Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
SAVANNA
Dropping a bag of trash at my feet, I survey my apartment. It’s cleaner today than it was the day I moved in, though that isn’t totally surprising. The apartment itself was worse than the rundown building, but at the time it was what I could afford. It just needed a little TLC.
I spent every spare moment making it a home, scrubbing it from top to bottom. I even got permission to paint, turning the place into my own little oasis, and as I look around, there’s a calmness and serenity that washes over me.
When I got to Santa Rosé, I didn’t have anything but the clothes in my suitcase, yet I’ve managed to make my space comfortable, and my own. There’s a white reading chair I love to spend my evenings in, a brown couch I can sink into after a long day, and a window nook that houses a myriad of plants to bring life and color inside.
After all my unnecessary cleaning, I’ve got a small trash bag ready to take out before I hit the shower and sit down to relax with a good book for the rest of the night. It sounds like a little slice of heaven before the job search begins tomorrow, and I’ve been looking forward to it since I started cleaning earlier.
Slipping on a pair of flip-flops, I grab the trash and open the door to step into the hall. Sniffing the air, my nose wrinkles. Someone burned their dinner somewhere because it smells, and not in the mouthwatering delicious kind of way.
Hustling to escape the stench, I head to the garbage room to toss my bag in the chute, annoyed when I get there and find the doorstop across the room.
My landlord explained when I moved in that the door was faulty, and if the door closed on me, I’d be stuck until someone let me out. Unfortunately, in the six months I’ve lived here, he still hasn’t been by to fix it, despite my reminders to him. This isn’t the first time I’ve found the wedge across the room, which I don’t understand since everyone on this floor knows the deal.
Maybe I should just leave the bag inside the door and say screw the chute.
“You aren’t that person, Sav,” I tell myself.
Setting the garbage bag against the door, I eye it, ensuring it doesn’t move for at least a minute before gathering the courage to dart across the room for the little safety device. I’m halfway back to standing when a scrape causes me to look up, my eyes widening as I see the door slowly start to slide closed.
“No, no, no,” I yell, lunging towards the door.
In my haste, I manage to get tangled in my flip-flops, and stumble. Reaching out to break my fall, I catch the door, but the momentum of my body crashes into it, and with a sickening thud, it slams shut, ensuring that I’m stuck in this god forsaken room that reeks like trash.
“No!” I shout, banging my hand against it. “Shit!”
I know it’s pointless, but I grab the handle and jiggle it, then pull with all my might, like I might be able to get somewhere with it. The landlord demonstrated all of this by locking himself in the day I met him, trusting that I would let him out. I’d freed him, but I’m suddenly wishing I hadn’t.
Pounding my fist on the door, I scream as loud as I can, “Help! Someone help!”
There are two other occupied apartments close to mine. The rest are either vacant, or on the other side of the building. I’m praying that one of my neighbors is home and awake, or at least doesn’t sleep like the dead.
But beating, kicking, and yelling until my throat hurts and my hands feel like they’re bruised, is all in vain. No one comes to my rescue, and with each passing moment, I’m feeling a little more frantic.
I can’t be stuck here all night. Five minutes is five minutes too long, let alone hours upon hours. I hate small places. I hate enclosed spaces. I hate being locked away.
The panic comes on strong and fast once my thoughts are triggered by being confined with no escape. My breathing quickens and grows shallow while terror floods my body, making me feel dizzy and lightheaded. It’s enough to make me stop wailing on the door, though I think I preferred bruising my hands to this.
I need to breathe. I need to relax. I need to stop thinking about the worst case scenario, or that this is like before, but it’s hard not to be sucked into things that I remember so vividly.
Trapped in a basement, the only light coming from under the door if it was nighttime. Hours spent clawing at the door, desperate to get out, begging to be set free, promising I would do better, act better, be better.
“No,” I gasp to myself, sucking in a deep breath. “No!”
I will not allow my past to dictate my future. This isn’t the same. I’m not in the same place. No one has locked me in this room against my will—unless you count the useless landlord who refused to fix the door.
Turning my back to the door, I slide down to the floor, resting my head between my knees, counting to four as I breathe in, repeating the process as I let the breath out. It takes seven rounds before my lungs aren’t screaming and my head feels clearer and capable of actual thought.
I can figure this out. I’m a smart woman. I’ve gotten myself this far in life, I can get myself out of this situation. I just need to figure out how.
Looking around the room, I frown. It’s empty. Bare. Not even my trash bag is inside with me because the damn door knocked it back into the hallway. I glance at the hinges on the door. I could try to knock the pegs out and open it that way. The problem is I don’t have anything to hit them with and I’m fairly sure my flip-flop isn’t going to cut it.
My eyes land on the garbage chute next, causing me to cringe. Eyeing the little door that opens, I wonder if I would fit, and if I did, would I survive falling down it and into the bin? That’s probably a bad idea, but I’m not sure if the alternative is any better. Being stuck in this room is going to screw with my mind, and I’ve worked hard in the last few months to get myself in a healthier mindset.
I’m about to get up and take a better look at the garbage chute, if for no other reason than to assess the situation, when I freeze and sniff the air. This room doesn’t smell great; I’ve witnessed many abandoned bags of garbage in here when dropping off my trash. Some people can’t be bothered to take the few extra seconds to open the chute and toss their bags in, which creates quite the stench, especially in the California summer heat.
As I sniff again, I can smell the garbage, but there’s something else that’s beginning to overpower it. A second passes before I realize what it is. The same odor that was in the hallway is now seeping into the room, but I was wrong earlier. It isn’t someone’s burnt dinner. Something is burning. Something is on fire.
The shrill sound of the fire alarm goes off, startling me so badly that I slam my hands over my ears and tuck my head down, shoulders raising as the noise assaults me. It’s got to be one of the worst things I’ve heard in my life. It’s so loud that I’m positive it would wake the deepest of sleepers, which I suppose is the point.
Jumping up, I start pounding on the door again, screaming to anyone who might hear. The elevators are in the middle of the building with a set of stairs at either end, and the garbage chute is next to the stairs closest to my apartment. If my neighbors are home, they should go right by, and maybe one of them will hear me screaming. If they aren’t home, or they don’t hear me, I really hope I’m not totally screwed. I have no idea where the fire is, but if the smell of smoke is any indication, it’s too close for comfort.
I’m still banging relentlessly when I notice a little puff of black smoke come under the door. “No!” I shriek, hitting the door with all my might. “No, no, no. Someone hear me! Please! Help! I’m trapped!”
Another larger cloud wafts in and I know I’m about to be extremely screwed if someone doesn’t hear me, or I don’t do something drastic soon. I glance at the garbage chute again, taking a break from beating on the door. Maybe it won’t be so bad. I can probably fit. It’s better than dying of smoke inhalation, or burning alive, right?
Dashing to the chute, I wrench on the door to open it, crying out when it only lifts halfway to its full height.
“What?” I gasp, tugging harder.
Panic seizes my heart when it doesn’t move even after I start to jump up while jerking on it. Throwing my body weight into it, hoping it’ll knock it loose, I scream as anger drowns out the fear when it doesn’t budge an inch.
If I ever get out of here and see my landlord, I’m going to murder him for not fixing everything that is wrong with this damn building. I’m facing a potential life or death situation, and I might not make it because of his negligence.
I might die in a garbage room.
The thought has me giving up on the chute. Turning back to the door, I ready myself to resume my assault on it when I realize I need to do something about the smoke coming in from under the door. I don’t stand a chance of surviving if smoke fills this room before someone can find me.
Acting on instinct, I strip down to my bra and panties, using my yoga pants and t-shirt as a barrier at the bottom of the door, stuffing them into the crack. It only takes a second to see that the smoke isn’t billowing its way under the door anymore causing me to pump my fist in the air in victory.
Score one for Savanna. Now if I can just get someone to open the door.
As if the universe heard my thoughts, a voice bellows from the other side of the door, “Fire department! Call out!”
“In here! I’m trapped! Help!” I cry, relief flooding me as I slam my hands against the door with such fierceness I’m sure they’ll be bruised if I get out of this.
“I hear you,” someone shouts, banging on the door. “Stand back!”
I’m so thankful I’m shocked that I don’t sag to the ground and start crying. Thank God for adrenaline and survival instincts because I do what I’m told instead of what I want to do, backing away from the door.
I have no idea if the firefighter can hear me, but I yell anyway, “Okay, I’m ready!”
Not ten seconds later the door opens and my hero stands before me in full firefighter gear, complete with a mask that obscures his face. I launch myself at him, throwing myself into his arms—I’ll look back on this moment later and realize that I didn’t form a coherent thought beforehand. I’m just so grateful that I’m out and I’m not going to die.
Despite not being able to see his face, I’m certain he’s male. He’s tall, at least six feet, and I smash myself into him. There is no comfort of a soft chest against me. Only a body that feels solid as a wall. That might have something to do with all his gear, though.
“It’s okay, I got you. You’re going to be okay,” he says, grabbing onto my upper arms to steady me. “But we need to get out of here.”
I nod. If he thinks I want to stay in this building a second longer than necessary, he’s got another thing coming.
“James, King,” he says, pressing a button on the radio attached to his jacket. “I’m taking one out. Finish the sweep of this floor then you’re out.” Dropping his hand back to my arm, he looks down at me and for the first time since he opened the door, I see shining blue eyes staring back at me through his mask. “Let’s go.”
An arm is around my waist then and he’s leading me out of the room. As we get into the hallway, there’s a loud bang that causes me to flinch so hard I nearly fall to my knees. The only thing that keeps me upright is the man beside me, and suddenly I’m in the air, being swung into powerful arms that hold me to his body like I weigh nothing. I don’t question it, allowing him to pick me up, my arms automatically going around his neck. I bury myself into him, seeking a comfort and safety that a few minutes ago I wasn’t sure I would live to see.
The next few minutes are a blur. He’s down five flights of stairs and out the door with me before I know what’s happening. Without a word he drops me off with the paramedics who wrap me in a blanket, take my vitals, and throw an oxygen mask on me.
I can’t stop watching the scene before me. The flurry of firefighters working on the fire, another ambulance, and a couple more paramedics. There are people who live in the building, neighbors from around it, and police ensuring no one except the firefighters get too close. There’s so much going on that it’s impossible to follow it all. It’s like I’m in a dream, seeing it all unfold without being there in my body.
I can’t believe I was stuck in the building that I’m now watching burn. The firefighters look like they’re doing a good job at knocking it down, but it’s not like I know anything about fighting a fire, so I could be terribly wrong. All I know is there seems to be a lot less orange now.
“Miss?”
Tearing my gaze from the building, I shake my head and blink a couple of times, focusing on the copper-haired paramedic in front of me. I’m sitting at the end of an ambulance, the blanket she gave me pulled tight around my shoulders. I realize she’s waiting for an answer that I don’t have.
“Sorry?”
“Just wondering if you’re ready to go. You should really have your lungs checked out. Lieutenant Miller said you were trapped.”
I haven’t seen the firefighter—Lieutenant—since he left me with the paramedics, but that doesn’t stop my eyes from looking over the men in uniforms again. Is it customary to thank someone for saving your life before you go to the hospital? Because I’d like to, though I understand that he’s probably pretty busy. I’m not sure I would even know which one he is with all the others running around, though I’m certain if I saw those eyes again, I would know them.
My search for him is halted when I spot my landlord. In a flash, my blood is back to boiling and I’m on my feet, ripping the oxygen mask off my face. The blanket falls from around my shoulders as I stalk towards him without thinking it through.
“You son of a bitch!” I scream in fury. My voice is hoarse, and my throat feels like it’s on fire, but I refuse to let it stop me. “You son of a bitch! I could have died in there!”
The man turns towards me, his eyes filled with surprise, but I see the moment recognition dawns. Both hands come up in defense, his eyes darting around for an escape as his head shakes. From what I know after our brief encounters, the man doesn’t live far from here, something I’m grateful for so I have a chance to give him a piece of my mind.
Words are forming on his lips, but I don’t let him get a single one out.
“I’ve told you over and over again about that door,” I shriek, getting in his personal space, my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. I really want to hit him, and it’s taking everything in me not to do so. “But you wouldn’t fix it. You never fix anything! I was trapped because of you. I could have burned alive because of you!”
“It’s not my fault,” he stammers.
I see red. My arm is halfway back to hit the guy when strong arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me away from him. I don’t care. I want this man’s blood on my hands for everything I’ve gone through tonight, and for claiming it isn’t his fault.
As I’m pulled away, I kick, struggle, and scream at my landlord who stands there looking frightened.
“You gotta calm down,” the voice of whomever is holding me says.
That’s a big ask of me right now because calming down is the last thing I want to do. I want to kick my landlord’s ass from here to hell and back. I want him to feel one tenth of the fear I felt in that room. Fear I don’t think I’ve even begun to comprehend. Fear that will settle deep within my bones once all the adrenaline is gone, and I’m left picking up the pieces.
“Breathe,” the voice says, and I recognize it as male as I’m carried behind a fire engine, away from prying eyes. “In, one, two, three, four. Out, four, three, two, one.”
That gets my attention because it’s the same way I calm myself down when I’m panicking. It’s the technique I used when I first freaked out being trapped in that room.
It takes another cycle of him repeating it before I’m following what he tells me, and then I’m doing it on my own without any coaching. It’s another minute before his arms are fully relaxing instead of securing me to his body. Then, with his hand on my arm to steady me, he moves to face me.
I’m shocked to my core when I see the blue eyes that stared down at me in the garbage room. I think somewhere between me screaming at my landlord, and being told to breathe, I realized it was the same man that rescued me, but that’s not what has me stunned.
This man, the one who saved me, is the same man from the elevator yesterday.
“You,” I whisper, my throat unable to handle much more.
He gives me a toothy grin, like he’s as amused with himself as he was when he shook his butt at me. Before he can say a word, he’s turning serious again, and I’m pretty sure I know why.
I can feel the blood draining from my face as I stare at him, my gaze getting hazy around the edges as I start to turn away. “I think I’m gonna—”
The words don’t make it out of my mouth before I’m heaving my dinner all over the sidewalk beside his beautiful red fire engine.