Ryker
As a fire goes, this one is impressive. It has one of the brightest epicentres I’ve ever seen, and the force of the explosions going off inside have quite literally blown out the windows and lifted the roof clean off like something out of a cartoon.
The building itself, a site hub, didn’t stand a chance, not only because it’s a flimsy portable structure put on the school grounds while building work was conducted on the new gymnasium, but because of what ended up being stored in the abandoned hub.
Paint.
Half-used pots of white that had been used on the gymnasium walls, and aerosol sprays for the art department. Both had been forgotten about, and the caretaker told us the building has sat there for almost eighteen months, tempting any wayward teenager with a lighter to set fire to the place.
The aerosol cans are particularly unpredictable, and ping against the walls as they explode.
Thankfully, it’s a small structure, but it makes for some dramatic pictures.
A crowd has gathered, and students who attend the secondary school film the building caving in under the force of our fire hoses.
They ohhh and aww and cheer when the last wall standing finally collapses, smothering most of the flames.
We continue to douse the embers, and as I run my eyes along the students, and I think back to my time at school.
I was obsessed with football, believing I was destined for greatness on the pitch, and Freddie believed it too, swept up in my confidence.
He worried I’d be snapped up by Barcelona and move away from him.
It was a dream, but years later I told him a new one, that I wanted to be a firefighter, and it came out with a little more doubt that before, but he looked up at me with his blue eyes brimming with admiration and told me I would be.
I am one.
He beamed with pride at my graduation ceremony alongside my parents and Liam.
And when Liam became a fresh-faced police officer, Freddie went to his ceremony too, and looked just as pleased at him achieving his goal as he had for me. He believes in us, always has.
I love my job, but it can be frustrating at times.
Blue and white lights flash in the distance, but they’re getting closer by the second.
The children watching the show notice too, and more than half of them take off, sprinting in the other direction.
I know Liam’s in the police car. Maybe it’s some sixth sense twin thing, but more likely he heard about the suspected arson attack at the school, thought I might be here dealing with it, and volunteered himself and his partner to attend.
The police car mounts the curb before stopping outside the gate.
My fire chief goes over to greet him through the fence.
We drove the truck onto the school grounds and had the caretaker secure the gate behind us.
He, along with the headmaster, assured me that the building with the forgotten about paint was not only locked, but boarded up for good measure.
The way he told me, it was as if he was expecting a congratulations for a job well done, and he wasn’t regretful in the slightest that a huge hazard had been left unchecked on school grounds for so long.
I bit my tongue, though. I didn’t scowl at him.
Our priority was keeping civilians away from the fire while it mostly burned itself out fast and furiously.
There are no casualties, no one was inside the building.
If they had been, with that heat . . . they’d be ashes by now.
I watch as the caretaker, Aiden, follows my chief over to the fence, and sure enough I see Liam and his partner on the other side.
His partner, a young brunette woman, smiles as they converse, but my brother remains serious.
I do feel a sliver of pity for Aiden having to face my brother, but only a sliver.
Liam won’t be biting his tongue. He’ll be telling Aiden what a foolish man he is for allowing flammable liquids to be kept in an unsecure location. He’ll further condemn him for that location being on school property with hundreds of students close by.
The chief jogs back over to us, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s your brother.”
I hum. “I thought that officer was particularly handsome . . .”
I get a glare and an exasperated sigh from my chief, but Owen, who’s leaning against the truck, pushes his back off the vehicle to study my face up close. “But you’re twins, right?”
“Right,” I say.
“If he’s handsome, you’re calling yourself handsome too.”
There are days I’m proud that I qualified as a firefighter, then there are other days when I spend time with someone like Owen and realise that wasn’t a difficult feat. I pout my lips and gesture to my face with both hands. “Am I not handsome?”
Owen cocks his head and pauses like I’ve asked him something complex. “I don’t see it.”
“Ouch.” I gasp. “You’ve undone years’ worth of therapy.”
“Have I?”
I groan, but it’s a fond one.
“Turn off the hoses,” my chief says. “And gather up.”
There are five of us here, a standard crew, with Mark back at base in the control room. Owen, Rachel, Justin, and my chief, Glen, are my crew, and I trust them all with my life, including Owen. I just don’t trust Owen to be my phone a friend on Millionaire.
“We’re going to draw straws,” Glen says as he rips open the Velcro securing his top pocket.
He pulls out five sticks, four the same length, one shorter, his preferred way to delegate the unpleasant jobs.
He arranges them in his closed fist while the rest of us take a collective groan and line up like we’re about to face a firing squad.
“Are you going to tell us what the forfeit is?” Rachel asks.
“Nope,” Glen replies, then holds out his hand towards the youngest member of our crew, Owen, who rubs his chin as he eyes the sticks.
He reminds me of a studious poker player, one who seems to believe by squinting at his cards he can change them into a better hand.
He plucks out a stick, then fists the air at the length.
Rachel goes next, snatching a stick with a sigh before smiling bright enough to dazzle me with the single diamond she has on her canine.
Justin pulls next, then moonwalks a circle around us like the cocky bastard he is.
It’s between me and Glen. I’m picking, and whatever is left will seal out fate.
I pinch a stick between my thumb and forefinger, but don’t remove it from Glen’s hand.
The skin beneath his eye twitches. I change my mind and pull out the other stick.
It’s short, only two inches long compared to everyone else’s four.
Glen shows me the last stick to prove he’s no cheat.
“Go on, then,” I say as we all give our sticks back. “Put me out of my misery.”
“You’re to do a fire safety talk.”
Rachel tips her head back far enough while laughing that her helmet falls off and hits the ground with a crack.
I slam down the visor on my helmet, mainly so I can yell profanities the public won’t hear, which I do, a looong stream of them.
Glen, Justin, and Owen all wince and clutch their ears.
Bluetooth connects our helmets, and they get to hear my colourful language.
“Jesus, Ryker,” Glen mumbles.
“I believe I used the word Christ in there somewhere, not Jesus . . .”
Rachel turns to look at the school. “Has he got to do it here?”
“Yes,” Glen replies. “The caretaker saw a group of kids riding away from the scene.”
“Just like Samson saw them riding away from the barn.”
Glen nods. “We suspect it’s the same group.”
“At least it’s only the one talk,” I say, glancing back at the school.
Glen grimaces, and wisely takes off his helmet before replying, “Actually, it’s all the schools in the local area.”
His words set Rachel off laughing again, and she flings her arm across Justin’s shoulders. “Oh, Ryker . . .”
“Although likely,” Glen starts. “We can’t be certain the arsonists came from this school, and it’ll benefit the community if you go to each school and remind students how dangerous and unpredictable fire can be.
We don’t want anyone else to be inspired by the videos those students took at the fence—we don’t want to trigger mass arson. ”
“It’s not all bad,” Owen says. “You might get a free meal.”
I turn to him. “A free school meal?”
He shrugs. “Better than nothing.”
“I’ll take nothing.”
Rachel flutters her lashes at me, and uses a baby voice when she says, “Maybe you’ll be somebody’s hero.”
“Or maybe there’ll be a cute teacher who wants to use the crash mats in the gym for some extracurricular activities.” I wink at her. “If you know what I mean.”
She snorts. “Maybe you should do a safe sex talk too, with all you’ve been having overseas.”
I blink, stunned, and her lips open in shock, and she quickly adds, “I was joking. It was a joke. I didn’t mean . . . anything by it.” Rachel cringes hard and walks away with Justin following at her heels.
I have a reputation, I know that. One that precedes me apparently.
It’s true that I’ve been away most weekends, I’m a social butterfly after all, and I’m good at meeting new people and having fun, but my skyrocketing air miles haven’t been for sex.
I know I’m tagged in a lot of photographs, in group pictures, but that doesn’t mean we’re all sleeping together in some suncream-fuelled orgy.
They’re friends, the brief kind you meet on nights out.
It’s simple, skin deep, and I’ve needed those disposable friendships because they’ve stopped me seeking out Freddie.
It’s been weeks since he asked if I wanted to meet up, weeks since I passed on the opportunity, and now he doesn’t reply.
I message to check on him, and he doesn’t even read them, and I’m left wondering whether he’s signed out of the group chat like Liam has and it’s me on my own speaking into the void.
If that’s the case, it doesn’t matter what I write . . .
Out of sight of my crew, I pull my phone from my pocket.
I really miss you, Freddie. We both do.
I don’t have the right to say that. We’re the ones who have distanced ourselves from him. But I hate it, and I know Liam does too.
One single tick appears by my message to show it’s been delivered.
I’ve spoken into the void, and now I wait to see if the void speaks back.