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“Hi. This is Alessandra Everett,” I whisper into the line. “I own Java and Teas Me on Main Street. Someone has broken in and I’m locked in the office off the kitchen. I don’t think they know I’m here.”
Fingers tap a keyboard on the other end of the line. “Are you safe where you are? Is there another exit point?”
“I locked the doorknob. There’s no other exit.”
The clanging of pans hitting the floors echoes just outside the office. A hint of propane, lighter fluid, and burning papers hits my nose.
Oh god.
“I smell fire,” I whisper-shout into the phone.
More furious typing on the other end. “Officers are en route, as well as fire and rescue. Stay where you are.”
Stay where I am?If I don’t get out of this office, I will burn alive.
Shouts and sharp cracks boom from outside the office. Anderson screams my name before another crack ripples the air. Then another. Loud shrieking sounds a second before water sprays down from the ceiling. I reach on top of the desk, grab my laptop, and hug it to my chest. Thank goodness I back everything to the cloud.
Plugging the other ear with my finger, I tell the operator, “My brother is fighting them, I think.”
“Stay in the office, ma’am. Officers just arrived.”
Just as the words hit my ears, new voices join the mix and boom over the wail of the fire alarm. “Lake Lavender police. On your knees.”
At this, I rise from my spot on the floor and dash for the door. “They’re here,” I tell the operator. “Thank you.” I unlock the door, whip it open, and cough as a cloud of smoke smacks me in the face.
“Stay safe. I’ll inform the officers you’re coming out.”
The call disconnects and I tuck my phone in my pocket. I lift the collar of my shirt and mask my nose and mouth. The earsplitting sound of the fire alarm quiets, but the water continues to shower the entirety of the shop.
“Anderson? Hello?”
“Ms. Everett?” a muffled voice calls out.
“I’m here.” I shuffle toward the dining room and the sound of whoever spoke. “My brother is in here too.”
A man decked in bright-yellow fire gear comes into view, a shielded mask with a respirator on his face. “We have him outside. Come with me.” He offers his hand and I take it.
As we rush from the kitchen, several firefighters bolt past us. With each step forward, the smoke clears. With each step forward, I take in the disaster zone that is my business. Splintered chairs. Shattered glass. Pricey machinery on the floor and in pieces. Slits cut diagonally in the canvases on the wall. Vulgar words spray-painted on the walls and floors. My entire life in a pile of ash and rubble.
The second I step outside, Anderson is there. He hugs the breath from my lungs, mumbling words of reassurance in my ear as he steers me away from the building.
Down the sidewalk and in front of my business neighbor, three young men sit on the curb, hands cuffed behind their backs. Heads down, two stare at the ground with downturned lips. The third narrows his eyes at me and curls his upper lip.
None of them look familiar, not that I know every resident in Lake Lavender. Maybe they are rowdy teens who didn’t want to come on vacation with their parents. But why vandalize and burn a store? Seems a bit harsh.
Anderson guides me to the ambulance. “Let’s get you looked at.”
“I’m fine, A. Damp and cold, but otherwise okay.”
“No arguments. You weren’t in the thick of the fire, but you still inhaled smoke. At least sit with the oxygen tube for a few minutes.”
I open my mouth to decline but slam it shut and nod when I take in the worry lines on his face.
The paramedic drapes a blanket over my shoulders and secures an oxygen tube under my nose. While she checks my vitals, I dig my phone from my pocket and open my messages.
Braydon
Called Anderson. He’s coming.
