Jackson sat in the classroom at Station 43, listening to another firefighter and paramedic, Cassandra Walker, give a statement about the fire that had occurred the day before yesterday, which had taken two innocent lives.
Five, if you count the pets.
He looked toward the window, seeking an escape of any kind. He could think of a million other things to do besides rehashing the recent past and dealing with his feelings. Even snaking a clogged shower drain sounded more appealing.
The windows were shielded by thick blue curtains. An American flag stood on one side of the whiteboard at the front of the room. Their firefighting station insignia hung on a stand at the other side of the whiteboard.
His mind kept scooting out the door, out the building—anywhere but here in this circle of peers. He forced his gaze toward each of his teammates.
No one met his gaze. Everyone seemed absorbed in his or her own thoughts.
A similar, but far less tragic, gloom hung over Jackson’s entire world. Oh, sure, he and Blaire had patched things up before going to bed night before last, but the weight of his brother hung heavy around his neck. He knew he had to do something—he just didn’t know what.
“So, I was on overhaul, chief,” Cassandra said from her seat next to him. She reached behind to fidget with her curly brown hair ensnared in a hair tie at the back of her neck. Her hands dropped to her lap. “With Hollerback,” she added. She lifted her thumb toward Jackson.
Chief Kowalski, the duty chief yesterday, sitting across from Jackson in the circle, regarded him with an unfocused stare. He folded his arms and rested them on his huge belly.
Cassandra cleared her throat. “We were in what looked like a children’s bedroom. I found the unburned remnants of a child’s toy and blanket.”
Mark Hubbard, who sat to Jackson’s left, bobbed his foot.
“O’Halloran saw it first.” Her voice cracked. “The, uh…” She cleared her throat again. “The first body. We, uh…” She took a deep breath to compose herself. “We found five bodies all piled together in the corner, near a window. Three pets and, um…” She pressed her lips together. “And um…two children.” Her voice emerged raw and hoarse.
Someone across from Jackson sobbed.
He didn’t look up to see who made the outburst.
“It, uh…it looked like the kids tried to get the window open, but they, uh…” Cassandra stopped, wiping tears away from her eyes. “They didn’t make it.” Her voice fractured. “There was a metal tool handle near where the window should have been.”
She pressed the heels of both hands into her eyes. Once she’d regained composure, she said, “That’s all I have.”
“Thank you, Walker.” Chief Kowalski fixed his kind brown eyes on her, before turning his attention to Jackson. “O’Halloran?”
Jackson stood. “It was like she said. We had to uncover the bodies with a trash hook. I didn’t want to believe my eyes, but…” He glanced at his wristwatch without tracking the time. “Two kids. Two dogs. One potbelly pig. All incinerated. The parents later confirmed our findings.”
Earlier, Jackson had overheard Griffin interviewing them. The assholes didn’t look as shocked as they should have.
His mind drifted to a time when he, age ten, and his brother, age twelve, had arrived home to find their dog, Bebop, convulsing inside the trailer. Someone had poisoned her. Dad had disappeared again on some drunken spree, and Mom, the heroin addict, was long gone. They’d had to beg the neighbors for dog food to feed Bebop. And now, Bebop lay dying before their eyes. With no money for a vet, his brother had taken a shovel to Bebop’s head as Jackson had sobbed. Bebop had been the one good thing in his life. They’d waited until dark to carry her stiff body into the woods. After that, they’d never had another pet—not while they still lived together.
His gaze lifted toward the ceiling as he fought back the tears.
“O’Halloran?” The chief brought him back into the moment.
“Sorry, sir, I…” His attention flitted around the room before landing on Kowalski. “Can you repeat the question, Chief?”
“There wasn’t one. It’s simply your turn to share.”
The chief wiped his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Then, he nodded. “Go ahead.”
“We searched the house. Callahan still had the nozzle on the alpha side, but there wasn’t any evidence of further fatalities.” His mind went completely blank, so he sat down and stared at nothing.
“Hubbard?” Chief Kowalski said.
“Excuse me, Chief.”
Mrs. Rodriguez, the guidance counselor, brought in for this occasion, straightened in her seat. A practiced smile spread across her pleasant-looking face. “This might not seem important to recall your tasks on the day of the event, but it helps to get stuff out in the open.” She spread her hands, palms up. “We can all get a picture of what happened. Then, we’ll discuss how it affected you. This is a safe place to share. Nothing leaves this room, understood?”
A few people nodded.
As Lieutenant Hubbard shared his story, Jackson’s mind drifted out of the room. At times like this, he questioned his career.
Inherent risk always hovered at the edge of his job. Yes, people sometimes died, lost their homes and their livelihoods, and for that he was sorry. But his team also saved lives and structures, too. And no other job in the entire world appealed to him. He’d arrived on this planet with the heart of a firefighter. He loved fighting fires. He dug the camaraderie with the department—they were the family he never had. But witnessing the loss of a child ranked right up there with the worst kind of incidents.
The evening droned on with the rest of the team giving their accounts of the fire.
Then, Mrs. Rodriguez said, “now, let’s go around the room and share what you felt about the experience. I realize you’re all exceptionally courageous individuals, but a tragedy involving a child can bring the toughest firefighter to his or her knees.”
Jackson shifted, restlessly.
A few others glanced at the door.
“Miss Walker, why don’t you start?” Mrs. Rodriguez said.
Cassandra began to cry. “I don’t have kids,” she stammered. “But, if I did, I would never have left them unattended like that.” She continued with her sharing, but Jackson didn’t track her words.
Cassandra nudged him.
The face of Jovantay Macavelli swam through Jackson’s mind like a shark. Tell them what you know. Tell them a drug dealer was put in charge of the kids. A cold sweat formed on his neck. Shit. I can’t do that. How would I supposedly know Macavelli’s a dealer? I heard it somewhere? I can’t say he’s my brother’s dealer.
“Sorry. Lost in the moment.” He mumbled something about what a tragedy it was and shut up.
His body froze into numbness as others gave their accounts.
When everyone had finished sharing, Mrs. Rodriguez said, “Thank you all for coming. I know this wasn’t comfortable or easy for anyone. But, this is what we do to heal. We’re a family. And families help one another through tragedy, as well as celebrate our successes.
I’d like you all to make an appointment with myself or one of my colleagues to get some counseling. Even if you think you don’t need it, we’re making this a requirement to at least sit down with us one on one. Okay?”
Jackson nodded, along with the others.
“Loss is extremely difficult to deal with,” Mrs. Rodriguez continued. “I can’t begin to imagine what those parents are experiencing. Some of you may have faced losses in your life, already. You know what it feels like to lose a loved one. If you’ve never experienced a loss, see if you can try to picture what it would be like. Use that to help empathize with the victim’s family.”
Jackson thought about what it was like to lose both his parents at an early age. For years, he lived with an aching lump in his heart. But then, he found Blaire. What would I do if Blaire left me or, worse, died before her time by someone’s idiocy like those kids did? He couldn’t believe that would happen. He refused to believe he would lose her. Nope, he simply had to come up with a solution for his errant brother—one that he could commit to.
When the debriefing finished, the team made their goodbyes. Jackson started to slink toward the door.
Griffin called to him. “Hey, wait up.”
“What?” Jackson said pivoting.
He leaned against the counter in the entranceway of the classroom. The smell of burned coffee wafted into his nose. He glanced behind him at the glass carafe, which sat empty on the coffee maker. His eyes slid toward the switch on the side. He eyed it to make sure it had been turned off.
He brought his attention back to Griffin. “What’s up?”
“Want to hear what I learned in the investigation?” Griffin strode toward him and stopped a couple of feet away.
Jackson’s eyes narrowed briefly as he studied the angry set to Griffin’s jaw. “I’m not going to like what I hear, am I?”
Chief Kowalski waddled toward them, interrupting them.
“O’Halloran. Callahan,” he said, nodding, apparently unable to think of anything else to say. He extended his hand for a shake.
Jackson reached out to take his hand. “Chief.”
The chief pulled him close and patted him on the back.
Surprised, Jackson stiffened, and then allowed the hug.
The chief eased back. He did the same thing to Griffin. When he released him, his eyes appeared moist. The skin on his pudgy face drooped as if he’d aged ten years in the last twenty-four hours.
“Such a tragedy,” he said, shaking his gray-haired head.
“It shouldn’t have happened,” Griffin said, his shoulders creeping toward his ears. His gaze landed on the chief. “I was just about to fill Jackson in on the investigation. Want to hear?”
“Of course, of course,” Chief Kowalski said.
Griffin sighed. His expression turned grim. “Get this. The kids were apparently afraid of the dark. The parents left a lit candle with the kids and took off for the casino. That’s what they said, anyway. The whole story reeks of lies.” He tapped the side of his nose. “You know I can sniff out the lies. They said good old Uncle Jovantay was supposed to watch them. When I interviewed the parents, they reeked of booze, their eyes were glassy, and their speech slurred. They were legless.”
Chief Kowalski’s eyebrows bunched together. “That fire happened in broad daylight. Why the heck would they need to leave a lit candle for the kids?”
“At any time of the day or night,” Jackson said. His empty stomach began to growl. He’d been in such a funk today, he hadn’t taken the time to eat much.
“Right?” Griffin said. His blue eyes sparked with anger. “And who knows what state they were in when they left the house? And then, get this…I finally found ‘Uncle Jovantay.’” He made air quotes. “The guy was lit to Sunday. Heroin eyes. He lives in a hoarder house littered with drug paraphernalia. He wouldn’t tell me much of anything except he had to run some errands, so he left the kids alone for a while in front of the T.V. Said he tried to return, but the road had fire trucks blocking it.”
“That’s bullshit. We weren’t blocking anything,” Jackson said. “He was lying.”
Just like my brother when I asked him if he’d been with Jovantay…
He rubbed his palm against his abdomen, trying to sweep away the disgust rolling through his belly.
Griffin made eye contact and said, “It seems so, but there was nothing I could do. I assured him we weren’t cops and we weren’t going to turn him in.”
“You reported it, right?” the chief asked him.
“Not sure what can come of it, but, yes. I sent a report to the sheriff and to CPS,” Griffin said. “People have to be held accountable for their actions.”
The word “accountable” landed in Jackson’s stomach like a nail shot out of a nail gun. He chewed the inside of his cheek.
My fucking brother…if he had anything to do with this, anything at all, I’m going to be so pissed. How can I make my brother accountable?
The guys finished up their conversation, said their good-byes, and headed out the door to the parking lot.
As Jackson climbed in his vehicle, he caught movement behind the station.
“What the…?” He squinted.
It looked like a figure huddled back there.
Probably a homeless guy.
The chief and Griffin’s trucks eased out of the lot.
Jackson put his vehicle in reverse and then hesitated. He reached in the glove box for his gun, opened the door, and slid from the truck.
A hoodie-clad male emerged from the shadows. He walked like he was trudging through water.
Jackson gripped the gun by his side. “Can I help you?”
“Jacks, it’s me. Your bro.” Jake pushed back his hood, revealing his gaunt face.
Jackson shook his head, his grip on the gun relaxing a little. “Jesus, Jake, you almost caught a bullet to the head.”
In the dim light, Jake’s face held shadows, making him look far older than his actual age of twenty-nine. “I called your house, but your girlfriend said you weren’t there. She wouldn’t tell me where you were, so I figured to look here.”
“What do you want?” Jackson said, releasing his finger from the trigger.
“You know. I got rent to pay, or I’m going to be evicted. I’ll pay you back, I promise I will.” His pupils appeared like dots, giving him that “heroin eye” appearance.
He’s fucking high as a kite. Blaire’s pained face from their fight about Jake loomed in his mind.
“I’m sorry, Jake. The answer’s no.”
Jake’s jaw dropped. “Oh, come on. You know my life’s been rough. I’m on disability for my mental health. I can’t catch a break. Surely you can spot me a few dollars.”
“Your mental health,” Jackson said, recalling the diagnosis Jake had shared with him a couple of years ago.
“I’ve got a major depressive disorder. That’s what the doc at the free clinic in Seattle told me,” he’d said, a little too enthusiastically.
Jackson’s stomach churned and twisted. He knew a few people in town with mental issues. Most were grateful for anything that could help them find balance in their lives. When Jake had shared his diagnosis, he’d assumed his brother was merely excited to get free drugs.
The veins in his neck pounded like they might bust. He took a breath. Jake is family. He and I took care of one another growing up. I’m still responsible for him. Maybe I can encourage him to get help.
He reached behind him and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t know. We’re a little tight right now,” he said, repeating the words he’d said to Jake over the phone.
Jake shuffled forward, no doubt ready to seal the deal. “I promise I’ll pay you back this time. I’ll be accountable. Cross my heart.”
The word “accountable” slammed its way into Jackson’s skull, along with the too-fresh memory of dead kids and their pets. He shook his head, feeling like an absolute Judas for betraying his brother.
“No, Jake.” The words came out stiff and thick.
“So, you want me to lose my trailer, huh? Is that what you want?” Jake stepped forward and tried to shove Jackson.
Jackson caught his brother’s wrists. “No, Jake, that’s not what I want.”
An impulsive idea formed in his mind.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Jake said, wrenching his arms free. His face reddened. “If you can’t spot me rent money, I’m out. I’ll be like one of those homeless fucks.”
Jackson rubbed his jaw. “I can’t spot you rent. But I will do you one better. We don’t spend time together anymore. What do you say we go camping this summer?”
Jake’s face crumpled. “You’re nuts. Why would I want to go camping?”
“We used to love to go out in the woods together, remember?” Jackson said.
“Kind of…yeah…”
“So, tell you what…Let’s head to the late-night diner and I’ll buy you a meal. I’m starving. While we’re eating, we can plan our trip.” Jackson’s heart began to pound.
“I guess so,” Jake said. Slack-jawed, he stared at Jackson.
“Good, good,” Jackson said, clapping his brother on the back. “Let’s go. I’ve got a great plan.”
He took a deep breath, hoping he could follow through with his idea—to stage an intervention for his brother. No way could Jake escape if they were in the Sun-a-Do National Forest—or at least that’s what Jackson told himself.