by J. R. Tate
A tear rolls down her cheek, smearing her mascara. “I wish I knew what was going on with you. Rusty sees you sleep walking. You swear you hear something that no one else does. You drink almost a whole bottle of scotch and you sleep all day. That’s not like you, Nathan.” Her voice shakes and more tears follow.
Sitting beside her, I pull her in for a hug. Her tears are warm against my chest and it breaks my heart to see her this way. Running my hands through her hair, I kiss the top of her head and sit in silence. I truly am at a loss for words. I’ve seen and heard the same things, now consistent and in different parts of the house. Something is going on, but I’m not quite ready to admit it. I have to chalk it up to my strange work schedule. People present differently when sleep deprived. Sleeping all day would also justify that reasoning, but I feel well rested. Why were the hallucinations still coming around?
Rose pushes away from me and walks to the closet. She dresses in jeans and a tank top, unable to make eye contact with me. Smoothing her hair down, she takes a long look in the mirror and finally glances back at me.
“I think the stress of your job is getting to you, Nathan. You need to tell someone.”
She’s right, but I still can’t admit it. What kind of firefighter would I look like if I went running to the department and told them I’m having issues? No one would want to work with me.
“I’m fine, Rose.” I know it’s a lie. She knows it’s a lie. Hell, even my son suspects something.
“You don’t look it. You aren’t acting it. What’s gonna happen when you spaz out in a fire and get your company killed? You want that on your conscience on top of everything else?”
She doesn’t give me a chance to answer her before she walks out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Leaving me alone on the bed, I stare at the TV again. It’s off with no signs that something had just come through. No static. No razor teeth. No voices. Suddenly, I’m scared to be alone. The mere thought makes my palms sweaty. Big bad Lieutenant Gallagher now scared of the dark and scared to be by himself. I’d never admit any of it out loud.
***
The next morning, I'm up early. I didn't sleep well the night before, and the fact that I have a tour today means that I'm even more anxious than normal. After seeing the creepy image in the TV, I don't even want to close my eyes. Rose doesn't talk to me much. In fact, she slept on the couch and hasn't spoken to me all morning. Rusty is still suspended from school, so we let him sleep. What else could we do with a teenager when we're not home to crack the whip at him? With all of my energy gone, it's the last thought on my mind.
I pass by Rose in the kitchen. She's quickly packing a lunch, but to my surprise, she has poured me a cup of coffee and set it next to the newspaper. She still stays silent and doesn't even make eye contact with me.
"Rose, I'm sorry about yesterday." I reach out to her, but she scoots out of my reach and throws her sandwich in her lunchbox. I notice her scrubs, and though they aren't the most flattering for a woman's figure, she still looks great in them. "You look beautiful, babe."
"I had a restful night on the couch." Her tone is sarcastic.
"I didn't tell you to do that."
"No, you didn't," she replies as she grabs her keys from the key rack. "It wasn't good sleep, but a hell of a lot better than if I would've gone upstairs with you. At least I didn't end up on the floor."
I go to take a sip of my coffee, but her comment stops me. "I said I was sorry about that. What else do you want me to do, Rose?"
My question stops her in her tracks, and she finally makes eye contact with me. Her glare burns a hole through me. "Talk to someone. Go to the doctor. Find out what in the hell is going on with you."
"I feel better," I lied. My head is still pounding and whatever I was hallucinating hasn’t let up. What Rose doesn’t know won’t kill her, at least I hope.
"You're full of shit, Nathan. The department has a psychologist, right?"
"Yes, but usually for firefighters who lose a victim or someone in their house. I don't think I need to talk to a psychologist." Truth be told, they are available for anything, but it goes in your personnel file. I don't want that red mark on my reputation.
She looks down at her watch. "Damn it, I'm gonna be late. I'll see you tonight." Rose goes through the back door, slamming it behind her.
Finally taking my first sip of caffeine, I feel it flow through my body, instantly helping my headache. "I love you too, Rose," I say to myself as I gather up my gear.
The probie is busy mopping the kitchen when I arrive. It's seven forty-five and I make sure the captain sees that I arrived earlier than last tour. After the reaming I got for setting an example, I smirk and give a nod as I pull open the newspaper for my first scan of the news.
"Hey Lieu, anything interesting going on in our fair city?" Firefighter Gonzales opens the refrigerator and pulls out a Coke.
"No," I reply, and leave it at that. Aside from being interrupted, I just don't feel like socializing. My headache is getting worse, I'm exhausted, and there are things on my mind that I can't discuss with anyone. I'm not a guy who expresses my thoughts too much, but I like to vent with the best of them. Keeping this bottled up is killing me, and I want to tell it to someone. I can't even tell Rose. How would they react if I say I'm seeing ghosts? Are they ghosts? Is it my imagination? Hell, even I think I'm crazy and I'm really experiencing it. How would it be if the tables were turned and one of my men came to me with this? I'd pull them off the truck in a heartbeat.
The alarm sounds, dispatching us to an apartment fire a few blocks from here. Closing the newspaper, I slide down the fire pole behind two other men and pull my turnouts on. Climbing into the passenger seat of the truck, we merge out into traffic. Shocker. No one moves out of our way or yields to the big ass red truck with lights and sirens going.
Looking over my shoulder, I check on the probie. He looks like he's about to puke up his breakfast. It's the standard response, especially since this is his first live fire. I'd worry if he were acting any other way.
We pull up to the scene. Flames are billowing out of a third story window. Bystanders are all around, pointing and taking pictures with those damn cell phone cameras. I grab the probie's arm.
"Follow me. This is the real deal."
He nods and tries hard to hide the fact that he's about to shit his pants. I remember my first fire, even after all of these years, and I don't envy the kid. The men stand around, waiting on orders.
"There's no report of any victims inside. We'll run the hose up. Gonzales and Jones, you go in first and sweep the place. I'll keep the probie with me. You run into anything, radio it in. I want complete contact!" I yell over the roar of the fire and the men move into action, all scattering to their appropriate places.
I feel the probie right beside me. We, along with my hose man, walk to the main point of entry. I fight off the horrible headache and we move in, taking the steps two at a time before we reach the third floor. The smoke is thick, and we put our masks on, already needing fresh oxygen. Kneeling, we stay as low to the floor as we can.
My radio crackles and it's the captain. "There's a victim in apartment thirty-five! Gallagher, take the probie and do a sweep! Search and rescue is looking for another victim on the fourth!"
I look over at the probie and nod. "You ready for this?"
He shakes his head. He isn't ready, but it's time. The visibility is practically zero and I squint to make out the numbers on each door. Thirty-three, thirty-four, finally, thirty-five. We stop right at the threshold and I hold my hand up. "What's the first rule for opening a door, probie?"
It takes him a second, but he says, "Check it for heat."
"Right." We run our hands down it. "What do you think?"
He double checks. "We're good. We can open it."
I check the doorknob. It's unlocked, thank God. I don't think I have the energy to bust a door down right now. The door flies open and aside from some smoke, it appears that the fire hasn't m
ade it down to this unit yet. Still, we keep to the floor. Yelling out, we identify ourselves and listen for any response. Nothing. I round the corner, checking closets and doors.
Queuing my radio, I say, "Captain, is it a child or an adult?"
"I don't have that information, Lieutenant."
Of course he doesn't. Finally, I see a leg sticking out from under a wall that looks to have collapsed. It's the wall right next door to where the fire had spread, so flames are licking the ceiling and room, and moving fast. Crawling, I double check to make sure the probie is still with me. He's right behind me, and I reach out, pulling on the leg. It is a young female, about ten years old.
Sticking my head under the rubble, I say, "Hey there. I'm Nathan with the fire department. Do you wanna come with me?" The probie can't fit with me, so he stays back. The girl is scared and resists at first. "I promise we'll get you out of here."
"Am I gonna die?" she asks, her eyes full of tears.
"No. We're here to help you."
I am able to convince her and pull her. Thankfully, the wall gives way and I don't need assistance in getting her. I sling her over my shoulder and she is heavier than she appears. The probie watches on and we finally hurry outside, getting her to an ambulance. The air is toxic and I'm not sure how long she has been exposed to it.
The paramedics take over and I watch on, hoping she'll be okay. At least she was talking. That's a plus.
"Lieutenant Gallagher, she's dead." One of the paramedic’s double checks pulse and places his stethoscope on her chest.
"What? Are you sure?"
"We usually can't call at the scene, but she's gone. Her neck is broken."
She's dead? How is that possible? I was just speaking with her. Stepping up into the ambulance, I straddle the gurney and begin CPR. I feel a hand on me, trying to pull me away, but with my adrenaline pumping, the low energy I was feeling is replaced by stamina I haven't felt in days.
"You're giving up too easy!" I begin chest compressions, but the girl is completely stiff under me, her eyes glassy as they stare up at me. The same eyes that were just now looking at me.
I look down at the probie who is speaking with the captain, and I hear him say, "He was having a whole conversation. Captain, I could tell when we got in there that she was gone. The wall fell on top of her somehow. I guess when the building weakened from the fire. I'm not sure why he was talking to her."
The captain looks from the probie and up to me, his expression stern. Walking to the ambulance, he says, "Gallagher, get out of the back of the ambulance. She's gone."
I do a couple more compressions before I finally pull myself away. Stepping down, I see that the fire is contained. I'm at a loss for words. The looks on everyone's faces speak louder than anything.
The captain pulls me to the side, putting his arm on my shoulder. "Take the rest of the tour off, Gallagher."
I push away and rake my hand through my hair. "What?"
"You were talking to a dead girl, Lieutenant. Take the rest of the tour off. It happens to a lot of us. There's no shame in it. You just need a break. Clear your head some."
I can't believe what I'm hearing. With everything happening at home, and now this? Maybe I did need time off. Maybe my imagination is getting the best of me. I feel freaked out and I look away from my superior, trying to hide it.
"I'm fine, Captain."
"We'll cover your shift. Go home. Come back tomorrow refreshed."
There is no reason to argue with him. He is right, just like Rose was when she mentioned me freaking out in a fire. I don’t want to risk my men's lives. It is my pride that hurts the most. I've never had to leave a tour early for something like this. Never. How will my men view me now? How will I explain it when I do come back?
Most importantly - what the hell is going on in my head?
Chapter Four
When I get home, Rusty is on the couch watching some reality show and pigging out on a sandwich. I don't say anything to him as I walk through the door and throw my duffel bag down. It's only eleven in the morning and my tour was supposed to go until six this evening.
"Dad, everything okay?"
I haven’t even showered after the fire, and I'm sure I have soot all over my face. "Good. Fine."
Turning the TV off, he sits up and stares at me. It pisses me off, and I start for the stairs before he can interrogate me. I'm not quick enough.
"Why are you home early?"
Shit, if I tell him the truth, he's going to tell Rose and then I really won't hear the end of it. Quickly, I try to think up an excuse to tell him, but my fucked up mind can't do that for me. It can conjure up all of these images and have me talk to a dead girl, but I can't think up a simple excuse as to why I'm home early.
Looking over my shoulder, I shrug. "Decided to take some time off."
"Bad fire?" he asks.
Gripping the stair rail, I clench my jaw. "Damn it, Rusty! I just told you why I'm home. Leave it at that!"
I don't even bother to wait for my son's response. I go up the stairs, my muscles aching as I finally reach the landing. Walking in my room, I see Rose's scrubs, panties, and bra on the floor from yesterday evening. The lovemaking was great up until the damn razor-toothed woman decided to appear in our TV. With the way she's angry with me, it's likely I won't get to do that with her for a long time. And surprisingly, it doesn't upset me too bad. My sex drive is usually ramped up at all hours of the day, but now I don't even give it a second thought. What the hell? My libido is slowing down along with it all? I guess it doesn't matter. Rose won't want to touch me, especially when she finds out why I am home early. Shit, what a vicious circle this is becoming.
Stepping out of my pants, I pull my shirt over my head and turn the shower on full blast. Taking one long glance at myself in the mirror, I don't even recognize the Nathan staring back at me. Who is this man? Why is he so angry? And why all the sudden could he possibly qualify to be taken away to an insane asylum?
The mirror fogs up and I run my fingers through it, only clearing enough to show my eyes. They look cold and dead. They look like I could use a year of sleep. Pulling myself from the reflection, I step into the shower, feeling the hot water engulf me. The soot and sweat drip from me, circling the drain at my feet. Leaning against the cool tile, I close my eyes and allow my body to rest, even if it's just for a few minutes. It's the first moment of sanity I've felt in I don't know how long.
***
Rose
My shift at the hospital was brutal. The subway ride home is even more excruciating. It wouldn't be so bad if I could get the stuff with Nathan off of my mind. He's really worrying me, and when I get home around six, I'm surprised to see his truck in the driveway. He usually doesn't get home from a tour until six-thirty at the earliest. Hurrying through the front door, I see Rusty on the couch.
"Hey, son, everything okay? How was your day?"
He leans forward, his brow creased. I usually have a hard time getting him to talk about anything, so when he responds to my question this way, my heart sinks.
"Dad came home early today. I asked him why and he said he just wanted to take some time off."
Weird. Usually he at least texts me to tell me when he's doing that. "Where is your father right now?"
"I guess upstairs. He went up there when he got home and hasn't come down. He's pretty pissed off for some reason."
I walk behind the couch and tousle his hair. It's something I've done since he was little, and as a teenager he doesn't care for it near as much. It's a bad habit, but this time, he doesn't object to it. Instead, he watches me closely. "Thanks, Rusty. I'll start supper soon. I'm just gonna go check on him."
A pang of butterflies courses through me as I open the door to the bedroom. Nathan is burrowed in the bed, completely covered up aside from his foot hanging over the side. Stepping closer, I sit on the edge and pull the blankets back. He's sleeping hard. Usually he's a light sleeper and that would've woke him up, but he doesn't t
his time.
What is wrong with my husband? I fight back the emotion and run my hand through his thick, dark hair. His eyebrows move some and he responds to my touch. A low moan escapes his slightly parted lips and he says something I don't understand.
"Nathan." I don't say it loud. I've never had to to get him to wake up. Nothing. This is not normal. "Nathan!" I raise my voice a little louder and his eyes shoot open. His body stiffens and he lets out a gasp, pushing away from me. "Nathan, it's me, Rose!"
He grabs the blankets as if he's shielding himself from something. "Go away!" He's looking past me at the far corner of the room and I look in the same direction, but I don’t see anything.
"Nathan, what's wrong? It's me, Rose." I place my hand on his thigh and he finally starts to come to.
"Rose..." His voice is raspy and he rubs his temple, wincing. "I'm sorry."
"Were you dreaming?"
He nods and winces again. "Shit, I have a horrible headache."
"Rusty tells me you came home early."
"I did." He leans over and sifts through the far nightstand, pulling out a bottle of ibuprofen. He swallows the pills with no water. I've never understood how he can do that. Just the sight of it makes me gag.
"Why? What happened?"
Nathan shrugs. "Took some sick time. Figured I need to catch up on sleep."
He's lying. I've been married to this man for a long time. I've caught on to his quirks and things he does when he's not telling me the full truth. His eyebrow always arches and he can't look me in the eye, just like right now.
"Catch up on sleep? All you've been doing is sleeping!" I stand up and pace at the foot of the bed. I'm trying so hard to stay patient, but he's not making it very easy on me.
He rakes his hand through his hair - another indication that he's nervous about something. Looking up at me, he grits his teeth. "What the hell does it matter, Rose? I have the time saved up and that's what it's there for!" His voice raises and I'm certain Rusty can hear us. It wouldn't be the first fight he's heard between us.