Burning Truth, page 17
“I’m fine, for Christ’s sake, Austin. You’re worse than my wife.”
“Yeah, but he’s cuter,” said Topher.
“Don’t get any ideas, Dicky, I’m taken.”
The three men waved a hello Trent’s way, but he didn’t stop to chitchat. Business first, gentle ribbing later. Taking the steps two at a time, he was on the second floor of the firehouse in seconds. He padded his way down the hallway, once more stopping before the framed portrait of his father. Tapping it lightly, he smiled at the red-faced, friendly smile of the man who had led White Pine’s bravest for two decades. Then he knocked.
“Come in,” Chief O’Connell said.
Trent did so, peering his head in first. “Trent Rodgers, sir, reporting for duty.”
“More true than you realize,” the chief said.
That comment pulled Trent inside, and he closed the door to seal it in. “I’m sorry, chief, what was that?”
“Sit down, Trent. Get yourself some coffee.”
On a side table Trent found a coffee maker and quickly poured himself a cup, grabbed a jelly doughnut because he hadn’t eaten yet and he was starving after the round of physicality he and Angel had indulged in this morning. The gooey sweetness tasted good, the shot of caffeine even better.
Chief O’Connell was dressed casually, unusual for him. But life in White Pine had been quiet of late, and Sunday mornings in particular traditionally tended to be free of fires. It’s why they chose to wash the trucks that day, why the volunteers were nowhere in sight. Just the regular boys, until Trent realized he hadn’t seen one of the full-timers.
“Things good with you, Trent?”
“Very good, sir. I have news,” he said.
“That’s fine, but if you don’t mind, I’ll go first.”
“Far be in from me to usurp authority.”
“That’s one of the things I respect about you, lad, you understand that there’s a certain chain of command, a protocol to be followed.” He paused, and he must have seen the confusion set across Trent’s face. “Fine, son, I’ll stop beating around the bush. A recent development has left us short-handed here at the WPFD.”
“Short-handed?”
“Meaning there’s a job opening.”
Trent looked around the room, as though doing so would give him a hint as to why. He was just stalling for time, unsure just where the chief was going with this. “Is Dicky retiring?”
Chief O’Connell laughed aloud at that one, actually wiping at his eyes. “If only, Trent, if only. No, that old coot will leave only when the flames take him. No, Nick Lynch has decided to move on…in fact, he’s already done so. Resigned, packed up his stuff. He would have stayed longer until I had time to fill his position but I assured him I had at least one person who could fill his boots. So, what do you say to getting your former job back?”
Trent was beaming from ear to ear when he said, “It would be my honor sir.”
“Glad to hear it, son,” he said with a smile, extending a welcoming hand. The two men shook heartily, Chief O’Connell’s other hand covering them both, sealing their bond. “Welcome home, Trent.”
“Thank you, Chief, it means the world to me.”
“Now, I know we’ve got another talented firefighter here in town, but right now I don’t have any openings…”
“Angel is actually thinking of some other lines of work, no sense having two firefighters in one family,” he said.
“Good to hear, though I hope he’ll continue to volunteer as you’ve been doing.”
“I have no doubt,” Trent said.
“You smile a lot when I mention Angel.”
“I love him, sir.”
“I suppose you do,” O’Connell said. “You know, Trent, I’m an old-fashioned guy. When I grew up it was men who married women and that was that. But I’m not such an old dinosaur that I can’t adapt to how things really are. It’s one thing to hear talk of same-sex marriage on TV and the Internet and everyone gets up in arms about how it’s ruining traditional marriage. You see if first hand two people who love each other and you realize what utter bullshit the debate is. I still look forward to officiating at your wedding.”
“That’s wonderful to hear, Chief,” Trent said, “So, what are you doing next Saturday?”
Chief O’Connell never got a chance to answer that question, not now anyway, and Trent didn’t even have time to remember he’d asked it. The fire whistle just then blew, its piercing wail shattering the quiet of a White Pine Sunday morning.
“Trial by fire?” Trent asked.
“Literally,” the chief said.
Both men scrambled up from their chairs and rushed out to find out what was going on. Downstairs, the guys were already tossing on their gear, the scene one of controlled chaos.
“What do we have?” Chief O’Connell asked.
“House fire,” Dicky said, handing him a sheet of paper, “121 Cypress.”
Trent saw Austin’s face go white. “Wait a minute…that’s my house,” he said.
It was then that a harsh chill ripped through Trent Rodgers’ body, and he too grew pale as his mind flashed back to the note on the refrigerator.
Not just Austin’s mother was inside that house, but so too was his.
Chapter Fourteen
Austin
A fire at his house, a fire at his house, a fire at his house…the words reverberated inside Austin’s mind like a needle stuck on an old 45, and the more he heard them the more fear gripped his taut insides. He had to stay focused, even though the truth beat at his mind: this was no random fire, it was, like the others, arson, and he knew who the man responsible was.
His father.
He could care less about Allan’s well-being, he just hoped he hadn’t hurt Austin’s mother as he executed whatever his plan was. Burning down his past, that’s what Austin had decided. He knew Allan Walker had set fire to his childhood home, and he’d suspected the damaged man was behind the factory fire as well, taking two shells of his former life and making sure they burned to the point of being wiped from his memories. But those buildings were old, they should have been torn down years ago anyway. Austin’s childhood home, it was filled with life and love, he and his mother together for so many years, left alone by the man who had now, seemingly, set it afire.
He smelled the smoke first, and when they turned the corner onto Cypress Road he saw the flames dancing on the roof, fueled by the wind which swept down the street. It was an awful image and he had to hope that his mother had gotten out. Sirens dominated the landscape, red flashing lights nearly blinding him as he saw police cruisers in front of the house, the local police chief and his deputy behind the car, guns drawn. Kent Crandall from the Gazette was already nosing about in his usual offensive way. How had they all gotten here so quickly when the fire call had only come in ten minutes ago?
A bad feeling came over Austin. What the hell was going on?
The fire truck screeched to a stop before his house, and he watched, almost in a daze, as his fellow brothers rushed out and began to set up their battle plan. Austin followed the chief, who went to talk to the police captain.
“What are we dealing with, Ricky?”
“Hostage situation, Devon.”
“Hostage?” Austin asked, his voice high-pitched, nearly in shock. “Who?”
“From what we’ve been able to tell, he’s got three of them.”
“He…who he?” Chief O’Connell asked.
Captain Richard Williams hesitated, looking Austin’s way. But in the end he must have realized that feelings couldn’t be spared, only honesty would set them on a course for victory. So he said, “Our guy Allan Walker, he’s got a gun on them, and when we tried to rush the house he threatened to set the place ablaze. We took a chance, one of our guys entered from the rear and Walker shot him dead point blank. Next thing we know the house went up with a whoosh.”
“Accelerant,” Chief O’Connell said.
“Just like at the Lucky Scent factory fire,” Austin said.
Chief O’Connell looked at Austin, a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I need you to stay out of this, Austin. You’re too close to it.”
“I’m going to get closer. No way am I letting that lunatic burn my house, or kill my own mother. My God, what is wrong with him…why is he doing this? First his old house, followed by the factory…didn’t matter those, he didn’t harm anyone except himself. But now…”
“Austin, stay focused, but stay out of the way. That’s a direct order.”
Austin opened his mouth to protest, changing his mind when the saw the stern, serious expression settle on his superior’s face. He knew there would be no altering of his orders, so he just stood on the sidewalk, impotent in his fire gear, while all around him men began to spray the roof of his house with liquid. It was windy today, feeding not only the flames, but causing the spray to sprinkle him with its mist. Like the world was crying around him. He stepped out of the way, going around the police cruiser to see if he could get a better look at the situation.
From his pocket he withdrew his cell phone, wondering if he should attempt to reach out. He thought about Allan Walker, the crazed look he’d seen in his eyes the other day after Austin had smacked him to the ground. Is that when he’d turned for good, realizing he would never get to have his old life back? Austin would poison his mother against him, he’d lose everything. So why not exacerbate the situation, play out whatever end game he’d envisioned. About to dial, he thought again about what the police captain had said. Hostages, three of them, which had him wondering who else was inside.
He depressed the button and the call went through. He thought he could hear the house phone ringing even from here. It was picked up on the first ring, as though the call was expected.
“That you Austin?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“You left me no choice,” said his father.
“I did? I forced you to take hostages and light the house on fire?”
“You couldn’t accept me.”
“You started this even before you knew I wouldn’t,” Austin said, “Setting your old house on fire…what was the point of that? Why…and why were you inside it? If you wanted to kill yourself, you could have saved all of us a hell of a lot of trouble.”
He heard a laugh from the other end. “Kill myself? Not then, and if now…then I don’t go alone.”
“Let Mom go.”
“Aww, such a caring son,” he said, “You want to say hello to her?”
“Yes, put her on the phone.”
“No can do, Austin, my boy. You want to talk to her, you come inside.”
Was he crazy? But then Austin realized he’d been given an in, better access not only to the fire but the hostages. He stole a look around and noticed that no one was paying any attention to him. Could he really just walk up the pathway to his front door and gain entry? Should he tell the chief about it first? No, don’t let anyone know, Allan had already killed once and so what did he have to lose? Austin had to stop him, and as a wave of adrenaline rushed through him, he realized he was the only one who could end this.
Like the day he’d rescued his father, he’d gone on instinct.
Instinct was again talking to him, ordering him, and he had to assume it took precedence over the chief’s orders.
“I’m coming to the front door,” he said.
“Alone, Austin. Or the first hostage dies,” he said.
Fear hit him, lives depended on him.
Austin hung up, stuffing his phone back into his gear. Closing his helmet to disguise his identity, he surged forward, around the police cruiser and back onto the sidewalk. All down the street the activity had brought out all their neighbors, so the scene was even more hectic, with the cops ordering the curious away, even as Kent Crandall tried to worm his way in closer toward the house. He was near the front bushes, trying to peer into the house.
Just then a shattering of glass brought the action around the engulfed house to a halt. An upstairs window had blown out, sending down a dangerous shower of splinters intent on Kent’s head. Austin dove forward and threw himself over the nosy reporter, just as the glass hit the thick material of his gear. He felt the impact but didn’t feel anything slice into him. It would have been different for Kent, who wore civilian clothes, that old ratty blazer of his no match against shards of glass. When Austin got up, several people rushed them, grabbing hold of Kent to drag him away from the scene.
That left Austin alone, and within easy reach of the front door. Smoke and flames poured out of the upstairs window, but the downstairs seemed relatively unharmed at the moment. But Austin knew that a fire that began at the top had only one way to go, burning downward until it had claimed all that stood in its fiery wake. He couldn’t tell from outside how much time they had, but the wind certainly wasn’t helping.
He ran for the front door, his gloved hand testing it for heat. All seemed fine. The knob wasn’t hot, but it was locked. He banged his body against the door, heard it start to give. He reared back, slammed against it again and heard wood splinter. He also heard someone call his name. He couldn’t be bothered, he was nearly inside and wasn’t that what was important? Just then he heard a crackle from the radio inside his helmet.
“Austin, you may not go inside that house,” the chief warned.
“You can’t stop me, chief,” he said, and then with one fierce kick, the door gave way and he rushed inside to a smoke-filled living room. He sucked in oxygen as he surveyed the room; it had not yet been consumed by fire, and instead had an eerie silence about it. As though it knew its destruction was imminent. How many hours had he spent in this room, watching television or just hanging out with his mother while she did her crossword puzzles? Now the past was about to be taken from him, and if he didn’t move fast…his future too.
He barreled his way further into the house, coming into the kitchen, which was closed off from the rest of the house. It’s there that he found four people—his father holding a gun on the other three, all of whom were sitting on the floor, as low as possible from the potential swirl of smoke. So far, most of the fire and smoke had been kept at bay. Wet cloths were positioned around the baseboards and doorframes. Someone among them knew what to do. That’s when he saw who, in addition to his mother, the other two hostages were.
Trudy Rodgers, her crutches tossed to the floor.
And Angel Montero, his feral eyes dancing, looking at escape options.
What were they doing here?
“Welcome to the party, junior,” his father said, waving the gun causally.
He ignored the man and bent down over to his mother, who was crying. She hugged him tightly. “I’m so sorry, Austin, I should have listened. But he…oh he promised me so much.”
“He promised you so much the first time, too, Mom. What about you Trudy, Angel, are you physically okay?”
“I’ve kept the fire at bay as much as I can,” Angel said.
Trudy clung to her future son-in-law. “Austin, does Trent know we’re in here?”
That was a good question, one he didn’t have the answer to. But again, instinct fed his words and he said, “Yes, he’s with all the others out there, battling the fire. We’ll get you out.”
“We? Who the hell is we? The cavalry outside isn’t exactly as foolish as you.”
Austin spun around, removed his helmet so he could face the man who once had been his father, a man who had long ago lost that right to be called anything but criminal. “Let them go, you’ve got me. Isn’t that who you really want?”
“Oh, brave as well as stupid,” Allan said. “No, I think I like having another hostage.”
“You’re not going to have any for much longer, not with the house burning.”
“Oh, please, Austin, I know what I’m doing. I set the fire very carefully. It’s all at the front of the house and we’re at the back. Did I perish in the fire at my old home?”
“No, only because I rescued you.”
“No, Austin, I planned it that way. I intended to be rescued, and by luck, by you.”
“What are you talking about…that makes no fucking sense. You can’t predict what a fire will do, what paths flames will take, or that you’ll even survive it? Do you mean to tell me you deliberately set the fire with yourself set up as the victim? Why?”
“What better way to gain acceptance from my family…the idea that I almost died.”
“That’s sick…”
“It worked, or at least it did fifty percent. Your mother took me back without question.” He smiled, showing crooked teeth from years of hard living behind prison bars. “You spoiled my homecoming, you stupid brat, you damn pansy. Why you couldn’t just accept me, why you couldn’t see that your mother and I could have been happy…”
“You manipulated her. You manipulated the situation. There’s no truth inside you.”
“Truth is over-rated, kid. You live your live the best way you can—survival of the fittest. You wait to depend on others…you’re toast. Speaking of, if you’re waiting for your fire buddies to rescue all of you, it’s gonna be a long wait--in hell. But you knew you were going to hell any way, didn’t you, your deviant ways…having sex with other men…you disgust me.”
Austin reacted like he had the other day, but this time Allan was prepared. He blocked the attack, pushing Austin to the linoleum floor. Alberta screamed out, and Trudy began to cry, but Angel broke free, taking advantage of the heat of the moment. He rushed Allan, knocking him against the kitchen table, chairs sliding across the floor. They struggled, and while Angel was clearly the stronger man Allan was like a caged animal suddenly unleashed, and nothing would stand in his way of victory. He punched at Angel, and Angel took a direct hit to the chin. But he bounced back quickly, and landed a foot in Allan’s crotch. He howled with pain, doubling over. That’s when Austin grabbed him from behind him, pinning Allan’s arms behind him.
