Shattered Glass(88)

My fingers began to tap faster. That certain ‘something’ was tickling my brain, telling me I had the picture, I just needed to fill it in.

“Why? Why did you say you owed Cai?” I asked his bookshelf. “Why is everything in your life about Cai? You ask me to help Cai. You give up everything for him. You rescue him, protect him, parent him.”

I had just started mentally going through my previous conversations with Peter, searching for clues, when a metal clank from the front room diverted my attention. I assumed two things incorrectly: first, that it was Peter or Darryl; and second, that I had nothing to worry about.

Surely either of the guys would have known I was here. Cai would have told them. No one called out to me. There was only silence and then what sounded like a loud bowl of Rice Crispies. I had closed the door earlier, to keep the cat corralled, so after confirming that it was still sleeping on the bed, I opened it just long enough to slide through.

What greeted me in the living room wasn’t Darryl or Peter, but flames swarming over the sofa and across the front door like white water rapids. Moments later, a sea of smoke rose up and curtained the room.

Coughs leaked out of me, then became a constant rhythm. With the front door blocked, I peddled backwards until I felt the wall. Bending to where the smoke was thinner, letting the walls guide me, I started to make my way toward the bedroom. A paint can knocked into the toe of my sneaker and disappeared before my watering eyes. I sunk lower to the ground.

Not being familiar with Joe’s home, I floundered into the hallway, getting twisted and turned around as smoke fogged the narrow corridor. Fire sizzled against wood and cloth, breathing out heat against my skin, making me grateful for the sweat from my run. On my belly now, I snaked across the floor, blindly searching for any door that wasn’t open to a room filled with smoke. I needed Peter’s room where I had closed off the cat.

And wouldn’t it have to be the fucking cat that saved me?

Begone’s howls rose above crackling plastic, while paint cans exploded like popped corn, their lids bursting off, then flying out to smack the walls. One teetered to a rest near my hand. More howls. I followed them while smoke coated my tongue with every cough.

Movies don’t capture how quickly smoke follows fire or how swiftly it spreads. It was instantly overwhelming. The heat intensity was like a Miami summer turned up a thousand, smothering degrees. All I could think about was opening that door and trying to fill my lungs with something besides black, hot air. I struggled to get to Peter’s room, solely focused on getting out the window.

My chest hurt, and I knew from training that heat inhalation was just as dangerous as smoke, so each inhale was a practice in Lamaze breathing. In, in, in. Out. Out. Out. My fingers walked up the door, dragging my torso and head into the smoke as I fumbled for the handle.

I tested the knob for heat, in case a fire raged on the other side. It was warm but manageable. And by the sound of that cat, there was an ample supply of good air in that room.

A river of smoke followed me as I collapsed inside, slamming the door shut while coughing and spitting out black phlegm onto Peter’s carpet. Smoke continued to slither under the door. Displacing Begone, I seized the comforter and stopped the flow. I grabbed a t-shirt from the nearest drawer and wrapped it around my fist, smashing out the window. There was no stopping the coughing, even as fresh air flowed in.

The cat’s howls were like claws on a chalkboard. Jesus, shut up! I instantly regretted my instinctual inhale. A fresh set of coughs twisted my lungs dry. The roar of fire grew closer.

In a graceful sweep, I scooped up the cat, coughing my own howl as it nail-gunned its claws into my chest. Planting a foot on the bed, I launched myself out the window and into the backyard.





Frankenstein Ass

My shoulder ached from the landing, and for some reason my ass did, too. However, nothing was as agonizing as the fucking cat claws that now ravaged my chest in Begone’s attempt to scramble out of my arms. I fought the animal, along with the urge to scream, while my oxygen deprived lungs attempted to suck down air through their pain. Slow breaths, Austin.

From seeing the first whippet of flames until landing on my side on the grass, it had only been around two minutes. I allowed ten seconds to lounge on the ground, time enough for the fire to leak into Peter’s bedroom and French kiss the shattered window. A flame licked out a few feet above my knees. I scurried away and leveraged myself to standing.

Grabbing Begone’s scruff, I pried her claws out of my chest, making pained hissing noises as I swerved to the back gate. Cat hanging in one hand, I fumbled with my arm, pulling my cell phone off the Velcro holder. I punched in 911, just as I kicked the gate open.