Number 203 - A short story

Soot clung to her boots as she entered the burnt out lobby. Once the main artery where residents passed, ignoring lives not their own. Now the walls were black, the halls empty and crumbling. The police tape had been removed or fallen away on its own. Soon the city council would decide what to do with the carcass.

A charred timbre, no longer supporting the ceiling above the building’s only stairwell lay across the lower steps blocking her path. Chunks of masonry scattered below a hole that broke straight through to the upper floor. Weak sunlight struggled through shattered windows above. Particles of black ash dancing in the shafts. Had the beam fallen before or after she came down? She remembered standing, or at least crouching until they had escaped. You had to stay low where the air was better but her memory was as cloudy as the soot that plumed when she dropped to her knees at the bottom of the stairs. On all fours, hands black, eyes burning she peered under the beam. No one could have gotten past this.

Staring beyond the obstacle with six inches at most of clearance she waited for the inevitable,the charred, withered remains with crooked charcoal fingers, straining for help that would never come. A stereo boomed outside, echoing off the walls like a tomb. Black snow continued to fall in silence. A trail of sweat formed a dirty stream on her forehead dripping from her nose. As the reverberations move away she accepted that she was alone here. Time to push on.
It was always hotter after a blaze like this, ones that gutted entire structures, leaving behind nothing but skeletons of blackened timbers and crumbling stone. There was enough heat in a fire like that to melt glass, curl floorboards into twisted matchsticks and calcify bone.

As general practice it was against policy to return to a scene once the job was done. When the flames were out, it was time to load up and move on to the next one. There would be questions, concerns about her ability to remain objective. She didn’t have answers, she didn’t even have most of the questions. As for staying objective, that was joke and not a very funny one at that.

She twisted at an awkward angle, one her back was too old for and slid under the beam. Even a small child would struggle to fit through that gap. In an emergency, in the dark, alone with a lung full of chemical laden smoke…
She pressed her eyes shut. Just move. On the the other side cracking paint and smoke stains greeted her like an old friend. They worked together after all, for ten years now.

Since leaving rotation sleep hadn’t come easy. Unable to sleep on her, it had been weeks since she’d made it through the night. Zander helped, at first. A teammate, and occasionally more, he was comforting but he wasn’t the kind of release her body and her mind wanted. It wasn’t enough to pretend if you didn’t know wha - Her thoughts halted.

Footsteps can sound like many things. They’re one of this easiest sounds to mistake as something else and play off as nothing. In the echo chamber of the stairwell, nerves bare wires, she was positive someone had passed overhead. The thud of the floorboards, the long low creak was unmistakable.

‘Hello?’

The entire structure was tenuous, a hazard zone even for those trained in how to properly navigate inside. She knew enough to stick near near central supports, avoid open expanses, etc. High school kids and the homeless, they rarely thought of stuff like that when an abandoned building offered a convenient place to smoke pot, have sex or just get out of the cold. Both types were dangerous if cornered. The instinct that drove her to protect the innocent and the not so innocent urged her to find whoever was in here and and escort them to safety. Perhaps provide a stern lecture on basic safety. The rest of her, the part filled with resentment and possessiveness just wanted them to leave. This was her monument, her mausoleum to visit, alone.

Getting to her feet she thought of Stan’s grocery store, the quick mart two blocks up that had been robbed twice in six months. She eased up the stairs, acutely aware of the shuffle her boots made on the coarse exposed stone. The handrail had disintegrated, forcing her to high step over clumps of rock and charred wood and bones.

‘Shut up.’ She said it out loud, not meaning to.

The air on the landing being at the cross section of several rooms leading off a single hallway was cool. A shiver traveled her newly goose bumped skin, which she failed to convince herself had nothing to do with what lay beyond the open doorway.

Only three apartments filled the second floor. Three doors before her, one to the left, charred beyond recognition, a black expanse beyond that lacked any recognizable features. The middle door mirrored the first, splinters of wood scattered inside and outside into the hall. The third, farthest from the stairs, was closed. Flames had eaten through a third of it so it hung loose on its hinges. The knob hung at an awkward angle, the room beyond showed snatches of color absent from the gray scale portrait everywhere else. The door frame, completely black on this side would still resemble polished wood on the other. She froze, considering the three options.

The door beckoned, mocked her, knowing full well there was only way to go. Only one road she had not yet traveled. Her body refused to move. She studied the floor. The waffle pattern of her boots stopped where she stood, mingled with the angled claw marks of rats. Scavengers. Otherwise, drifts of ash remained undisturbed.

Inching closer, black prints smeared from her fingertips where she steadied herself. A cool breeze kissed the back of her neck, raising the tiny hairs. Maybe she wasn’t alone after all. At 203 the door rocked on its hinges, inviting her in.

The fingers of orange tipped with blue no longer rippled across the ceiling. The black monster roaring down the hall had breathed its last terrible breaths but still she saw them, felt their presence. She struggled against their memory, their accusations. She shook the images from her head. This is why you came. Get on with it.

203 was less damaged than the other two yet very little remained that was familiar. The metal frame of a couch, broken glass from family photos scattered along the walls. Pale squares in their place. Collapsed floorboards left a labyrinth of treacherous pathways. She half hoped one would open up and swallow her whole. Against the far wall, what she came for. This door was not closed. Had it been open before the fire? Maybe it won’t be so bad.

Firefighters learn how to turn off fear. Life and death rests in making split second decisions, smart decisions, practiced ones. Already the tears threatened. She told herself she wasn’t afraid, she didn’t cry. That was for other people, weak people. She eased the door open.

She was wrong, the room was badly damaged. Not much better off than the rest of the building. Maybe it was wishful thinking, hope for a silver lining but as she crept forward it became obvious the heat had come from the floor below, burning a black crater in the center of the floor. A ring five feet across consumed the open space leaving behind only a blackened metal cage of bed springs, the remains of a small child’s dresser and a chair, nothing more than kindling now.. If there had ever been posters on the walls, plastic ponies galloping along bookshelves, they were long gone. A window, three of its panes shattered, funneled noise and pollution from outside, invading the space. It was, for all its blasphemous intrusion, the only sign of life that remained.

She skirted the hole, staring into the blackness below, where the inferno began. It had been a bedroom as well but empty at the time. The first floor had been completely cleared by the time they arrived. The second had been cleared as well but someone screwed up. No one knew the family in 203. No one knew the mother, Janelle Meyer, had gone to the store. No one knew that Sabrina Meyer had stayed home from school with a chest cold.

Waves of emotion crashed against her conscience. On the other side of the hole the corner of what had been a blanket terminated in crisp black charcoal. The mattress, pillows, everything had been completely consumed. The body laying on top, incinerated. The tears began. She knelt over what once been a night stand, sifting through the rubble. This is your fault.

‘Shut up.’

Startled by the sound of her own voice in what amounted to a holy space, she felt exposed. vulnerable. She swallowed, unable to dislodge the lump in her throat.

‘I’m sorry.’ She said.

‘I’m so sorry.’

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It came away wet, smudged with even more black. How much hard turned to ashes? It was impossible to tell what had been Sabrina, what was her favorite toys, her clothes. They were all the same now. How much of that girl was part of this building now, the child’s blood and skin literally on her hands. She stared at her palms, the lines caked with grime. Her eyes blurred. A glint, not even a sparkle, just something not like the others, buried among the other refuse caught her attention. She wiped her eyes again reaching into the pile.

Her fingers touched on something hard, something cold. Even the ashes felt warm to her but the hard lump caked in dirt and charcoal remained cool to the touch. She pulled her hand back encasing a metal trinket trailed by a broken chain. She held it to the light, squinting through tear filled eyes to make out the shape. It felt cheap,like a child’s costume jewelry. It was nothing short of a miracle the heat hadn’t destroyed it entirely. A misshapen pendant, like a unicorn but distorted now twinkled in the light. The chain was ruined.

When the sobs came she did nothing to hold them back. A flood erupted from her, twisting the room into a cloudy fun house version of the crime scene from before. She clutched the necklace to her chest, falling backwards into closet door. It cracked under her weight as she bawled like a child.

‘I….d-didn’t….know……’ She choked.

The flames that took this room began in the first apartment, to the left of the stairwell. It took the apartment next door before they arrived. In the academy you’re taught not to open doors incautiously. You’re taught to avoid blow back when a contained blaze comes in contact with a fresh source of oxygen. The first apartment was engulfed on arrival, the door already disintegrated. The occupant of 202 wasn’t home and no one realized it was already an inferno. When she breached the door, the rich oxygen ignited the entire hallway in flames. In seconds the upper floor was impassable. A simple mistake.

She buried her face in her knees, a face that would show the scars of her mistake for the rest of her life. A fatal mistake. She had wished more than once to trade her scars for the life of young girl no one knew to look for. She didn’t notice the darkness that overcame the room until the mournful cry of the bedroom door caught her attention.
A shape, formless, little more than a shadow stretched across the doorway. Light absorbed by its presence. She sniffed, her mouth rocking but failing.

‘Sabrina?’ she said. The words like the dim light were swallowed by the room and the shadow that occupied it.
No answer.

‘I’m sorry.’ she managed.

A swirl of ash spun though there was no wind in this stagnant room.

She sniffled, staring into the undulations like black ripples in the ocean.

The charm felt warm in her hand. She clenched it so the warped impression embedded in her palm.

‘Do you….want this?’ She said offering the misshapen animal.

The form shifted, moved to the left but came no closer. She felt like it was watching, waiting. She withdrew her arm timidly.

‘Can...I keep it? You know, like borrow it….maybe?’

The shadow darkened, now impenetrable black. She shrunk away. *She knows it’s my fault. *

The shape floated forward, enveloped her inside a cool, dark haze. It was impossible to see, like smoke in her eyes.
She was engulfed in darkness, the air left the room. Her lungs seized.

This is how it feels to die. You’re taking me with you.

She surrendered herself to the assault. She had made the mistake that cost this child her life, all of her hopes and dreams. She deserve to be punished, she wanted to be held accountable. Her body seized, willing itself to survive but she remained calm, ready to let go.

The frigid air that had surrounded her warmed until her flesh followed. Her chest filled with oxygen and the fear, like morning frost melted away. Affection radiated through her flesh, her muscles loosened and a peace inhabited her bones. All tension drained away as the shadow faded, shrank until barely visible and disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Alone again, staring at nothing, the hinges of the front door creaked again.

She held the unicorn in her palm.

‘Thank you.’ She said.

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