only window in the room was divided into thirds. The two panes on opposite sides could be cranked open to let in air, but the middle one was fixed in place. There was no way she could squeeze through them. She could try to break them and climb out, but it was a straight three-story drop to concrete.
More coughing overcame her. Breathing was painful, even with the rag. A movement of light caught her attention. She looked out the door and down the hallway, and watched in horror as a line of flames slowly ate through the carpeting as it advanced toward the bedroom.
She rushed into the bathroom and shut the door. Grabbing some towels, she soaked them in the toilet bowl before stuffing them in the crack at the bottom of the door. Fortunately, the bathroom was tiled, not carpeted. If she was lucky she could keep the fire at bay long enough for the firefighters to arrive. She just hoped she outlasted the toxic smoke sifting into the tiny room.
The bathroom quickly grew warmer. Jolee sat in the tub shower and intermittently splashed water on her face while keeping the washcloth over her nose. No sound from outside permeated her safety zone.
She had no idea how long she remained crouched in the tub. She'd lost all sense of time. If the walls started going up in flames, her last resort would be to turn on the shower full blast. And pray.
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Chapter Eight
A sudden banging on the door surprised her. A second later it flew open, letting in a huge gust of billowing heat and ash, along with a firefighter whose appearance was more alien than human.
“Jolee Wiley?” the man inquired through his breathing apparatus. She nodded as he produced an extra breathing mask and handed it to her. “Put this on. Close your eyes and don't open them until I say so. Are you all right?”
She nodded again as she placed the mask over her face. Cool, fresh oxygen squirted up her nose, forcing her to cough the tainted air out of her lungs.
The firefighter rose to his feet, picking her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Jolee pulled herself into as tight a ball as possible and kept her eyes shut during the trip out of the apartment. Heat and smoke were everywhere, but the damage meant nothing to her. The man carried her down the flights of stairs and finally out into the night.
The sound of commotion assailed her as the firefighter directed, “Now you can open them.”
He was placing her on her feet when she heard her name called out. Mike rushed over to gather her into his arms as he tenderly dropped kisses over her smudged face. “Oh, God, Jolee. After all this time having to wait to find you, and then to almost lose you... What happened?”
“It was the photos,” she managed to say. The mask remained on her face, but her throat continued to burn. Her voice sounded strangled, hoarse. There were flashing lights everywhere. The street was clogged with police vehicles, fire trucks, and ambulances, not to mention a crowd of curious onlookers.
She started to say more when an
EMS technician approached and asked to examine her in a no-nonsense tone that told her she'd better agree. She followed him to the wagon where Mike continued to hold her hand.
“The photos? I don't understand, Jolee. How could they have anything to do with this? I destroyed the disk.”
She managed a guilty grin. Already she could feel the burns tightening the skin on her face and arms. Her legs and feet were just as bad. The early evening breeze chilled her skin, and she shivered as she lifted the mask enough to be heard. “I downloaded a copy of the photos to my hard drive before I placed the ad in the paper. I guess when they started to destroy themselves, they took my computer with them. Ouch!”
The EMS tech jerked back his hand that had been applying a salve to her face. “Sorry. Keep holding out your arm so I can take your blood pressure.”
Sighing loudly, Jolee obeyed. “You know, I should have thought of it sooner. I remember when I first looked at the disk that there were only thirty-four pictures on that thirty-six exposure roll. The last two shots were black and rimmed with a reddish tint.” She shook her head. “At the time I just assumed the last two shots were either overexposed or wasted shots.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “I shot the whole roll,” he told her. “Apparently the photos had already begun to disintegrate when you had the film developed. I'm sorry, Jolee. Your apartment is destroyed.” Dropping another kiss to her palm, Mike shuddered. “But you're alive, and that's all that matters.”
She managed to smile at him without too much pain. “Well, you know what this means, don't you? It means you're going to have to take me home with you tonight. Uhh...” She looked at the EMS tech for his approval. “I can go to his place, right? I don't have to go to the hospital for observation or anything, do I?”
“As far as I can tell, you're in pretty good shape for nearly being barbequed,” the tech grinned. “You want my opinion? An overnight stay at the hospital and a couple of x-rays of your lungs would be the wise thing to do.”
“I'm all right,” Jolee insisted.
“Until I see your degree telling me you're a physician, I would listen to the man,” Mike said.
She turned to the EMS tech. “What if I come in tomorrow for my x-rays? First thing in the morning?”
The tech thought it over. “Tomorrow? Well, if you sure you're okay, but you might have a little difficulty tonight breathing and swallowing,” he told her as he relieved her of her mask and tank. “Better to take care and get those x-rays as soon as possible.”
Mike promised to take her first thing in the morning, then helped her out of the EMS wagon as a man wearing firefighter gear strode up to them. The man gave the couple a nod.
“Miss Wiley? I'm Captain Westfall. We've managed to extinguish the blaze, but I'm afraid the place is a total loss. My men are still up there sifting through the debris and putting out any embers they find, to make certain it doesn't start up again. We're also looking for the fire's point of origin. Would you have any idea how it might have started?”
She gave a little nod. Although she knew it was wrong to lie, Jolee also knew she couldn't tell him the whole truth. “I think my computer shorted out. I remember seeing smoke and flames coming out of it before I retreated to the bathroom.”
The man rubbed his chin. “Thanks. I'll make note of that. Is there a number where I can reach you if we have any more questions?”
“Yeah. Here's my card,” Mike said, producing his wallet from his back pocket and handing one over. “The address on it is both my residence and work address.”
“Thanks. Try to have a good rest of the evening,” the firefighter said.
Jolee watched him leave.
“Damn.”
Surprised by the irritation in his voice, she glanced back at the man she had no compunction about staying with for the next sixty or so years. “What?”
“The Chinese food. I left it in the hallway when I called 911.”
“Guess it's inedible by now,” she commented.
Mark burst out laughing. “Yeah. You're probably right. Are you still hungry?”
“Is the Pope Catholic?”
“Great. My place is about a half-mile from here. I'm parked on the other side of that market. What do you say we head over to Dum Sing and stuff ourselves with the best moo shoo pork in town before heading home?”
Home. With the man of my dreams. “Sounds wonderful. What are your plans after we get home?” she asked as he took her hand and started to lead her down the block toward the corner market.
“Well, considering I've spent the last eight years of my life being celibate, waiting for you, and nearly going out of my mind searching for you these last two months...”
She stopped to turn and stare up at him. “No way! Are you telling me you haven't had sex for eight years?”
Mike let out a loud sigh. “That's one of the few drawbacks of being a Dream Seeker. Sex with anyone else isn't fun or worthwhile. Not until you find your match.” Gingerly touching her lips with the tip of his finger, he added, “As for later, I can safely say that a night of restful sleep is the last thing you can expect.” He grinned at her as he slipped an arm around her shoulders and they continued walking.
“And tomorrow?”
“Hell, Jolee, we have a lifetime of tomorrows. Let's just take it one night at a time right now and get to know each other better. Any objections?”
In the past twenty-four hours her life had gone from hopeless to incredible, with a dash of being nearly barbecued to death thrown in for good measure. Did she have any objections?
“None, Mr. Owensby. None whatsoever,” she assured him and drew an arm around his waist.
She suddenly remembered she had made a date with one of Block, Daye, and Tripp's stuffed shirts. Too bad she wouldn't be able to make it. She thought about calling the guy back to cancel when she realized her phone was in her purse, upstairs and incinerated like the rest of her things. Yeah, the guy would be pissed when she didn't show, but Jolee no longer cared.
Mike dropped a kiss to her singed hair but didn't mention the smell. Add another mark in his favor.
Oh, to hell with it. Jolee wadded up her mental checklist and threw it away. She no longer needed the damn thing anyway.
The End
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Author Bio
www.LindaMooney.com
Linda loves to write romance with a fantasy or science fiction flair. Her technique is often described as being as visual as a motion picture or graphic novel. By day she is a Kindergarten teacher, wife, and mother who lives in a small south Texas town near the Gulf coast. But at night she delves into worlds filled with daring exploits and sensuous, erotic romance.
With New Concepts Publishing:
The Gifted (Top Ten Bestseller)
With Whiskey Creek Press:
Runner's Moon: Jebaral (#1 Bestseller)
Runner's Moon: Tiron (#1 Bestseller)
Runner's Moon: Simolif (#1 Bestseller)
Runner's Moon Megabook (#1 Bestseller)
Sandeflay (#1 Bestseller)
HeartFast (#1 Bestseller)
HeartCrystal (#1 Bestseller)
My Strength, My Power, My Love
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