In young adult novels, when there’s a life-threatening crisis, one of two things always happens.
Either the hero comes crashing in and saves the day, or the heroine steps up, kicks ass, and saves herself, along with everyone else.
Yeah, that didn’t happen when I was caught in a fire.
Clearly, if I was in some Nancy Drew girl gang, I’d be the one kicked out for sheer incompetence. Or poor lung functioning.
I passed out for only a minute or two. When I regained consciousness, survival instinct kicked in. I began crawling toward the stairs, but I grew weaker with each slow struggle forward.
Thankfully, several firefighters, who were called by a neighbor, arrived and saved me.
And now here I am, outside my somewhat charred house, gritty with exhaustion and soot, being philosophical about my lack of heroine potential. Obviously, I’m on the verge of losing it.
It’s nearing five in the morning, and all I want is silence, a hot shower, and sleep. Maybe I should have let them take me in the ambulance.
I’d resisted because I can’t afford another trip to the ER this month. But even with nurses poking and prodding me, at least the hospital would have been a more peaceful scene than my house, which is filled with official-looking people in uniforms.
I close my eyes and try to be thankful. The firefighters risked their lives to put the fire out. So, I can’t complain or cry, even if the whiny, overtired child in my brain wants me to. I refuse to think about the damage to my home.
At least the damage isn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. Most of the destruction is confined to the upstairs bathroom and the hallway outside my bedroom.
“Ma’am? Have you seen this?” a police officer asks.
The officer holds up a paper in his gloved hand. It’s a handwritten note with an angry red scrawl.
Daisy, who’d shown up just after the firefighters arrived, peeks over my shoulder.
As I read the note, the hair on my arms stands up.
“Slut. You don’t deserve him. Stay away from Chase.” Is slashed on the page.
“Do you know what this is? We found the note sticking out of your mailbox.”
I bite my lip, more than just the smoke inhalation making me feel queasy.
“I-I’ve never seen it before, but my picture was just published in the tabloids with a celebrity. Chase James,” I admit.
One of the firefighters looks at me in surprise and maybe a little envy.
“Chase should know about this,” Daisy says. “Most of his fans are great, but there are a few who are obsessed to the point of stalking and worse. A few have done some scary things. We need to take this seriously, Olivia.”
The police officer frowns. “This note changes things. We could be looking at arson.”
“But the fire started upstairs, didn’t it? How could they have gotten in without your alarm going off? Didn’t Chase just install one?” Daisy asks.
“The security system is really complicated, and I couldn’t remember the code,” I say sheepishly. “I didn’t think I even needed security, so I never activated it.”
Anxiety, thick and heavy as molasses, spreads through me. The house I love and my formerly peaceful life have just been torched. My brain can’t process anything more, like the idea someone might be trying to kill me.
When the firefighters and police officers leave, Daisy leads me to her apartment, and I drag myself up her narrow stairs and go straight to her shower to scrub the soot and smoke from my body. Standing under the powerful jets—seriously, how does she have such a fabulous shower with these vintage pipes?—I let the water rain down on my exhausted body. I shampoo, condition, and scrub until the smoke smell has lessened and the panic of waking to a fire-filled house recedes a little. It’s surreal, as if it happened in another world, to another me.
I’m not allowed back into my home. They said the structure has to be deemed safe first. I fear the worst. What had I lost in my bedroom? Nanna’s photos? Remington’s letters that were kept in a box under my bed? My birth certificate and important documents? All my clothes? Hell, I don’t even have a toothbrush with me.
It’s true that the fire was somewhat confined, but the firefighters warned me about the destructive potential of the smoke and water damage.
The only things I have on me are my purse and my laptop. Both were on the table by the door, which a kind firefighter had brought to me once the fire was extinguished. My wallet and new phone were thankfully still in my purse from earlier. I have the most important necessities. I’ll figure the rest out.