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He had arrived too late. She was hurt.
Bitter guilt multiplied as he hurried down the steps to the little patch of lawn beside Dixie’s apartment.
Dixie barked orders at some of the neighbors who had appeared while he was inside. They sprayed garden hoses at the burning building. Flames burst higher through the roof, unresponsive to their efforts.
“She’s hurt.” He laid Lucy on the grass next to where Dixie stood.
Dixie’s eyes got huge, and she raised a hand to her mouth. “Lord in heaven.”
He leaned close to her. “Luce, I have to go back for Neilson.”
“M-m-itzy’s in the house.” Agonized tears in Lucy’s eyes reflected the fire behind him.
“I’ll get her,” he promised.
“Will, no. You can’t go back inside.”
He wouldn’t let her lose anything more. “I said, I’ll get her.”
“Her arm,” William said to Dixie.
Dixie knelt beside her. “Ambulance is comin’.”
“What? I’m not…” Lucy glanced down. “Damn. W-when did that happen?”
Robbie apparently got closer with the knife than she’d realized. Dixie tugged off her purple cardigan and held it against the gash. Lucy hissed. William went rigid, ready to finish off the guy he had left writhing in the kitchen.
The jarring bleat of a fire engine got louder.
Dixie smoothed Lucy’s matted hair and jerked her chin at William with a glance to the burning building.
“I’ll hurry,” he whispered to Lucy.
It took everything in him to leave her there and bolt back inside. One of the men with a hose hollered at him to stop. But he didn’t listen.
Soupy, black smoke met him at the entry. Stumbling into the room and squinting against the filmy soot nearly brought William to his knees.
A sizzling explosion from the kitchen shifted the foundation. William coughed against a surge of smoke. Another crash rained debris around him. His heart ricocheted against his ribs. The kitchen ceiling had caved in.
He pulled Neilson to the door where three firemen in full gear met them at the porch. William handed over Neilson and headed back into the house for the damn cat.
A gloved hand tried to stop him, but he shoved it away. “A guy in the kitchen needs help,” he yelled over the sirens.
They could get Robbie.
He would find Mitzy and get out.
Lucy loved her. He loved Lucy. The thought shifted the foundation of more than the apartment. It shifted the foundation of his life.
He loved her.
So by some convoluted formula, it was his responsibility to ensure the cat survived.
Heat scorched his lungs as he made his way by memory through the house, avoiding the collapsed section near the kitchen. He lifted the bottom of his shirt to cover his mouth. The biting metallic scent of Lucy’s blood met his nostrils. His shirt was covered with it. He shook his head, unwilling to process anything other than Mitzy.
Save the fucking cat.
She generally hid under Lucy’s bed. He hoped to hell she stayed true to form as he crawled through the bedroom, his lungs convulsing against the smoke.
