CHAPTER 17
Nash
I jolted awake in my leather chair, my arm numb from the way I’d been sleeping. Sound erupted around me in a cacophony of unfamiliar and alarming noises.
I smelled smoke.
Eyes flying open, crimson flames clawed at the sky outside my window. Their scorching heat seeped through the glass. The light cast a fiery ballet across the room. Disoriented, I sat up. I was breathing heavily already, still half-asleep.
With my heart pounding, I surveyed the room. Sirens wailed, echoing off the walls. I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping. I was desperate to find the source of the noise and the flames.
My gut lurched.
They were coming from Sybil’s side of the street.
I shot to my feet, an empty glass and book tumbling to the floor from where they sat in my lap. My legs were lethargic, refusing to cooperate. I stumbled to the office door and down the stairs.
Leaning against the rail, I was moving faster than my mind could keep up. Hitting the landing, I wrestled my sneakers out from under the bench. Battling with the laces to put them on, I fumbled with the locks and flung the door open. The knob crashed into the drywall and stuck there.
Smoke and ash danced in the chilly night air.
My gaze skated across the towering flames that consumed Sybil’s upper floors. Smoke billowed from the lower ones as water from the firefighters pushed it down and out. Yells echoed, lost in the crackling of flames. I had to get over there.
Now.
Cold, wet pavement made my shoes slip as I sprinted toward Sybil’s stoop. I could hear wood whining with pressure from within, as though collapse was imminent.
A dog barked, sharp and wild—it was Bill—on the sidewalk with firefighters trying to hold him back. Water and ash matted his coat, and he focused on the house with panic in his eyes.
Where was Sybil?
Smoke mushroomed from the front door, followed by a wet and ash-caked firefighter, cradling a small familiar woman. He expertly navigated the steps, moving them both away from the fire as another boom shook the street. A floor must have collapsed, pushing debris and glass at us.
We all ducked, turning away from the scene until the wave of debris passed. Breath stuck in my throat. My nose and eyes stung from the smoke and heat.
Chancing a look back, I squinted through the dusty air.
I worked my way forward through broken glass and wood.
Misty water fell all around. Fire hoses snaked from the hydrants across the street and sidewalk, truck lights flashing.
I wiped the water from my eyes, chest tightening as I reached the firefighter holding Sybil.
“Sybil,” I gasped. Her eyes were closed. Feline hissing noises were coming from a lump under her soot-caked sweatshirt. As much as I wanted to see her in person, this was not a welcome reason.
“Sir, step back.” The firefighter warned. The hissing transitioned to a desperate yowl, but still Sybil’s eyes remained shut.
“Is she okay?” I yelled at him, trying to elevate my voice over the sirens.
He nodded his head, but seemed uncertain. “She was alert when I got to her, but she was coughing, very short of breath—I’m sure smoke inhalation and panic.”
He was marching her toward a ready EMT. He placed her down on a gurney, and the EMT dove in. I tried to reach her, but the firefighter’s arm barred me from getting too close.
The EMT put a mask over Sybil’s mouth and nose after checking her eyes and throat. Placing a hand over the yowling mound under her sweatshirt, the EMT squeezed it a few times, eliciting further hissing.
“Is this a cat?” she asked the firefighter.
He nodded. “I believe so.”
She gave one nod in confirmation but didn’t move to remove Mr. Beans.
Her gaze met mine. “She’s alive.” The EMT confirmed, seeing my panic.
The news did little to quell the feeling of terror. We’d just been messaging each other a few hours ago, what had happened?
Bill’s barking was growing nearer. I turned, seeing the firefighters had him corralled and in a harness with a leash, walking him in our direction. They’d muzzled him as well, which angered me. In three large strides, I was before him.
I knelt. “It’s okay, Bill.” My fingers found a spot behind his ear that seemed to elicit calm.
I looked up at the firefighter. “This is her service dog.” I gestured toward the ambulance. “He needs to stay with her.”
Sybil hadn’t shared that with me, but it was obvious. Bill had a certain way about him that wasn’t your average pet.
I looked at her townhouse—or what was left of it—and saw flames gutter under the gallons of water pouring in from all sides.
Soot blackened the top two floors, the roof gone.
Her townhouse must not have sprinklers, which many of the historical townhomes in New York still weren’t required to install.
“Nash!” I heard my sister’s voice, and my head oscillated in that direction. She was running toward me, her hot pink robe fluttering around her, and fuzzy slippers soaking up the wet ash.
Despite the disaster, firefighters looked at her far longer than they should have. I suppressed the need to let my already growing anger boil over.
She reached me as I stood from a crouch. “Nash, is she okay?” she panted.
Without words, I pointed toward the EMT. They were now loading her into the ambulance. I took Bill from the firefighter, motioning that I was taking him to Sybil. The firefighter allowed it. Bee pulled me in that direction.
“Wait!” Bee yelled before the EMT shut the door. “Her dog needs to be with her! Service dog!” she added.
The EMT took one look at Bill, then at me. “You’re coming too. I can’t handle a dog in here by myself!”
Bee urged me forward, and I climbed in. Bill went immediately to Sybil’s side, trying to lick her hand through the muzzle. I sat to the right, squeezing Bill between my knees before unlatching the muzzle and removing it. It clattered onto the floor of the ambulance.
Reaching out, I wrapped my hand around Sybil’s slight wrist, wanting to feel her pulse. The sleeve of Sybil’s sweatshirt was loose and large, her pulse a rapid flutter.
As the doors of the ambulance slammed shut, I watched the cat lump on her stomach move. Mr. Beans took advantage of the large sleeve, crawling up her arm and toward the frayed opening at her wrist. I could see his eyes glowing in the darkness—large and round.
“Does the cat like you?” The EMT asked in a stern, loud voice.
I didn’t know what to say. I shrugged.
She looked away. “Cats don’t like anyone, especially me.” She was adjusting some tubing. “What’s the patient’s name?” she asked.
“Sybil,” I yelled over the siren, the ambulance now moving.
She nodded. “Let’s see if we can get Sybil out of this sweatshirt, and trap the cat inside. Will you help?”
I nodded.
“Great, take the sleeve, and I’ll try to slide Sybil’s arm out. Try to keep the cat in the sleeve.”
I did as she instructed, easily fitting my hand over the terrified little body and holding him there as the EMT slid her arm out. She then slid Sybil’s arm out the other side and pulled the sweatshirt up and over Sybil’s head.
Cat scratches covered Sybil’s arms, but a tank top protected her stomach and chest. With my other hand, I caged the cat in the sleeve, rolling the end down until his fluffy tricolor head popped out. I wrapped the sweatshirt around him like a swaddle, hoping to both calm and restrain him.
“Hey Mr. Beans. It’s okay,” I tried to soothe.
I didn’t know the first thing about cats. He hissed at me, his chest rumbling under the fabric. I held him against me, his head trying to find refuge under my arm; I let him.
Bill bumped his nose against the bundle, licking it with affection before turning back to lick Sybil’s hand again.
“What’s the service dog for, sir?” The EMT asked.
“Anxiety,” I replied.
She nodded. “Makes sense. Her blood pressure is elevated, and her heart rate is pretty high. She likely passed out from panic. It’s a good thing her cat burrowed in with her or we’d have missed him, I’m sure.”
I nodded in agreement.
“When we get to the hospital, I’ll call a vet to come check them both and bring a kennel for the cat.”
I nodded again as she pushed a needle into Sybil’s arm, administering something.
“To help her calm.” She’d seen the question on my face. “She’ll be out for a while, and groggy when she wakes, but it’ll help her body heal from the shock. Are you her husband, boyfriend, or brother?”
I nearly choked, fumbling with what to say. I wanted to stay with her and not get kicked to the waiting room.
“Husband,” I blurted.
She eyed me. “And yet you appeared from across the street with another woman?”
I gave her a challenging glare. “That was my sister.”
She looked me up and down. “Okay. Husband it is.”
I could tell she didn’t believe me, especially where neither of us had a ring.
“Convenient as she’ll need you to stay with the dog at the hospital until she wakes. Service dog or not, he needs a conscious guardian—not a knocked out one.”
I nodded, giving her a grin that I hoped conveyed my thanks.
“I’ll make sure and tell them that when we arrive. It’ll buy you some time, at least.”
“Thank you,” I added.
She smiled. “Don’t let me regret allowing the concession.”
At the hospital, I followed the EMT and hospital staff out of the ambulance. She explained to the staff that Sybil’s condition was stable, and that Bill was a service dog. They ushered me in after them, and we made our way into a room.
I did my best to stay out of the way, pulling Bill into a corner.
Mr. Beans was under my arm like a football, keeping relatively silent.
A nurse came in with a clipboard, asking me several questions I didn’t have answers to.
I felt ashamed and nervous they’d kick me out, but it seemed Bill remained my golden ticket—that, and I was pretty sure no one wanted to deal with the cat.
As things settled, I finally sat in a chair beside Sybil’s bed, alone with two animals and the sound of beeping. Sybil was still asleep, eyes closed. Nurses had cleaned her face of soot and wrapped her in fresh blankets. Her breathing was raspy but steady.
I couldn’t help but devour every detail of her face. Her small nose was peppered with a few light freckles. Thick, dark lashes rested against her cheeks, which were red and ravaged by heat. Her heart-shaped coral lips looked chapped, but still beautiful.
Her ears were free of piercings, a detail I found interesting. There wasn’t a single female I could think of without pierced ears. Her hair looked matted from the water and soot. A nurse had tucked it behind her in a braid, ash dulling its usual bright luster.
Her hands rested at her sides. Nails and fingers still held traces of soot and ash.
I couldn’t help reaching out to touch her with my cat-free hand.
Bandages crisscrossed her arms where Mr. Beans had dug into her, and I made a note to figure out how to trim his nails so the same wouldn’t happen to me.
The little ball under my arm started rumbling then, its needle-like claws pushing through the sweatshirt and into my side in a kneading motion—as though on cue. He was purring. I winced, but allowed it, happy he was feeling content. I sat back and let Mr. Beans play bakery with my kidney.
An hour passed when a woman poked her head in, carrying a kennel.
“Hello,” she whispered with a smile.
She had a colorful set of scrubs on. There were cats and dogs running across them in a cheerful pattern. She must have been the vet.
“I’m Allison. I was told to check on a dog and a cat?” Her eyes questioning, wondering where the cat was.
With regret, I retrieved the bundle from my arm, a growl and a hiss heard in protest.
“Oh, there he is.” She moved forward and took him from me.
Bill sat like a gentleman, ears perked and very interested in what she’d do with Mr. Beans. I scratched him behind his ear to let him know he was okay.
The vet coaxed Mr. Beans out of the sleeve like toothpaste from a tube. He had a lot of fluff. Something like 50% of his mass alone had to be hair, and his face was flat with long whiskers.
Allison examined him. “He seems in pretty good shape for a house fire. His ears are clean, and his breathing sounds clear. Coat looks untouched by flame.”
“She had him in her sweatshirt,” I explained.
“Ah, that’s good then. It likely acted like a giant filter.”
She examined his stomach before petting him once over the back and coaxing him, with very little effort, into the cat kennel. He sought refuge in the back. Enormous eyes flashed from the shadows—blinking.
She then moved on to Bill. Bill’s feet danced in excitement, but he stayed sitting. Little yips and yowls passed his lips before she placed her hand on his head.
“Look at this handsome Border Collie! What a good boy you are.” She checked his still-matted coat. “He seems shaken for sure; I can feel it rattling down his back. His coat will need a wash.”
I grunted. “We all do.” The entire room had a smoky smell from our presence.
She lifted his paws and examined each before pulling a medical bag toward her and extracting some wrap and tweezers.
“He’s got a lot of glass and cuts here. Also looks like a few burn blisters.
I’ll do my best to clean them. He probably tried all he could to get the family out and sacrificed quite a bit. ”
I watched as Dr. Allison removed shards and splinters, applying burn cream and antiseptic before wrapping each foot in gauze and tension wrap. Bill now had some pretty nifty-looking blue booties.
“Will you be the one caring for him? If so, I’ll give you the extra supplies he’ll need.
You’ll want to change the wrapping—just as you saw me do—at least once every other day.
” She looked up at me, and I nodded, happy to take that torch and care for him.
I wasn’t sure who Sybil had in her life that would do so.
The vet went over several more things, giving Bill water and some other vitamins and liquids before assuring me he was in good shape. He would be ready to leave when Sybil did.
While Allison worked, I called Bee.
Bee was already here and waiting outside. The nurses allowed her through to retrieve Mr. Beans, figuring it was best to get him back to our place and set up with a litter box, more water and food.
We spoke little when she came in, both exhausted from the night’s event.
“She’s okay?” she whispered.
I gave her a reassuring nod.
“And you?”
I just shrugged. This had shaken me.
Once Bee was gone, I tried to relax back into the hospital chair. Bill splayed out on the floor, snoring. Pressing my fingers against my forehead, I allowed myself to doze off.