by Mia Ford
It was rare for a fire of this magnitude to disturb the peace in Mansfield, and the fact that I personally knew the family didn’t make it any easier. We had gotten the 911 call only half an hour ago, and the familiarity of the address had left me with a sick taste in my mouth. By the time we had arrived, John and Samantha Klein were already safe outside, with no sign of their son, Peter.
Bobby had been close on my heels when I stormed into the house.
I had grown up with John, had even dated his wife for a while back in high school before she learned that I was probably not the best guy to start a family with. Too much of a thrill seeker, an adrenaline junky since I was four, and definitely not in any way domestically stable. Besides, catching me in bed with her best friend had pretty much ruined any chance of our relationship going much further.
Still, John and I had stayed close. I was his best man at the wedding, shamelessly hooking up with one of the maid of honors afterwards. The two of us frequently volunteered at Mansfield Middle School, coaching baseball when the school’s coach was either too drunk or too high to show up. We enjoyed poker nights at his place, with Samantha civil enough to let me into her house without giving me the finger, and a few innocent football games over the weekends. I was also a regular at their summer barbecue.
So, it was no surprise when he made me godfather to his first born, much to Samantha’s dismay, I was sure. And I loved that kid like he was my own.
That same kid who now was somewhere inside this burning house, scared shitless, no doubt. And hopefully with enough sense to have taken what I had taught him about fires seriously enough to say alive until I could find him.
I shook the thought away and hurried across what remained of the Klein’s living room, praying that nothing else fell down around me or blocked my way up. I took the stairs by two, forcing myself to keep moving despite the flames that licked at me from every corner. Peter’s room was the first door to the left, and as soon as I was on the second-floor landing, I raced inside. The heat was a little more tolerable here, but the creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet told me that it was only a matter of time before the whole thing collapsed.
“Peter!”
Nothing. I quickly scanned the room and dropped to my knees to look under the bed. Stay low and go, buddy. Let’s hope you remembered that. He wasn’t there, and I was slowly beginning to panic. If he was as smart as I knew he was, he probably would have crawled out of the room. That meant I’d have to check the entire second floor, and I wasn’t sure how long the structure would stand.
“Peter!” I shouted again, hoping for at least some reply that would make my search quicker.
The closet door to my left was kicked open, and I turned towards the crashing sound. Peter sat in the corner, hidden behind hanging clothes that were just begging to be fuel for the fire around us. He was shaking, his eyes wide in horror, but he didn’t hesitate to drop down onto his stomach and crawl towards me.
I met him halfway, pulling him into my arms. He coughed uncontrollably.
“You’re okay, buddy,” I yelled over the sound of the flames. “Are you okay to run out of here?”
Peter shook his head, threw his arms around my neck and almost suffocated me.
“Alright, alright, window it is, come on.”
I dragged him beside me, making sure he kept his head as low as possible.
“Andy Stetson to Command. One conscious victim found on the second floor, front bedroom. Victim is frantic. I need a ladder and hands.”
I didn’t wait for a reply, quickly throwing the window open and pushing the small, makeshift desk to a side. I sat Peter down while I worked to remove the glass, the window sash and the Power Rangers curtains. From below, I watched Bobby leading a three-man team with a ladder towards us.
“We’re getting out of here, buddy,” I smiled down at Peter. He only nodded.
“We’re coming up, Andy!”
The ladder struck the bottom sill, and I watched Bobby quickly make his way up, the other two fighters bucking the ladder below.
“Okay, Peter, listen to me,” I said, kneeling down in front of him. “Here’s what you’re going to do. One leg out, sit on the sill, and put your foot on the rung. Then you grab the ladder, head and body out first, then your other leg.”
Peter looked at me, shaking like a leaf.
“I need to know that you understand me, buddy,” I said, holding him by the shoulders. For an eleven-year-old, he was awfully scrawny. “Peter, tell me you got this.”
Peter nodded.
“I need to hear it.”
“I got this, Uncle Andy,” he said.
“That’s my boy,” I said, and helped him to his feet.
Bobby was waiting outside the window, and we both stood perfectly still and ready for anything as Peter did exactly as I told him. Within seconds, he was being helped down the ladder and onto the lawn. It was only then that I let out a sigh of relief.
Bobby looked up at me and gave me a thumbs-up, then waved for me to follow.
I was out of the window in a heartbeat.
***
I walked into Pub 32 and was immediately welcomed by the cheers of my unit. All ten men and women were crowded over our usual two corner booths, which we had chosen specifically because we were rarely disturbed by the bar’s usual university crowd. And, of course, because we had full control of the darts board. For some of us, that was important.
It was also a strategic little spot that allowed me a full view of the bar with all its female clientele, ripe for the picking. There were benefits to living in a town with a university like UCONN, where every year, fresh faces filled the pubs and cafes, making my life endlessly entertaining.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Bobby yelled over the sound of the tribute bland causing a nauseating clatter that made me wish they would just bring in the DJ instead. “Lift your glasses up for the stupidest and most reckless son of a bitch I have ever known. To the slayer of flames, the savior of the innocent, and the collector of distressed women’s panties and STDs!”
“Cheers!” everyone called out in unison just as I slid into one of the booths and was handed a beer.
“Funny,” I said, lifting my bottle and taking a long swig.
“One day, you’re going to get the both of us killed,” Bobby shot me a smile. “Who’s going to stalk university students and take advantage of their daddy complexes if we’re both dead?”
“I’m sure there’s enough creep to go around.”
“Spoken like a true gentleman!” Bobby yelled and raised his beer to another deafening cheer.
I laughed and feigned throwing my bottle at him, and he slid in next to me while the others dispersed and quickly lost interest in his little charade.
“How’s Peter?” Bobby asked, dropping the act and returning to his more serious self.
“Doctors say he’ll be out tomorrow,” I replied. “He’s shaken up, but luckily nothing serious.”
“John and Samantha must be devastated.”
“I think they’re just happy that all three of them are alive.”
“Thanks to you,” Bobby nodded.
“Thanks to us,” I corrected. “You ran in there just as fast as I did, man.”
“I ran in there because I needed to make sure you didn’t kill yourself,” Bobby corrected. “A smart firefighter would have checked the upper floors from the outside. With a ladder. And more hands.”
I chuckled and took a long swig from my beer. “You sound just like the chief.”
“Wasn’t happy, I presume.”
“Was a few words away from calling my mother a cunt,” I smiled.
“Yeah, well, you deserve it.”
I laughed, mainly because he was right. Why the Chief tolerated my tendency for risk taking was beyond me. He was a tough bastard, and I was sure that he was close to fed up with having to chew me out every time I came back from the field. I had spent an entire hour in his office, wincing at the way his booming v
oice made the windows rattle, but the fact that my recent recklessness was because of Peter Klein who had kept him from suspending me. The fact that I was saving people also played to my benefit.
“Heard it was a gas leak,” Bobby said.
I nodded. “I think they’ll be staying with Samantha’s parents until they figure out what to do next.”
“Ya need help driving them?”
“Nah,” I shook my head. “Samantha’s father was already at the hospital. They’ll probably spend the night and then head out once Peter’s good to go.”
“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “It’s not like they have to pack or anything.”
“You have a fucked-up sense of humor.”
Bobby laughed, smacked me on the back and slid out of the booth, making his way to the bathrooms in the back.
I relaxed into my seat. It was a full house today, a large crowd gathered in front of the band, and groups of four or five scattered across the rest of the tables, voices mixed with the music and the sound of drinks being served. I scanned the bar, my eyes picking through the nineteen and twenty-year-olds squeezed together like sardines between the bar stools, drinking and laughing, enjoying themselves as if none of them had to wake up early for class. It was funny how Pub 32 managed to be crowded even during the weekdays.
I thought about playing a game of darts and was about to turn away when I caught sight of a petite blonde staring at me from across the bar. She was flanked by two of her friends, both obviously trying too hard to grab her attention. She wasn’t budging, though, and from the looks of it, was begging for a reason to leave. I met her gaze, held it for a few seconds, and then flashed her a smile.
She smiled back.
Looks like I’m not going home alone tonight.
“Caught something already?”
I turned just as Bobby slid back into the booth, his eyes searching the bar in the direction I had been looking.
“Blonde, ten o’clock,” I said.
Bobby’s eyebrows shot up. “I leave you for five minutes,” he said.
“More time than I need,” I smiled.
“She looks a lot like Hannah,” Bobby said.
“Why?” I rolled my eyes in exasperation. “Why do that? Why ruin a perfectly good night?”
Bobby laughed. “I need to keep you in line, man,” he said. “Before you go off with Miss Not-So-Perfect GPA over there, who probably got a scholarship based completely on the size of her rack, I need to remind you that you have a girlfriend. You know, just in case this one decides to spend the night and you need to hide her from Hannah in the morning.”
“One, Hannah is not my girlfriend,” I said.
“Right, friends with benefits, yada yada.”
“Two, I don’t need to hide anyone from her,” I continued. “You know that I do whatever the hell I want.”
“Really?” Bobby asked, looking over at the blonde again. “If you say so. Hannah sure as hell scares me.”
I chuckled and slid out of the booth. “For being an ass, you get to pay for my drink and Alice’s.”
“Who’s Alice?” Bobby asked. “Wait, the blonde? How do you know her name’s Alice?”
I shrugged. “She looks like an Alice.”
Before he could protest, I was weaving my way through the crowd towards my latest conquest, and what I knew was going to be a very satisfying night.
***
Her name wasn’t Alice. It was something else entirely.
Something I completely forgot fifteen minutes after I interrupted the sausage fest that was hovering around her, and ten minutes before her tongue was in my mouth with her hand down my pants.
Everything else about her was pretty much a complete blur the minute I had her in my Nissan Rogue and was driving back to my place. The radio was turned up loud, tuned to some modern pop bullshit that she wouldn’t stop singing along to. For a second, I felt like I was driving a high school drama queen to her first college frat party, especially with all the yapping and ‘like’s’ and ‘oh my god’s’. It almost turned me off completely, and there was an instant when I wanted to turn the car around and drive back to the bar.
But then she unzipped my fly, pulled out my cock and gave me one of the best blowjobs I ever had, all with me trying to keep the car from swerving off the road.
She was on me the second we set foot in my apartment, and it only took me ten minutes before I had her screaming so loud, I was worried the neighbors would call the cops. And she kept coming back for more. No matter how strong her orgasm, no matter how hard I fucked her. She always wanted more.
When we were finally done, she quickly fell asleep, and I had to roll her off me like a deadweight. I looked at her, blonde hair disheveled, arms tucked in between her huge breasts, her legs pulled up so that she was sleeping in a fetus position.
Bobby was right. I needed to get her out of the apartment bright and early.
Hannah really was a scary woman.
Chapter 3: Andrea
Dennis’s car was not in the driveway when I pulled up to the house. I let out a long sigh of relief, a part of me glad that I’d be spared a tongue lashing for being late, but another part of me just a little pissed off, too. No car in the driveway meant he was at the bar, drinking with his coworkers, and more than likely trying to get some girl’s number. Preferably one with daddy issues. He liked those the most.
I thought that, by time, the cheating would stop bothering me. The first time it had happened, he had come home well after midnight smelling like booze and perfume. I had been stupid enough to confront, and he had been quick with the beating.
It hadn’t been the first time he’d laid his hands on me. No. Dennis always had a temper, and it only took us three months into the marriage for him to blow up about some random, insignificant thing. I was raised to be tough, my father a cop who had always told me that if I wanted men to respect me, I had to show them that I was willing to earn that respect.
Dennis, on the other hand, felt otherwise. And my confrontation led to a black eye and cut lip that kept me out of work for three days until the swelling had died down enough for foundation to mask it. I should have walked out then, but I couldn’t. A part of it was shock, maybe. The fact that he could actually hit me came as a bit of a surprise, which, looking back, it shouldn’t have. So, I blamed my decision to stay on shock.
But the truth was completely different.
Dennis had been my high school sweetheart, and even though he was a popular kid back home, my parents had hated him. And they had been very vocal about it. To the point where my dad would actually chase him off if he ever came near the house. Once he had even threatened to arrest Dennis, which I knew was bullshit. But for a kid in high school, that had been a serious threat.
So, when I had finally worked up the nerve to tell them that I was marrying him, my father had given me a long, hard stare, rubbed his stubble and said, “Get out of my house.”
And I haven’t gone back since.
Now, looking at my reflection in the rearview mirror, a part of me wished he had done a little more than that. My mother had tried to stop me. Even my brother had tried to talk some sense into me. But I wouldn’t budge, mainly because I knew that as long as dad wasn’t going to get involved, I was going to be fine.
I regretted that more than ever now.
They’ll take you back, you know. Pack up your things, get in your car, and drive home. It isn’t that far, and they’ll take you back.
That little voice in my head had a habit of repeating that particular mantra over and over again, especially on days like this. When I was too stressed out to think clearly, or to come up with a better solution to my problems other than running away.
You don’t need better solutions. There’s just one!
I sighed, climbed out of my car and trudged to the front door. I hesitated, looked back at my car, and closed my eyes for a few seconds. My body was urging me back to the Honda, ask if silently pushing me to run away now, quickly,
before he got back. Forget the clothes, the jewelry, the few hundred dollars stashed away in the cookie jar over the sink cabinets. Go, now, and never look back.
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting back from ten. I pushed the key into the hole, unlocked the door and stepped into the house.
There was a general lack of warmth to the house. I could never put my finger on it, but ever since we had bought it, mostly out of my own savings, there was constant chill that ran through the whole place. My mother once said that a home’s warmth comes from the happiness within its walls. If that were true, then the house really did reflect the mood of its current inhabitants.
I quickly scanned the living room and hall, making sure that I truly was alone, and Dennis was not lying in some drunken stupor on the couch, finding his way home only because someone had been smart enough to take the keys away from him before he had started binge drinking. But the house was quiet. And cold. And annoyingly inhospitable, a feeling I had gotten used to over the years but was still strong enough to never let me forget.
I kicked off my heels and made my way upstairs, tossing my purse on the chair by the bedroom door. I felt the tension in my neck slowly ease, the knowledge that at least tonight I’d be Dennis-free making my nerves ease. I felt the muscles in my body relax, and I slowly began to undress. The chill against my skin felt good. I wiggled my toes against the cold hardwood floor and eyed the bed wearily.
Now what are we planning for tonight, Andrea?
I allowed myself a small smile, then quickly raced into the bathroom to wash up. Within minutes I was under the covers in my panties and top, staring at the ceiling and enjoying the fact that I had the bed to myself.
The thought of packing my things and racing home played at the forefront of my mind. It was teasing me gently, a little devil of a voice urging me to get up, quickly, quietly, and hurry. No one would know. No one would be able to stop me. Just pack and leave.
What then?
Anything, really. My parents had died two years ago, first my mother to cancer, and then my father three months later to a heart attack. Some say he had died of a broken heart, unable to live without his wife. Bobby had told me that our father had never been the same again once mom was gone. I believed him. The two of them had been the poster children for what a happily married couple should look like.