Page 2 of Illinois Innkeeper
2
MIRANDA
Iam running through my safety checks when the loud siren blasts through the station. Cursing the timing of the alarm, I tell myself that time is of the essence. Even though I know I should just grab my gear and go, I’m also aware that if I don’t perform the third check, it will be the only thing I can think about, until I get back here and finish.
It’s dangerous, and quite possibly a bit reckless to take the time to do that third check. Telling myself it would be more perilous to be distracted on the job, I go through the ritual for the third time as quickly as I can.
My logical brain knows that my compulsion to do random things in multiples of three is ridiculous, but that doesn’t make it any easier to control.
As the last member of my crew, Tucker, races out toward the trucks, he turns back to say, “Let’s go, Wilson. This isn’t a drill.”
“Coming,” I assure him, relieved that the gruff man didn’t point out my quirk.
I’m not sure how many of my crew have noticed my OCD tendencies. They treat me just like one of the guys, so they probably would have openly teased me about it, if it was common knowledge. Nothing is off-limits when it comes to guys ribbing each other in the firehouse––even mild mental health disorders.
After rushing through my third check, I run to the truck. I’m the last one aboard, but no one comments on my slight tardiness as I take my jump seat spot and we rush out of the station with sirens blaring.
When the truck begins to slow as we approach the address, I put on my helmet and tap it three times.
Tucker narrows his eyes in my direction, but refrains from commenting. Instead, his jaw clenches and his facial expression morphs into all-business mode as we pull to a stop.
Springing into action, I hop out of the truck, but my step falters. Flames are shooting out of the quaint inn on Main Street.
I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for the inn’s handsome owner, Graham, and this is probably going to devastate him. I can’t know that for sure, since I’m not exactly close to the hardworking man, but I get the distinct sense that this place is his baby.
My heart pounds loudly in my ears as I work alongside my crew to control the intense blaze. The inn is already engulfed in flames and too far gone to save, but we need to get the fire stopped before the wind carries it to any of the other small businesses that line our town’s center square.
As we work, my mind can’t stop worrying about Graham. Hopefully, with the midday timing of the fire, no guests were injured, but it’s quite possible that Graham was inside the building when the fire started. A quick scan of the gathered crowd tells me that he isn’t standing here.
Our chief made the judgment call the moment we arrived at the site that the fire was already too far gone for any of us to enter and search the building. That left us to fight the flames from the outside and hope that no living souls were trapped inside.
“Please let Graham be safe.” I whisper the words three times to God, our guardian angels, or whoever might be listening.
Breath whooshes out of my lungs when Graham runs up beside us. The devastated wail he lets out nearly breaks my heart, “No-ooo!”
I ache to pause and try to comfort him, but I make myself stay focused on the task at hand. What he needs from me right now is for us to get this fire stopped. It already looks like there won’t be much of anything salvageable from the resulting rubble and ash, but every second this fire continues reduces the chance of us being able to save something.
After what seems like an eternity, we finally get the fire under control. The grueling work has left my entire team exhausted and covered in soot.
When I finally allow myself to take a quick break, I tear my gaze away from the smoldering remains of the inn and catch a glimpse of Graham. The grim, crushed expression pulling down his normally handsome features makes my throat burn even more than the hot, dry air.
Graham and I lock eyes for a long moment. I’m sure that he can see how much I care for him, even though my face must be coated in grime. Just as I’m working up the courage to approach him, Chief walks up and steals Graham’s attention. For what feels like the 999thtime between me and this man, the moment is lost.
3
GRAHAM
The road is blocked by fire trucks, police barricades, and groups of looky-loos. I park as close as I can to my beloved inn that serves as my home, business, and sole source of income. My burning eyes refuse to blink as I stare at the smoke rising into the air from the black shell of the building that used to be my everything.
I can’t believe it’s gone. All of those hours of hard work and close attention to every minute detail have gone up in smoke––literally. The inn that has been my life for the past few years is now nothing more than a pile of charred rubble.
Turning, I watch with glassy eyes as the brave fire crew works seamlessly together to contain and extinguish the fire, but the structure is already too far gone to limit the damage. I’ll be surprised if anything from inside can be saved.
Nausea overtakes my system as I struggle to believe this is real.
I try to listen to the fire chief as he explains something to me, but my swirling mind isn’t lucid enough to follow what he’s saying. Evidently deciding that I’m not able to have a coherent discussion in this moment, the gruff man gives my back a firm smack before he stomps away.
When it dawns on me, I begin frantically sweeping my eyes back and forth. Hoping for help, I shout into the crowd, “Has anyone seen an orange tabby cat?”
