Eric's Inferno Read online

  Copyright © 2017 by Tiffany Patterson

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  A special thank you to There For You Editing(https://www.thereforyouediting.com) for editing and Ideality Consulting LLC ([email protected]) for proofreading.

  Eric’s Inferno

  Prologue

  Eric

  You fucking dumbass! I berated myself while lying under the pile of rubble that had once been the second-floor roof of the factory building we’d entered.

  “Harvard! Can you hear us?”

  “Harvard, call out!”

  I heard the anxious voices of the guys of my squad but couldn’t respond. They sounded so far away, and I was struggling to breathe. I attempted to push what I believed to be slabs of concrete off of me, but they barely budged and it made the pain in my abdomen so much worse.

  Fuck! I yelled out in my head when another wave of white-hot pain radiated through my stomach, up my chest, and down my legs. I did my best not to tense up, knowing that’d only make the pain worse. Instead, I did the dumbest thing I could do—I reached up with my one free arm and removed my helmet and facemask. Tossing the cracked facemask down, I flipped my dented helmet upside down to see the picture I taped inside it months ago. In spite of the waves of agony emanating through my body, my lips spread into a smile causing even more pain. But I didn’t care. I needed to rest my eyes on her.

  Angela.

  My Angel.

  The woman I kissed just a few hours ago, before rushing out the door to make it to the firehouse on time for my shift. I reached up to my mouth and bit down on my glove, pulling my hand free from it, so that I could better grab the picture. Plucking it from my helmet, I held the image closer to my face, only able to see clearly out of one eye. But I didn’t need to see to remember her beautiful face. Pecan brown skin, and shortly cropped dark brown curly hair with streaks of purple throughout. Big, doe-like tawny eyes that sparkled when she smiled, just as she was in this picture. A smile that spread across her face when she noticed me holding up my phone as she danced behind the bar serving drinks. That smile was just for me, and I captured it to carry with me always.

  This was the woman who held my heart.

  The woman I was supposed to marry in a few short months.

  The woman I had lied to.

  On our fourth date, I told her I would always be safe working at Rescue Four. Told her we were the best of the best, and if anything were to happen to me, those guys were coming in after me. I meant it when I said it. What I hadn’t told her was that there were no guarantees. Even the best of the best couldn’t prevent roofs from collapsing, or fires from surging. We tried. God knows we did everything in our power to try. But in the end, we weren’t the ones running the show.

  I pulled the image to my chest as the sounds of the guys seemed to be drifting away. Either they were moving farther away, or I was falling into unconsciousness. Likely, it was the latter. My head felt woozy, but I kept the image of my smiling Angel close to my heart. I let out a moan when I thought about the Fire Department Chief showing up on Angela’s doorstep telling her that I died. No, they wouldn’t go to her doorstep. It was Tuesday, and at this time of day, she’d be at the bar, prepping to open.

  Maybe they’d send the captain or Sean. I knew Sean would want to be the one to tell his sister the news.

  And my parents. I wondered who would tell them. After seven years, they were just starting to come around to accepting my career, and here I was dying because of it. I hurt for them, too. But I didn’t have any regrets...no, that was a lie. I had one regret: I told Angela I wouldn’t get her pregnant until we were officially married. That was the dumbest shit I ever did. Now, she wouldn’t even have a child to remember me by. Just an engagement ring and six months of memories.

  “I’m sorry, Angel,” I barely whispered right before my eyes closed one last time.

  Chapter One

  Eric

  Stepping out of my red Ford Escape into the parking lot of my firehouse, I looked up and did the same thing I did every time I parked in the lot for my shift. My eyes scanned over the brick fire station and I read the lettering that spelled out “Rescue Four” on top of the building in big, gold letters. A usual warm, tingling feeling expanded in my chest. The sense of achievement I’ve felt for the last seven years flooded my body. More than half a decade on the job and this feeling never went away.

  Instead of moving toward the door, I turned and went in the opposite direction, to the Starbucks across the street. My second ritual of my morning shifts was heading to get coffee. I made my way to the street, checking for cars, and thanks to my long legs, within a few steps I was completely across. I held the door open for a female patron who was just coming out. Even with the two full cup holders in her hands, she eyed me up and down. Her pink-tinted lips spread into a seductive smile. I returned her stare with a smile of my own. After seven years, it still amused me how women responded to a man in uniform. Plus, I’m not too bad on the eyes, if I do say so myself.

  “Thank you,” she stated airily.

  “No thanks needed.” I winked and entered the door after she passed, pausing to get a view of her backside. When I finally stepped across the threshold, I could see her continue to eye me through the window. I took one last glance before heading to the counter to give my order.

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Fireman, sir,” I heard a mock girly voice in my right ear behind me.

  My lips turned downward. “Fuck off, Don.”

  “Ladies do love a man in uniform,” he laughed.

  I turned to face him to do our usual handshake. Don stood just a hair short of my six-foot-two height. He, like me, was coming in to start a twelve-hour shift. We were on the schedule from nine a.m. to nine p.m. that day.

  “You would know,” I responded to his earlier comment. “You’re the consummate playboy.”

  “Consummate? Here you go using all those fancy words, Harvard.”

  Harvard. That was my nickname around the fire station. In the beginning, it irritated the hell out of me. But the more I let the guys know it bothered me, the more they used it. Finally, I let it drop, and now, seven years in, I accepted it.

  “If you say so. What’re you drinking? Coffee’s on me this morning.”

  “Just a regular brew. You know I don’t like all that fancy shit. The only reason I’m here is ’cause Rookie Two’s making the coffee this morning, and I swear if I have to drink his slop again, I might light him on fire myself,” Don grunted.

  “Easy, Don. It’s your job to investigate fires, not set ’em.” I ordered our Venti-sized cups of regular coffee.

  “Would you like those iced?” the barista asked.

  “No thanks.” I could just imagine the type of ragging Don and I would get walking into the firehouse with iced coffee. No thank you.

  After a few minutes of Don and I talking about sports, our drinks were ready. We each grabbed them and headed out the door to start our day. Once we got to the parking lot, we stopped.

  He clapped me on the back. “It never gets old, does it?”

  “Not for a second.”

  We stood for another heartbeat, and then Don followed me to the door into our fire station, more like our second home.

  “Harvard!” one of the younger guys called. “We thought you forgot about us,” he teased.

  Looking up at the clock on the wall, I noted it was five after nine. Even if is was five minutes early, I was considered late. I overslept this morning thanks to a late night with a female companion, causing me to run behind my usual eight forty-five arrival.

  “Harvard here was making googly eyes at a pretty little thing in Starbucks,” Don interjected, tousling my hair.

  “Fuck you, Don.” I smacked his hand away. “If it weren't for your iced coffee, I would’ve been on time,” I teased right back. That started a round of laughter from the four or five guys who stood around.

  “Donnie drinks iced coffee now? Do you need us to put the toilet seat down so you can sit while you piss, too?” Corey yelled out, setting off another round of belly laughs.

  “Corey, the next time you call me Donnie, you’re gonna be walking away with a black eye,” Don threatened. He hated the name Donnie, and everyone knew it. Unlike me, though, he never got used to it and threatened anyone who dared call him that. The younger guys wouldn’t dare, but Corey, Don, and I came up together. All three of us went through training at the fire academy together. I joined Rescue Four right out of the academy. Don was assigned to another firehouse and joined Rescue Four five years ago, while Corey came a year after that.

  “Pssh, imagine that!” Corey returned, sounding unfazed.

  “All right, let’s get this over with,” I began, grabbing the clipboard to make sure everyone who was leaving was signed out, while Don, Corey, and I signed in for our shifts. Ordinarily, this was supposed to be the job of the lieutenant, but Rescue Four had only one lieute
nant for close to two years now, and he wasn’t on this shift. We didn’t even have a captain. That left me the unofficial lieutenant due to my seniority.

  Once the overnight shift left, Don, Corey, myself, and a few other men filed into the kitchen.

  “Ack! This taste like something my dog threw up!” Tommie’s face was twisted up in disgust as he poured the contents of the coffee pot down the sink drain.

  Don looked at me. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said, holding up the Starbucks cup.

  “Somebody needs to teach that fucking rookie how to make a damn pot of coffee.”

  “Who wants grub?” Corey called out.

  An array of “me’s” and “fuck yes’s” echoed around the room. Corey began pulling out packages of eggs, bacon, and bread out of the fridge. For the morning shift, we kept a well-stocked fridge. One of our traditions was cooking breakfast at the station, if time permitted, of course.

  Within thirty minutes, we were all sitting around the table, full plates in front of us. One of the rookies talked about hearing about a firefighter being injured the other night in a fire. Don looked at me. I gave him a nod and he slapped the rookie upside the back of his head.

  “What the fuck?” the rookie yelled.

  “We never talk about an injured firefighter around the table,” Corey commented, not even lifting his gaze from his plate.

  “It’s bad luck,” I finished, shoveling another forkful of food into my mouth. Firefighters, much like baseball players, were a superstitious lot. You can talk about a lot of shit at this kitchen table―such as rescues and sexual exploits, or some of the guys talked about their kids and wives―but there were two things we never discussed: the death of a fellow firefighter and the injury of one. Not at the table.

  I glanced up from the table at the rookie who was now rubbing the back of his head, miffed. He’ll learn. We all did.

  “You know Carter’s supposed to come back soon?” I paused, peering at Don, whose voice had taken on a serious tone. He was staring directly at me.

  “You spoke with him?”

  “No, heard it through the grapevine. Corey, you?”

  Corey looked between Don and I, and shrugged. “Nah.”

  I remained silent, opting to place my breakfast dishes in the sink.

  “Hey, Rookie,” I called. “For that fuck up at the table, you’re on dish duty this shift. Pete, Jacob, and Vince, you three are scrubbing down the truck today. The rest of us are cleaning the equipment. Capisce?”

  “Last time I checked you were Korean, not Italian,” Don’s smart ass remarked.

  “My mother’s a professor of linguistics. I learned a word or two in other languages.”

  “No wonder they call you Harvard,” I heard the rookie at the sink mumble.

  “You can call me sir. Capisce?” I said to him, crowding his space.

  “Capisce.”

  Only then did I back off.

  “Don’t worry, Rookie. One day it’ll be your turn to pay it forward,” Don reassured the rookie, smacking him with the dish towel.

  I chuckled as I left the kitchen and moved to the equipment room where all our gear was stored. Rookies always got the shittiest jobs and the most hazing in the fire station. It was part of their birthing process. We all went through it. If you came out the other side, you could consider yourself a real firefighter, but only if you made it through the fire.

  ****

  “Come on! Fucking move!” Corey yelled out the window as he tugged on the lever that sounded the truck’s horn. His dark skin was already glistening with sweat. I felt the sweat running down my back, but I was more focused on maneuvering this truck down a one-way street to make it to our destination. We were on our third call of the day, and the yells through the walkie-talkie were saying a firefighter was trapped on a roof.

  “We better get there before Rescue Two!” Corey shouted from the passenger seat.

  “Let’s go!” I yelled, pressing on the horn at a car moving too slowly in front of us. I rounded the corner onto the street where the burning building stood.

  “Fuck!” Corey and I yelled at the same time when we saw the fire truck for Rescue Two already on the scene. Parking a little ways down the road, in front of a fire hydrant, I threw open the door, and the five of us piled out of the truck, grabbing helmets and gear as we went.

  “Where do you need us?” I asked the Captain of Rescue Two.

  “We need an additional line run into the ground floor. I got a man on the roof.”

  Peering up at the roof of the four-story building, I saw the red brim of a fireman’s helmet.

  “Corey, you and the rookie run a line into the ground level. Kill anything that looks hot. You got me?”

  “Copy!” Corey returned. “Let’s go, Rookie!” I watched Corey run around to the back of the truck to grab the hose.

  “Anyone else inside?” I asked the captain.

  He shook his head. “We pulled out three before the second floor caved in. Our guy had to go up to the roof.”

  “Ladder’s not high enough,” one of the Rescue Two squad called out.

  “Shit!” the captain yelled. “He―”

  “I’m on it,” I returned before he could finish the question. I ran back to the truck, yelling to Don that I needed to move closer to pull up our ladder. Carefully but quickly I inched the truck as close to the building as possible, and then pressed the button to send up the ladder that rested on top of the truck. I heard the tell-tale beeps alerting me that the ladder had released. Exiting the truck, I climbed up on top to hold the ladder still for the man to get down, but within seconds I heard shrieks coming from overhead. Above me were two pairs of skinny limbs waving, and I realized the firefighter had two children with him. One of which was hanging dangerously close to the edge of the roof. I called for Don to watch my back. I didn’t turn around to see if he came to assist. I knew he’d be in position just like I knew the back of my hand. I ran up the ladder as fast as my body allowed. Less than a minute later, the only thing that kept me suspended in the air against the brick building was the ladder.

  “Help me!” a young girl, probably about ten years old, shrieked as I reached her.

  “I got you,” I soothed, using one of my arms to grab her from the edge of the roof and the grip of the other firefighter. “I need you to hold onto my ladder. We’re going to go down as quickly as possible, okay?”

  “My brother!” she yelled.

  Glancing over, I saw the little boy was cradled in the other firefighter’s arms.

  “Your brother’s coming down right behind us. We’re all getting out of here.” I held onto her with one hand. “Keep your eyes up for me, okay?”

  She was trembling with fear, and my biggest concern was that she’d see how far off the ground we were and would slip or lose her balance.

  “That’s it, nice and easy. You’re doing great,” I consoled as we made our way down the ladder. I glanced up to make sure the firefighter and the little boy were following. When I saw they were, I returned my attention to the girl.

  “We’re almost there,” I stated until I felt my foot hit the top of the truck. When I stood on the truck, I picked the girl up and handed her off to Don, who then passed her over to the paramedic. Seconds later, I was passed her younger brother, who although frightened and crying, didn’t appear harmed.

  “’Medic says they’re going to be okay,” Don came over a while later to tell me.

  The three story home held three apartments. We were able to enter the building once the flames were out and it had been cleared. From the looks of it, faulty wiring caused the fire. The two kids were home alone because their mother ran to the grocery store.

  “Good job.” Don patted me on the back.

  “Right back at you.” We bumped fists.

  After speaking with the captain for a few minutes, I returned to my truck to find my guys in a heated debate with the men of Rescue Two.

  “Nah, fuck that! A bet is a bet!” Steve, one of the guys from Rescue Two, yelled.

  Fuck. Steve had a point.

  “Harvard, you believe this shit? We saved their asses, and they’re still trying to hold a bet over us,” Corey said.

  “First of fucking all, you didn’t save shit!” Steve spat. “Second, we always knew the supposed tough guys of Rescue Four were a bunch of pansies.”