Page 222 of Things We Left Behind
I sucked in a breath to call back, but another coughing fit overtook me.
I was the worst firefighter ever, I decided as tears streaked down my face. I stayed as low as I could, crawling with only one arm, and made my way toward the stairs.
“Sloane!” another voice called.
“Here.” It came out as more of a croak than a shout, but it was enough.
“She’s on the second floor.”
“There’s no exit up there.”
“I’m coming down,” I barked. “I have a fire extinguisher.”
“Drop the fucking extinguisher and get your ass to the stairs,” Grave ordered.
Drop the extinguisher? There were books to save. But I heard them then. The sirens. They would save the books.
I was so tired. My lungs hurt. My head rang. It was so dark. I just needed to rest for a minute.
38
Stupid Pills
Lucian
As the helicopter banked to the east over Knockemout, the sight of emergency vehicle lights slashing through the dark churned an anger I wasn’t sure I could control.
Sloane had been alone inside when the fire started. And I’d been miles away on a conference call with the West Coast.
While she blindly crawled down the stairs through smoke and flame, I’d been handling a minor PR crisis for a California state representative. A minor crisis that I could have easily handed over to someone else.
While Sloane was helped from the building by a cop and the firefighter who took her to her senior prom, while she was looked over by a paramedic who happened to be a member of the library’s book club, I had been pulling strings and smoothing ruffled feathers for virtual strangers.
“Preparing for landing, sir.” The pilot’s voice sounded flat and distant in my headset.
I had the door open and was climbing out by the time the skids kissed the ground at the private airfield just east ofKnockemout. In less than a minute, I was behind the wheel of the waiting SUV and speeding toward town. I turned off my mind and focused on the road, the familiar scenery as it flashed by.
I didn’t let myself think about Sloane. Alone. Unprotected. I didn’t let myself consider the fact that I’d left her that way, believing she’d be safer.
The echo of Knox’s voice rang in my ear.“Nice of you to finally pick up, asshole. The fuckin’ library’s on fire, and Sloane was inside.”
It felt like an eternity before the flashing lights filled the windshield as I drove into the heart of Knockemout.
I got out and strode into chaos. The smell of acrid smoke burned my throat as I pushed through the gathered crowd. The two-story redbrick building still stood. The gold lettering that readThe Knox Morgan Municipal Buildingwas tarnished but still there. The front doors were propped open. Windows on the library side were broken, allowing black, billowing smoke to escape, tainting the night air.
I grabbed the closest first responder I could find, a tall, grizzled woman with soot streaking her gear and an axe slung over her shoulder. “Chief Morgan,” I snapped.
“Over there.” She pointed toward the police station parking lot where a tent was set up and a dozen first responders clumped.
No one tried to stop me as I made my way over. It was one of the many privileges of being Lucian Fucking Rollins. Most rules didn’t apply to me because there wasn’t anyone willing to stand up and enforce them.
“Nash,” my voice cracked like a whip over everything.
My friend looked up from his conference with Sergeant Grave Hopper, who was covered head to toe in soot, the fire chief, and Mayor Hilly Swanson. Nash looked grim, and I felt that anger inside me expand exponentially.
He excused himself from the others and put a hand to my chest. “She’s okay.”
I closed my eyes and let that permeate the panic.
