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He jerked awake, coughing on the phantom smoke from his dream.
But as he sat up, something felt wrong. Chelsea’s eyes were wide, and the room was foggy. As he wiped his eyes, he realized that the smoke hadn’t been from his dream. The room around him held tendrils of smoke, dancing around Chelsea’s nightlight and blocking the light from reaching the far corners of the room.
He jerked up straighter as he saw Kaitlyn standing beside his bed, looking up at him with frantic eyes.
He thanked his merciful God for sending his daughter to him.
“Is the house burning?” he asked. He wondered if he could put out the source before the fire spread, but he feared it was too late. He jumped to his feet in only his boxers, sliding a pair of elastic shorts atop them. He put on a pair of flimsy flip-flops while Chelsea stood and tied on her tennis shoes, a shirt, and leggings.
He noticed Kaitlyn staring curiously at Chelsea’s scarred leg, but his daughter didn’t say a word as she held a damp shirt over her mouth in the way he’d taught her to do.
Because of it, Kaitlyn was the only one not yet coughing.
“Stand back. Away from the door,” he ordered his family. Chelsea held onto Kaitlyn’s shoulders as they backed toward the window where they’d need to escape. But the window was not a good first option, as below it, tucked against the house, stood bushes of roses that Kaitlyn had insisted on planting.
The thorns stuck up nearly to his window, and they reached too far to be avoided.
Once they escaped, he’d tear all the rose bushes away from the windows.
Redmond placed his hand against the door and found the heat minimal. He did the same with the door handle and gripped it once the temperature proved safe. Carefully, Redmond opened the door and peeked into the hallway. His room had been filled with light tendrils of smoke, but the smoke from the hallway—thick and suffocating—flowed through the doorway and into the room.
They needed to get away from the smoke, and the path to the front door appeared clear of flames.
“We need to go. Come on,” he shouted, Chelsea rushed forward, and when Kaitlyn passed him by, he lifted her in his arms and she clutched the front of his shirt with her small fist, keeping the shirt over her mouth.
Redmond coughed from the smoke, trying to hold his breath and only inhale as many breaths as necessary, but as he followed Chelsea through the house, his coughing grew uncontrollable, and he could no longer hold his breath. He ran through the smoke, keeping an eye out for flames that hadn’t yet reached the hallway. The flames appeared contained to the back of the house—the kitchen and the dining room, judging by the bright flames.
They reached the front door, and Chelsea opened it before him, barreling onto the front lawn where the smoke hadn’t yet drenched the night air. Redmond shut the front door, latching it to prevent additional airflow through the home. Kaitlyn coughed lightly as she moved the shirt from her mouth and dropped it to the lawn, and Chelsea hacked, bending over and sucking in deep breaths.
“How did this happen?” she asked.
Redmond shook his head. “We didn’t leave anything on overnight.”
“It looked like it started in the kitchen,” Chelsea said. “We must have forgotten something.”
Redmond shook his head but didn’t reply. He was a firefighter, and he’d seen fires started from the most ignorant miscalculations, so he knew that he hadn’t forgotten to unplug a cord or turn off the stove. Redmond didn’t take those risks—not with Kaitlyn in the house.
He sat his little girl on the ground as Chelsea held her cellphone to her ear. Redmond hadn’t thought to grab his, but Chelsea was nothing if not always prepared. Kaitlyn wandered toward Chelsea, and he took the opportunity to scan the street. The streetlights did a wonderful job at illuminating the sidewalks and everything surrounding the houses, so it hadn’t been difficult to spot someone on the other side of the street, a few houses down, watching as the smoke billowed from his home.
It shouldn’t have concerned Redmond, as it was normal for his neighbors to nose their way into watching situations unfold. He felt a sense of surprise that more of them hadn’t started making their way out of their houses yet, though as soon as the sirens arrived, he had no doubt they’d wake the block.
But he didn’t recognize the man—not from afar. All the men on his street were heavier-set men, but the one standing there, watching leisurely, was slight and wiry. An eerie feeling crept into Redmond as he watched, transfixed.
Redmond had to have been standing there for minutes, watching the man in confusion, as sirens quickly rose from the night, growing louder by the second. When the man heard them, he began walking rapidly down the street.
Almost as if he didn’t want to be caught.
Finally, Redmond recognized the man. Not from his frame or features, but by the confident stride. It was Dale Hartfield who had been watching his house burn, and Redmond understood with clarity what had unfolded.
17
Chelsea completed the call quickly, and the operator assured that a police officer was nearby, and the fire station response time was excellent, so the house would be quickly taken care of. She didn’t notice Redmond’s blatant death stare until she’d ended the call, and getting his attention proved impossible.
Redmond’s gaze fixed on a man across the street.
“My plants are inside,” Kaitlyn bawled, pointing at the smoking house.
Chelsea dropped to her knees. “Honey, we can buy all the new plants that you want. I promise.”
