Chapter 20
Sacrifice. That’s why heroism isn’t a popular lifestyle. There’s always a cost. When people think of heroes, they can’t actually visualize the sacrifice made. They can’t feel it in their bones. Trust me, no matter what they did, no matter what they lost in order to do what had to be done, they changed in that moment. Life was no longer about living; it became about that one instant frozen in time. They will see that day over and over in their dreams.
Or in their nightmares.
****
I don’t want to write this. You really don’t need to hear the details, and I don’t have the money for the therapy I’ll need after recounting it. We all clear? I’ll just skip this part, then.
Damn it.
Fine, but you have to promise me that you’ll never end up in this position.
Here’s the thing about fire: It’s hot. I thought I knew that, but I quickly learned that I didn’t. I had only thrown myself back far enough so that the girl would still be alive in there. Any further back and I still would’ve had to make the run up the road before heading into the flames, and I knew I’d need my oxygen. Unfortunately, that shorter time window also meant that I had less time to get in and out before the front of the house collapsed. I figured about one minute. One minute until one or both of us would be trapped…. burning.
A thought tickled my subconscious: I could actually die tonight, powers or not.
I ran in anyway. Instantly, the girl’s screams were matched with my own. It was unbearable; the pain nearly knocked me to my knees in those first five seconds. Instinctively, I knew that I had one shot to do this. There was no way that I’d have the concentration to jump a second time.
With every ounce of will that I had, I silenced my own cries of pain. The heat still shrieked up every nerve, but I fumbled along toward the sounds of Rachel’s sister like a demonic Frankenstein. The fire burned clear on the inside, but smoke wasn’t the issue. The problem was the air itself. It was so thin, so dry, that breathing alone was agonizing. I heard a menacing creak. I knew what that meant. Twenty seconds.
20 seconds: I tripped, stumbled, and collapsed.
15 seconds: The screams were unbearably loud. Came from right beside my ear.
10 seconds: Staggered towards the burnt-out hole in the front, with the weeping, gasping girl barely held up in my arms.
5 seconds: Gasped. No air. Vision was fading, time was running out.
3 seconds: Collapsed to hands and knees. No way out now. No way.
2 seconds: Crawled. Hot. Too hot. The grass is on fire, my hands…
1 second: Grass?
The front caved in. The girl fell from my shoulders. I passed out.
****
The moment that I came to was agony. I thought I was in Hell. Literally, not figuratively. I didn’t know that this level of physical pain existed on Earth. That was my first thought.
My next thought was (as ridiculous as it sounds) that I had been abducted by aliens. Hey, don’t judge! It all fit: The gas mask over my face, the out-of-focus creatures flashing lights in my eyes, and the strange feeling of moving without being in motion myself. Do your worst, aliens. The fire certainly did.
I don’t remember when the ambulance came to a stop or how long I was in the ICU. I don’t even remember when it first occurred to me that I was alive. But I was, by some miracle, and I couldn’t believe it. I spent my first waking day by flip-flopping through extreme emotions while lying comatose on my hospital bed. I howled with laughter at my own good fortune. I wept with unabashed sorrow for the girl who must have died if I had barely survived. I raged against the feeling of rejection of the sacrifice that I had tried to make for that girl. Why didn’t you take what I offered? I demanded of the universe at large. For that first day, I had no answers.
The next day, I had answers in the form of visitors. I woke from a feverish, nightmarish sleep to find Chaplain’s concerned emerald eyes keeping watch over me from a chair he must have brought in himself.
“Chaplain?”
“Hi, lad,” He pulled his chair closer to the cot. He opened and closed his mouth like he was about to say something, but changed his mind. “I was worried about you.”
I grinned painfully. He knew how much I hated silly questions like “How’re you feeling?” or trite sympathies like “I hope you feel better.” His simple statement of concern was the most genuine feeling that he could offer, and I appreciated it.
“You should see the house.” I coughed as I tried to laugh. Even sarcastic one-liners hurt. This was going to be a long recovery.
Chaplain offered a slight smile in response to my attempt at humor.
“I did. And the nurse told me what you went in there to do.”
I rested my head back against the pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling. I felt a drop of moisture make its way down my cheek.
“She, ah….” I bit my lip in an attempt to regain control, but I couldn’t keep my voice from cracking. “She….didn’t make it, did she?”
“She did,” A powerful bass rumbled from the doorway. I lifted my head to look at the source, but the view was immediately obscured by Rachel’s mad rush to the bed.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” she moaned. “You look like a piece of half-cooked meat.”
Chaplain snorted with laughter, but coughed delicately as if to apologize for it. I was insulted, but I was also so delighted at the news that her sister was alive that I didn’t complain. Rachel, however, was too busy whipping through the spectrum of emotion to notice my silence, much to the amusement of Chaplain.
“I can’t believe you went in there,” she said, a grateful smile on her face. Then, abruptly: “I can’t believe you went in there!!” She scowled like a concerned mother with a wayward kid and punched me in the arm. I yelped, and she became instantly apologetic once again. Chaplain grinned at my befuddled expression and gently tapped her on the arm.
“Excuse me, lass. I think the boy’s still muddled a bit.” He smiled amiably. “I’m Chaplain.”
“Oh! Hi!” She shook his hand with her usual brusque energy and suddenly settled back to her normal self. I couldn’t help but smile at Chaplain’s talent; there had been many a day that I’d been out of sorts, but he always seemed to know exactly what to do in those situations. It’s a skill that I’ve tried to master over the past four centuries, and for the life of me, I can’t quite get a handle on it.
Chaplain finished introducing himself to Rachel and her father, Jon Michael, and swung his chair back into the corner to let the other two stand by the bed. Jon Michael was a powerfully built man, with thick black hair approaching salt-and-pepper territory. His steely blue eyes were set in a classically handsome face, and if Rachel seemed small in normal situations, she was absolutely dwarfed by her father. Without that horrifying expression of desperation and anger, his face had a steadfast and honest countenance that inspired trust and respect. I figured that if ever there was a father who could handle a daughter like Rachel without losing his mind, it would be Jon Michael.
“We can’t tell you how much we appreciate what you’ve done for our family,” he rumbled. His voice matched his appearance. “It took a brave man to do what you did.”
I shook his proffered hand gingerly. His calloused workman’s hands were rough, but his grip was gentle enough for my condition.
“You should take the compliment,” Rachel drawled idly. “Daddy dearest doesn’t hand them out like party favors.”
Jon Michael didn’t even look her way as he reached over and tweaked her ear, a slight smile betraying his amusement at her sarcasm.
“Ow!” she protested loudly. “Uncalled for!”
“But oh so necessary,” he responded drolly. “Now, Ryan, I want you to know that I intend to take care of all of your medical expenses while you’re here. Chaplain informs me that your situation is…..unique.”
Chaplain’s eye fluttered in an impossibly fast wink. I relaxed. Whatever Chaplain had told the fire chief,
it hadn’t been a lie or the full truth. It had just been what Jon Michael had needed to hear. I started to protest out of habit, but the big man just waved me off.
“Nonsense. You saved my daughter’s life. This is the least I can do. Rachel and I will be by to visit Cecilia on occasion. I’m sure my incredibly outgoing, and on occasion, loud daughter will want to drop by your room, if you’re feeling up to it.”
Rachel shot her father a disapproving glare at his description of her, but the love between them was obvious. I knew the response that they were both expecting and I was happy to oblige.
“Just loud on occasion? Are you sure you’re talking about the right daughter, sir?”
From the corner of the room, Chaplain winked again. A wave of emotions washed over me as the duty nurse kicked everyone out and delivered my meds. I tried to name them all: relief, contentment, and others, but most of all, I felt elation. For the first time since discovering my gift, I had done something noble, something worth being proud of it. Now I had friends, even surrogate family, and self-respect again. Despite my damaged flesh and bleak living conditions for the time being, I could honestly say it:
Life was good.
Chapter 21
It took a full three months to recover. My “half-cooked” body, as Rachel had so aptly labelled it, possessed no special durability despite my talents and the healing process was exasperatingly slow. By early March, I was able to amble around Scottsdale, although my steps were often marred by stumbles and grunts of pain. Rachel made it a point to accompany me on these exercise sessions, but it was clear the slow pace aggravated her to no end. She’d usually sprint a ways ahead of me and double back to where I was, panting for breath and grinning like a madwoman. I just shook my head in amusement. Despite being frustrated with my limited mobility, it was impossible not to find Rachel’s excessive energy contagious. At that point, I was convinced that she ran on unlimited batteries.
For her part, she kept my mind off of my recovery, constantly testing my wits as a method of passing the time. Her visits were so engaging that by the time she left, I was often able to fall asleep out of sheer mental exhaustion without the assistance of my medication.
She wasn’t my only visitor. Chaplain journeyed habitually to the hospital, slipping in and out of my room like a benevolent ghost. I swear, the man could sense when I needed his presence. If I ever needed to talk about something troubling or just sit quietly with someone else, he seemed to know exactly what was required of him. Hours with Chaplain didn’t race by like they did with Rachel; they seemed timeless, a perfect blend of comfort and relaxation.
My third visitor was far from a regular, but Jon Michael himself graced the dour room with his presence on occasion. There was no predicting when he might appear; his work hours seemed to have no regularity at all. Our conversations were often limited to Cecilia’s recovery, my own recovery, and Rachel’s antics. We shared a similar fondness for her free spirit, which Jon Michael confirmed did in fact come from her mother. His ice-blue eyes would take on a distant look when his wife came up in conversation, but I could sense the smile in that look was one of pleasant memories.
Jon Michael was a man of action, which bred a mutual respect between us. He didn’t like sitting still any better than I did, so our discussions were often on the move. Some days that meant pacing the narrow halls of Scottsdale’s hospital, or on the days that I was a bit weaker, wheeling myself around the courtyard as the fire chief’s imposing figure kept pace beside me. It was on a day like that when Rachel’s father posed an interesting question to me.
“Ryan, have you ever considered joining the force?”
I was dumbfounded. I silently gave the wheels of my chair another push and breathed in the damp spring air. I knew what that question meant to Jon Michael; Scottsdale’s firefighters were his pride and joy, and to ask me that question was the approximate equivalent of saying “I think you’re something special.”
“Sir, I-,” I paused. I didn’t want to lie to this man. He deserved the truth. “I, uh, don’t feel I’m worth it.”
It was accurate enough. I had tremendous admiration for Jon Michael, and for firefighters in general. After everything I’d done…….I just couldn’t associate myself with that kind of selfless nobility, you know? To my shock, the man’s heavy hand squeezed my shoulder.
“It takes a man to recognize his faults and admit them, but it takes something more than a man to do what you did for Cici,” he rumbled in his rich bass voice. “You’ll be fully recovered in a few more weeks. After our talks, I’ve gotten to know the kind of man you are.”
I winced internally. He had no idea the kind of man I was.
“I don’t think you-“
“I think you’re worth it,” he said simply. “It’s your decision to accept or decline.”
That was his way. He wouldn’t beg or try to convince me my own misgivings were misplaced; he believed in self-awareness. If I told him no, he would drop the subject without question, but I knew that in bringing up this conversation at all, he had another answer in his sights.
I swallowed hard, gathering my thoughts. A drop of rain kissed my right hand with coolness, and I glanced at the shining moisture trail it left. I thought about all the awful things I had seen my hands do in the past three years. Robbery, assault, cheating, and other sins flashed through my mind’s eye with aggressive speed. There were memories of Tara there as well. Could I ever really be a hero after all this? I was about to speak when the ugly scabs on my palm caught my attention. They were the remnants of the burns I’d received in my only act of selflessness. A familiar voice in my head spoke kindly, it’s gentle intonation leaving no doubt as to who it was.
Maybe it isn’t what they actually do, but what you see them doing that shapes your opinion.
A feeling I can only describe as a mental smile grew to bursting in my gut. Chaplain; always taking me to church. I suddenly understood what he had been trying to tell me. My actions had been wrong, no doubt about it, but my vindictive self-judgment had been the worst punishment I could inflict on myself. The flaking scabs held my gaze like a fleshy mirror. If water can’t wash your conscience clear, they whispered along my nerves, maybe fire can.
I knew then what my answer had to be.
“Sir?” I met Jon Michael’s eyes once again. I could tell by his smile he already suspected what I would say. “It would be an honor.”
****
Ow. That’s the only way I can summarize the training that Jon Michael and his boys put me through. I had anticipated difficulty, but there was no predicting the wringer they tossed me into. It brought me to the disturbing realization that I was not in shape. If this was the measure of fitness, I had never been in shape. You know in elementary school when those firefighters come teach you about fire safety and they’re usually older guys with a bit of a paunch? There were no such specimens in Jon Michael’s fire department and it was clear that that would never happen on his watch.
His drill sergeant-esque methods brought more exhaustion than I’d ever felt in my life. It was all I could do to pedal the bike I’d borrowed from Rachel back home to Chaplain’s cabin every night. By the time I stumbled through the door and collapsed face first on the couch, I was out cold. Chaplain got a good laugh out of my raccoon eyes every morning over tea as I glared at him wearily, too tired to protest. Rachel got a good kick out of my pathetic state, pulling no verbal punches. We still spent a good deal of time together, despite the department’s and the cabin’s demands on my time.
If anything, Rachel was possibly even less sympathetic than her alpha-male father. As soon as she got wind of my acceptance into the training, she had adopted a “mercy is for the weak” kind of policy with me, forcing me to go on extra runs with her. There were two reasons this bothered me. First of all, she was fast. Second, she peppered me with comic insults and I had no spare breath to retaliate with. Fortunately, she took pity on me once we completed one of her loops. Her expression would so
ften from gleeful wickedness to a combination of pride and something else I couldn’t quite identify as I lay gasping amongst the pine needles and dirt.
Weeks passed this way until I managed to keep pace with her and banter back and forth with her for the entirety of the run. As we sprinted toward our usual stop point, I threw every ounce of effort I had into a last burst of speed and beat her to the finish by a stride. We grinned at each other as we walked around for a bit, catching our breath.
“What’s the matter, Rachel? I had you beat by at least two yards. You’re not getting soft on me, are you?”
She snorted.
“Please, if that was two yards, then I’m a natural blonde.”
I raised an eyebrow in mock curiosity. She snorted again.
“You wish. No blonde joke from you, I’m 100% brunette.”
“Uh-huh,” I smirked. “A real brunette would know how much I beat her by.”
“And a real brunette would never admit to it in a thousand years.”
I laughed. Despite my constant state of fatigue, the past month of training had been the happiest month I’d had in two and a half years. I’d never felt better physically, either. I took off my shirt and used it as an improvised gym towel. April had been unseasonable warm each year, but I hadn’t noticed it’s effects until this time around.
As I wiped the sweat from my face, I noticed Rachel staring like a deer in headlights. It was rare for her to zone out, so I immediately teased her for it.
“What, you’ve never seen a guy with his shirt off before?”
She snapped back to reality in a heartbeat.
“Oh, sorry,” she grinned. “I went snow blind for a second there. You should really warn me before you do that, I need to put my sunglasses on.”
I rolled my eyes as she pretended to shield her eyes from my pale skin. I snatched her sunglasses off the top of her head, and held above my head far out of reach. She complained loudly and jumped for them a few times before she gave up on doing things the obvious way. Without warning, she tackled me into the ground like a tiny linebacker. It was so unexpected that I went down with embarrassingly little resistance. As I lay there in surprise, she grabbed the sunglasses out of my hand and pinned me down with a hand to my chest.
The Jump Journal Page 10