4. Ella
4
ella
I rubbed my eyes and exhaled as the numbers on the screen blurred. Running a no-kill shelter had its challenges, and some days—like today—the challenges outnumbered the triumphs.
It all came down to one thing—money. We needed more of it. The facility was old and in need of repair. Dogs had to be fed and cared for. Staff needed to be paid.
Frustration washed over me. In my former life, I could have written a check or made an endowment that would have covered everything without blinking an eye. Money wasn’t something that I’d ever had to worry about. My family was wealthy, and we were generous benefactors, donating millions to charities and good causes publicly, politicians and people in power privately.
But I wasn’t a Ferraro anymore. I was just another person trying to survive in a world not known for altruism and kindness. I needed to find more ways to stretch our limited resources—human and financial—farther to make ends meet and keep the shelter out of the red.
I did what I could. In addition to managing the office and handling the books, I was in charge of the after-hours general care and feeding of the animals too—from cleaning the kennels to making sure our charges had fresh blankets and toys. I shied away from the peopling aspect for obvious reasons. I’d become quite a recluse for both my own safety and for those around me. I couldn’t afford to let my guard down. The past had a nasty way of catching up.
For all intents and purposes, Alessandra Mariella Ferraro had died in a tragic accident seven years ago. Most of my family would have grieved and moved on, but not my brother Stefano. He was the kind of man who believed nothing without irrefutable proof. Without a body and a forensic analysis, the possibility of my survival would stubbornly remain in his mind. Without proof or corroborating evidence, my passing was just speculation and hearsay.
That was one of the reasons why I’d found myself living and working in Cecilton. My presence here was the latest in a series of strategic relocations. The community was big enough that not everyone knew everyone else and small enough to not be on ‘Ndrangheta radar. Bonus: the people here were nice and mostly tended to mind their own business.
Working at the shelter made me happy. I loved the animals, and I felt like I was making a difference, even if, some days, it didn’t feel like it.
I was still careful about keeping a low profile though, especially since I sometimes had the feeling I was being watched.
Was I paranoid? Maybe, but I also trusted my instincts. I’d rather be vigilant than caught unaware.
A shudder worked its way down my spine. I didn’t like to think about what would happen if anyone discovered the truth. The shame it would bring to my family was unforgivable. A betrayal of the highest order. Loyalty and respect were highly valued in that world, and I’d basically tossed both aside for my own selfish desires.
I swallowed the ever-present guilt and redirected my energy into doing something good. Today, my focus was on finding new ways to squeeze more out of the operating budget, ways that didn’t involve lowering our standard of care. Eventually, we might have to start turning some animals away. Who would make that decision? What would the parameters be? More importantly, what would happen to those we couldn’t accept?
Frustration wound its way through me. I had to do something.
A knock on the door had me looking up sharply. Something cracked in my neck, sending a white-hot bolt of unpleasant sensation down my spine.
“Ouch, I heard that,” Ben said, wincing in sympathy. “How long have you been at it?”
I looked at the clock, surprised to see how much time had gone by. “Longer than I thought. What are you still doing here? I thought you’d left hours ago.”
“I’ve been with Daisy.”
Right. The gentle Lab mix who’d been brought in earlier—a casualty of a hit-and-run. Just the thought of someone hitting an animal and then driving away made my blood boil.
“How’s she doing?”
“As well as can be expected. I did what I could. Now it’s all up to her.”
Poor Ben looked beat. He put his heart and soul into this place. Treated each of these animals as if it were his own.
“She’s going to make it,” I said confidently. “You’re the best veterinary surgeon I know.”
That got a tired but genuine smile out of him. “Know a lot of veterinary surgeons, do you?”
“No,” I answered honestly, “but I see what you do every day, and I know you were made to do this.”
“Thanks for that,” he murmured. “Anyway, she’s resting comfortably at the moment, and I figured it was a good time to grab a shower and get something to eat.”
“Want me to sit with her for a while?”
His eyes lit up for a moment, and then he shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I offered. Besides”—I waved my hand over the desk like a game show hostess revealing fabulous prizes—“I’m going to be here for a while. Where is she?”
“Private recovery.”
“Perfect. I can take my laptop and work in there. That way, when she wakes up, she won’t be alone.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ella.”
“You’d do just fine,” I said, uncomfortable with his praise and the way he was looking at me. Like I was something special. I wasn’t, and I didn’t want anyone thinking otherwise. The last thing I wanted to be was memorable.
“Want me to bring you anything when I come back?” he asked.
“No thanks. Go home. Get some sleep. If anything happens, I’ll let you know.”
Ben turned to go, then paused and looked back. “Thanks.”
I waved some invoices at him. “You’re welcome. Now go. We’ll be fine.”
Two hours later, I jerked awake, disoriented. I was sitting cross-legged in a corner of the recovery room at the shelter, back against the wall, PC in lap. I must have dozed off at some point.
My gaze went immediately to the big Lab mix. Daisy was sleeping peacefully on a bed of soft blankets within a double-wide crate to accommodate the Elizabethan collar she wore. I relaxed as I focused on the steady rise and fall of fur in the dim light. Scanning the bandages, I was pleased to find no evidence of blood seeping through the white gauze.
A gust of wind rattled the windows—a timely reminder that a front was moving in. I’d caught the weather forecast earlier, which indicated possible heavy thunderstorms—not a good thing when some of the animals didn’t do well with loud noises.
I wasn’t a fan of storms either. At one time, I’d loved them, but that had changed after my prolonged swim in choppy, storm-fueled waters.
I extended my legs, gritting my teeth against the pain as my brain sent the time to move memo to my limbs. Stiff, aching joints were another lingering reminder of the hours I’d spent swimming, treading, and then floating in cold water, much like my hearing loss.
Still worth it.
Slowly and with care, I rose to standing, glad when the pops and cracks didn’t rouse the sleeping canine. Assuring myself that Daisy was fine, I quietly moved toward the main kennel area to get my circulation going again and to check on the others.
All was quiet. The calm before the storm, literally.
The lights were low, and white-noise machines, placed at each end of the massive space, played soothing sounds. Most of the dogs were sound asleep, dreaming whatever dogs dreamed of, but not all. Some stirred and wagged their tails, sensing my presence when I passed by. I offered quiet words and gentle pets to reassure them.
Everything was exactly as it should be, and yet I couldn’t shake the sense that something wasn’t right.
Then, just that quickly, the storm was upon us. Lightning flashed, bright enough to create a brilliant outline around the blackout curtains covering the windows. The rolling rumble came shortly after, felt more than heard in the vibrations under my feet.
I set a course for the old wing and the supply closet there. If the storm was going to get bad, then it made sense to gather candles in case we lost electricity. We did have a backup generator, but God only knew what shape it was in.
I’d no sooner stepped into the short hallway that divided the old and new wings when the overhead lights began to flicker. I paused mid-stride, peering up at the 1970s-era fluorescent tubes. Unlike the ones up front in the reception and care areas, these hadn’t been replaced with newer, more efficient models.
More walking. More flickering. Then the light directly above my head made an ominous hissing sound and went out completely. The wiring in this section needed upgrading, but like the fixtures, it was lower on the priority list than boarding facilities and medical equipment.
With the sense of foreboding increasing by the moment, I reached the supply closet and grabbed a box of candles, matches, and battery-powered lights, enough to get us through the night if necessary. As I closed the door behind me, another bright flash momentarily turned night into day, followed immediately by a crack of thunder that I had no trouble hearing. The fluorescent tubes surged bright, then popped with a short, crackling sound and a burst of sparks, leaving the hallway without any light.
The sudden plunge into darkness temporarily disoriented me. I paused and took a few slow breaths, inhaling a subtle, acrid odor, tinged with the scent of melting plastic. I was no electrician, but I knew that smell wasn’t good.
It’s fine, I told myself while willing my pounding heart to calm . You’ve got this. No reason to panic. Just flip the breaker for this wing, and you’re good.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and tapped the flashlight, illuminating the way to the basement entrance. I avoided going down here because the place was so creepy. Thankfully, it wasn’t something I had to do often.
I opened the door and flipped the switch at the top of the stairs, pleased when a light came on down below. Leaving the door open, I made my way down the rickety steps with one hand gripping my phone, the other white-knuckling the railing. Cobwebs ghosted over my face and arms. The farther I descended, the quieter it was.
Like a tomb , I thought.
I stepped off the final tread and made a beeline for the breaker box, coming up short when I saw it intermittently spitting orange sparks. A sonic boom shook the ground beneath my feet just before the bare-bulb fixture directly over the breaker panel exploded like a firework on the Fourth of July. I shrieked and leaped back, flattening myself against the stone wall to avoid getting hit by the sparks. There was nothing subtle about the crackle or the stench of burning plastic filling the space now.
My anxiety escalated into full-blown fear when I realized the basement—used primarily for storage—was filled with potential tinder: stacks of cardboard boxes filled with files, old newspapers, broken tables and chairs, not to mention the ancient wooden support beams holding up the floor above me. A fire down here would be catastrophic.
I held my breath and waited, scanning the space for any sign of flame, finding none. The light show was over as quickly as it had begun.
One crisis at a time. You came down here to flip the breaker. Do that and get the hell out.
With a shaking hand, I reached out, then drew it back sharply when I felt static lifting the little hairs on my skin. Yeah, no way I was touching that bare-handed. Getting electrocuted was not on my bingo card tonight.
I pulled off one of my rubber-soled shoes and slipped my hand into it. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best I could come up with under the circumstances. MacGyver I was not.
I looked for a main breaker switch, but there didn’t seem to be one, so I just started swiping at all the switches, left to right, top to bottom. I’d barely finished the first row when more sparks erupted, this time from the box itself.
Tendrils of smoke curled from the edges of the box now, the sharp, nasty scent making the inside of my nose tingle. My self-preservation instincts were screaming at me to get out of there. It was certainly the safest option, but then I thought about the animals upstairs, confined to their cages for the night. If I gave up now and whatever this sparking was spread into the newer area, could I get them all out in time?
My conclusion: I had to try to cut the power one more time.
I pulled my shirt up over my nose and mouth, took a deep breath, and prepared for a series of quick, decisive slaps. One by one, I smacked the levers down, breathing a sigh of relief when they were all in the off position. Hopefully, I’d bought some time.
My relief was short-lived. I was halfway up the steps when I heard what sounded like popcorn popping behind me.
I’d done what I could, but I was out of my depth with this one.
I double-timed it up the remaining steps and slammed the door closed and tried to think. Towels. I needed damp towels. I ran to the laundry room, grabbed a stack of towels, ran them under the faucet, and stuffed them into the crack between the linoleum and the base of the basement door.
A mild haze collected near the ceiling by the time I was done, but there were no flames or sparks that I could see. So, where was the smoke coming from? Had the sparks ignited wires or insulation in the walls? And if so, why weren’t the smoke alarms going off? Or were they? I couldn’t tell over the ringing in my ears. That was the problem with hearing loss—sounds like low-pitched beeps or alarms, muffled by raging storms and physical distance, didn’t always register.
I reached for my phone to call for help, only to find my pockets empty. I must have dropped the device in the basement. No way I was going back down there.
I ran to the reception area and snagged the landline phone—thank God the place still had a landline—and dialed 911. The line rang once before a dispatcher picked up. I explained the situation as quickly and concisely as possible, adrenaline riding me hard. The dispatcher said something I couldn’t quite make out. I hoped it was an assurance that help was on the way, but I didn’t have time to figure it out. I had to make sure the dogs were safe. If it turned out to be nothing, then no harm, no foul. But better safe than sorry.
I hung up the phone and returned to the kennel area. The dogs were all awake now, tippy-tapping their paws and looking at me with anxious eyes. Whether they sensed danger, my fear, or were rattled by the storm, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter.
I attempted to reassure them, speaking to them as calmly as I could while working quickly. I opened the doors to the exterior kennels, and then section by section, I led them into the covered areas outside, as far away from the building as possible.
The smoke and burning stench continued to worsen with each trip—or perhaps it just seemed that way after spending a minute or two in the fresh air. The temperature seemed to be rising inside as well, but that might have been because of the cold rain drenching me down to the skin.
I had about half the dogs out and had come in for more when the building’s main entrance flew open. Flashlight beams cut through the gloom and momentarily blinded me. Squinting, I threw my arms up against the bright arc. A massive shape was moving quickly toward me. As it grew closer, I was able to see that it was dressed head to toe in yellow and marked with reflective tape.
A firefighter. Thank God.
“Ella?” a man’s voice boomed down the hall. At least, that was what I thought he’d said.
Several others followed behind him, their heads swiveling, taking everything in. Their muffled calls bounced off the walls, unintelligible to me.
The firefighter closest to me took off his helmet, and I recognized him immediately. Dom . I couldn’t explain the sense of warmth that washed over me at the sight of him, nor did I want to.
“You okay?” he asked, concern darkening his eyes.
I nodded, concentrating on his lips.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m not sure. Lightning struck close by, and lights started popping. I went down to the basement to shut off the breaker, but there were sparks, and I panicked.”
Dom’s gloved hand settled gently on my upper arm. It was a natural, caring gesture between normal, well-adjusted people—so not something I’d experienced often. It felt nice. A grounding touch that I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed until that moment.
“It’s okay. Where’s the door to the basement?”
I pointed down the corridor. “Down there, in the old wing. I put towels at the base of the door.”
“Is anyone else here?”
“No, just me and the dogs. I got half of them into the outdoor enclosure. I need to get the rest.”
“We’ll take care of it. Head outside and let the EMTs check you out.”
“I’m fine,” I protested, but Dom had already turned away and was directing the other firefighters down the hallway.
Figuring I’d done my part, I left them to it and went back to continue the evacuation. It was harder now. The remaining dogs were frightened by the flickering lights and commotion, but I managed with some coaxing. It was only as I shepherded the last few outside that I remembered Daisy.
Cold terror gripped my heart. How could I have forgotten Daisy?
I ran back to the private recovery area. Daisy was awake, but clearly still under the effects of the painkillers. Her eyes held fear and confusion when they met mine. Judging by the way she could barely hold her head up, I knew there was no way she could walk out of here on her own.
I crouched beside her and murmured assurances, reaching within the crate to wrap the blanket around her, turning her into a Lab mix burrito to keep her from flailing as much as possible. Once done, I tugged gently on the wrap to get her out of the cage, inch by inch, so as not to exacerbate her injuries.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I cooed against her ear, my throat closing due to the pungent smoke, which seemed to have doubled in the room since I’d entered. “Don’t worry; I’ve got you.”
A big hand landed on my shoulder, and I nearly screamed. Turning around, I faced off against a firefighter. I couldn’t get a clear picture of his face behind the mask.
He ripped his mask off, and I saw that it was Dom again. His expression was intense. He looked almost angry with me.
“ Ella . You shouldn’t be here. You need to leave now .”
“Daisy’s hurt. She can’t walk. I’m not leaving her.”
He looked down at the dog, his features softening. “I’ll get her.”
When I still hesitated, his fingers flexed on my shoulder.
His voice was firm but compassionate when he said, “Please go. I’ve got this. Trust me.”
I couldn’t explain exactly what came over me. Looking into his eyes, I believed him. My pounding heart rate slowed. The anxiety riding me hard abated, leaving only a sense of controlled urgency.
I nodded and moved back, speaking to Daisy. “Dom’s going to get you, all right? But I’ll be right here. I won’t leave you, I promise.”
“Here. Put this on, then grab the back of my coat and don’t let go.” Dom shoved his face mask into my hands, then leaned over and scooped Daisy into his arms.
I did as he’d commanded, following behind him as he led the way out of the building. The smoke had grown thicker in the short time I’d been in the office. His stride was longer than mine, but he kept his pace manageable.
Emerging into the stormy night was a relief, despite the storm. At least the wind and rain seemed to have calmed down somewhat. I pulled the mask off my face and filled my lungs with fresh air.
Flashing lights strobed through the lot as hulking figures in yellow drifted about. There were a lot of them.
I let go of Dom’s turnout coat but continued to follow him to one of the rescue trucks on scene.
“Grab that blanket and spread it out in the back there,” Dom told me, lifting his chin to a neatly folded blanket in the vehicle.
I did as he’d said, and then Dom carefully laid Daisy on it.
In the flickering glow of the streetlight, Dom turned to me. Rain matted his hair against his forehead, crystal prisms forming on his long, dark lashes. I was so focused on them that it took me a moment to realize he was talking to me.
My eyes dropped to his mouth. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Get in,” he said, draping another blanket around my shoulders and tilting his head at the vehicle.
It was only then that I realized my whole body was shaking, probably from a combination of cold rain and a post-adrenaline-surge letdown. Suddenly, sitting down sounded like an excellent idea.
I nodded and sat down beside Daisy, laying my hand on her silky fur. It was as much for my benefit as hers. Dom was saying something but the words didn’t register. Instead, I concentrated on the pleasant, calming hum of his voice and tried to think logically. Someone had to call Ben and let him know what was happening.
When Dom stopped talking, I asked, “Can you call Ben? I lost my phone in the basement.”
Concern once again etched Dom’s features as he peered at me. “He’s on his way. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. I just need a minute.” I closed my eyes and let my head fall back.
Exhaustion overwhelmed me. I didn’t know what kind of shape the shelter was going to be in when all was said and done, but I’d gotten the animals out, and that was all that really mattered.