From the Inferno: Firemen Do It Better, #3

1

TEN YEARS AGO

Why don’t you just leave Prue here with me for the weekend or another night a least? I asked again, keeping my voice quiet so as not to wake my sleeping daughter in my arms. I wished I was sleeping, too. Having Prue stay with me the whole week was great, really great, but the kid didn’t have an off switch, something her mother and I figured out by the time our daughter turned six months old. Now, at nine, she was a human cyclone with a damage path my house would never recover from.

Smiling at my girl’s angelic face, I didn’t feel one single regret that she came into our lives when both her mum and I were just kids ourselves. At sixteen, we believed we were in love and ready for the next step in our relationship. Boy, were we wrong.

It was the first time for both of us, no protection nor a single thought of using any, and we became parents to a bouncing baby girl nine months later.

Chase, I can’t go home without her. If I do, Ray will just see it as my family ganging up on him. He doesn’t like you as it is, and you keeping Prue until he gets over his snit will make things worse, Melanie explained the same way she always did when Ray got in one of his so-called snits.

Mel honey, that bruise on your arm is from more than a snit. Your dad and I are fine with kicking his arse. Hell, I have done it once already, and another go at him would be nice, I told her, meaning it. When she first came to me and admitted Ray had smacked her across the face, I lost my shit, tracked him down at his work, and kicked the crap out of him for putting his hands on my daughter’s mum. Even though Mel and I may not have worked out—in fact, we barely made it through the pregnancy before we broke up, deciding we were better mates than a couple—we worked out a fair fifty-fifty custody arrangement, and with the help of our parents, the past nine years worked miraculously well.

Thanks, but no thanks, babe. Anyway, I should have known better than to get in his face. He warned me to just walk away when he gets like that, and I didn’t listen to him.

My jaw clenched at the age-old excuse some women gave their abusive partners. Never in my life would I raise a hand to a woman and certainly not the woman I proclaimed to love. I may not be in love with Mel, but I did love her, and my daughter was the love of my life. Protecting them from this dickhole was not just my job, but I would enjoy every single drop of blood I extracted from his puny body.

That is bull-fucking-shit, Melanie. No man has the right to touch a woman in anger… A thought suddenly occurred to me, and my grip tightened on Prue. Has he hit our daughter? Smacked or yelled at her while drunk? Just asking the question made me want to find Ray and kill him.

Logically, I knew Mel would never put our daughter in danger on purpose, but Melanie had a good heart and tended to give a person the benefit of the doubt when she should forget about them. Ray needed to be forgotten about and soon before he hurt someone close to me.

Chase, you know I would never let anything happen to bug. I promise, he has never touched a hair on her head, shouted at her, or anything else. Plus, you know as well as I do that your daughter would sing like a canary if she had anything to tell, Mel said.

It soothed me a little bit, but I had a bad feeling about letting either of them go. Mel, please— I was cut off by a beeping coming from my belt.

Ah, saved by the annoying beeper. Come on, fireman, buckle our bug in the car then go save some lives, Mel said with a chuckle as she threw the overnight bags into the boot of her car, which was another bone of contention between Melanie and Ray. He hated that I was the one to buy her the car and that I gave her a generous amount of money each month for not only Prue but for Mel, as well. We might not have worked out as a couple, but as parents, we were a dynamo team. From the very start of Prue’s life, we knew she was more important than fighting and going to war against each other. Our relationship started as friends right through primary school, and because we lived two houses down from one another, our families were friends, so hating each other was never going to happen. She was one of my closest friends, but there was no longer any romantic love there and hadn’t been for nine years.

Why then was it on the tip of my tongue to ask her to give us another chance? I put it down to Prue’s safety because, in all seriousness, that was my main focus in life. Other than my job as a firefighter, nothing was more important to me than my little girl. No sacrifice was too big for my bug.

I fought the inevitable good Samaritan offer of getting back with Mel. I knew in my heart I was going to ask her, but it could wait until the next day or even the day after that. I wasn’t looking forward to spending the rest of my life in a loveless marriage—who would?—but leaving the mother of my child in a volatile situation was not who I was.

Buckling Prue into the back seat, I placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Nighty-night, Daddy. Don’t let the bed bugs bite, Prue whispered groggily to me, her eyes still closed.

Only you, little bug, I answered her the way I always did, giving her one last kiss before standing up and closing the door quietly.

Mel, we need to talk about a few things. Can you come over tomorrow after I get out of bed?

I will see how things go, Chase. We may have to make it a little later in the week, she said quickly, too quickly for my liking.

That arsehole better not be thinking about not letting her, or Prue for that matter, see me. If shit went that way, a different custody agreement needed to be hashed out because while Mel might be forgiving, I wasn’t. Ray had nothing to do with the upbringing of my daughter. He didn’t support her financially, nor did he look after her when Mel worked. My mum, Mel’s mum, and I synced our schedules according to shifts and, in Mel’s case, school. She was in her last year of nursing, which took her longer because of the baby, but after part-time schooling for five years, she was on the home stretch.

I’m serious, Melly. Please make some time and soon.

Melanie came up to me, her smile kind. Okay, Chasey. Anything you say. Love ya bunches, she said in a sing-song voice before going to her side of the car and slipping into the driver’s seat.

Bye, babe. I waved. Don’t forget to call me when you get home safe, I called out to her as she reversed down the driveway of my house.

Receiving a toot in response, I watched the Ford Territory drive off down the street until I couldn’t see the taillights any longer.

Tomorrow, after I catch up on some sleep, Mel and I were definitely going to talk. She could count on that.

Chase, you don’t want to go in there, mate. Trust me.

I had only seconds ago jumped out of Carson’s ute when Jason stopped me with his powerful body, blocking me from where I needed to be.

Let me fucking go, Jason. I swear to Christ I will knock you down if I have to, I shouted in his face, not caring that he was bigger than me or outweighed me by at least forty kilos of pure muscle. I wasn’t a small man by any means, but Jason was a mountain of a man, his twin just the same.

Two hours ago, I watched Mel and Prue drive off, then left for work, totally forgetting that Mel hadn’t texted me she got home safe. One motor vehicle accident and a small outbuilding fire held my focus.

Until ten minutes ago.

My mother called me hysterically crying, saying there had been an accident at Mel’s place, and I needed to get there as quick as possible. Not understanding what the hell she was saying most of the time, I automatically reached for the police scanner and heard Mel’s address and the words shooting, double murder, and suicide, words that froze my blood.

Chase, they’re gone, mate. Prue and Melly are both… gone, Jason said. His eyes darted to Carson and Dylan, the two men I always wanted at my back.

The dread of what I thought Jason was saying shot up my spine and gripped my heart. He doesn’t mean it. That is not what he is saying, I thought, believing instead that it was all an elaborate mind trick. Deep in the recesses of my fuddled brain, I knew Jason would never tell me something this cruel if it weren’t true.

Prue? I rasped. Desperately I turned and faced my two best mates, and the look on their faces matched the one Jason wore.

Complete and total devastation.

Whipping my head back, I waited for Jason to tell me my daughter was still alive, that he was mistaken.

I am so sorry, mate. He shot them both. From what the crime scene guys tell me, he shot Mel first in the bedroom. The room was pretty torn up and looks like she struggled and fought him before he killed her. Jason’s voice sounded almost robotic as he recalled the details, and if it weren’t for the tick in his jaw, you would never know this affected him.

We found Prue… by the back door. It seems she was trying to run away when… when he shot her. She suffered a fatal shot to the back. They both died instantly, mate, no suffering, he said, his voice breaking as he told me about my daughter.

Everything inside me started to shut down as my heart clenched painfully in my chest. My little girl shot, dead, trying to get away from a man she had every right to think would look after her. The son of a bitch that gave me grief for wanting to see my kid killed her and her mother, but for what fucking reason?

What the fuck happened? Did the neighbours hear anything? Looking over Jason’s shoulder, I looked at the open front door where the medical techs wheeled out a rolling trolley, the large, black body bag on it too big to be Mel or Prue.

Yeah. One neighbour said she heard arguing for at least an hour before she heard three shots. A man was yelling stuff about a car and accusing Mel of cheating on him, but she couldn’t tell us exactly what he said.

You said three shots, Jay? Carson asked. He was now right beside me while Dylan stood on my other side.

Yeah. The prick turned the gun on himself after, um, after he killed Prue. Stuck the barrel in his mouth and blew his fucking brains out.

Fucking coward, Dylan growled from beside me.

Even in my shocked state, I couldn’t help feeling ripped off that I wasn’t going to get the chance to put my fists into the arsehole’s face because right now, I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.

A commotion at the front of the house caught my attention as three police officers and a few ambo guys came out of the front door with two more trollies. This time, the bags were smaller, one much smaller than the other.

Oh, Christ. Prue! I yelled out, breaking free from Carson’s grip on my shoulder and sprinting to the front of the house. My feet lost grip nearly knocking me on my arse twice before I got to the concrete path.

I prayed with every fibre of my being that Jason was wrong, that the small body in the black plastic bag was not my smiling, happy daughter. She had far too much life in front of her.

Misty, her horse, just gave birth last week. Prue hadn’t left Misty’s side for the entire labour, and her reaction as the pretty palomino foal was born had been so enthusiastic, so cute. She named the foal Golden, making me laugh with the predictable name since I used it to describe her smile. Every time she had to go home after her time at my place was up, to brighten her mood, I would say, Show that golden smile for Daddy.

A choked sob caught in my throat as I reached the trolley with the small body bag on it. Then my gaze shifted to the other bag where a small amount of blonde hair was caught in the zipper, telling me the bag contained Melanie.

Steeling myself, I placed my hands on the bag in front of me, and under them, I could feel the outline of an arm.

Chase, I don’t think you should— Flex, one of the paramedics we firemen at the station saw most often at a scene, tried to stop me from unzipping the bag. I had to see for myself. The need to see my daughter with my own eyes burned in my chest.

Flex, let him go, a voice came from behind me.

Turning, I saw Jason, his face masked with that stoic look police mastered, especially those who dealt with death regularly. The only difference with his mask was the fine wet sheen in his eyes.

If I was in the right frame of mind and wasn’t standing there about to unzip a body bag, I would have heeded the advice of someone who had seen his fair share of deceased children. But I wasn’t thinking about anything except for the black bag in front of me that held the body of my daughter. My beautiful bug.

Giving him a nod, I returned my focus to the black bag.

Here, let me, mate, Flex said in a quiet voice.

I noticed all the police officers and emergency workers were quiet. Whenever there was a child victim, there was always a sense of quiet respect. Tonight, however, the mood was more sombre. Prue was known to most of the guys from either their children or the family barbeques put on for all emergency responders and their families.

I held my breath as Flex unzipped the bag, slowly revealing a blood-soaked jumper with a rainbow and unicorn emblazed on the front.

The thought I bought her that jumper just popped into my head.

Flex’s hands shook when he reached out to open the bag further away from her upper body, revealing the sweet face of my baby girl.

Oh, dear god, no! I heard myself scream. My knees buckled under me, and if it weren’t for Hoove grabbing me around the waist and keeping me upright, I would have dropped to the concrete path.

I got you, Chase. I got you.

My girl, Hoove. My little bug. My heart constricted so painfully in my chest that it felt like it was going to split in two.

Carson pushed past me and zipped the bag back up again, the lifeless face of my daughter disappearing under the plastic. My last image of Prue would always be of her eyes closed, her long lashes sitting on her pale cheeks, and blood covering the golden blonde hair she inherited from her mum.

At sixteen, I became a father. At twenty-five, an arsehole with a gun ripped my child away from me.

What the fuck do I do now?

2

PRESENT DAY

Come on, Golden. Brekkie time, I called out to the pretty palomino horse, a bucket of chaff swinging from my fingers. I never needed to call her or any of my horses for that matter because they knew the feeding routine by heart. My shifts changed from week to week, so being in the paddock before the break of dawn was ingrained in them.

Five horses gathered at the trough, all of them dancing around each other vying for a better position, their huffs and puffs mixed with impatient neighs.

Come on, guys. Since when do you ever miss out on the food, I said with a chuckle as I emptied the twenty litre bucket of oats into the concrete feed trough, making sure the hidden cubes of sugar were dispersed evenly in the rectangular feed bin.

Putting the treats in was Prue’s idea, and I continue to do so to this day. She insisted that oats and hay were too boring for her little foal and her friends, so one day, she came running out of the house with the bowl of sugar cubes I kept on the kitchen table, shouting that I had to give them to the horses with every bucket of feed. It was something I never forgot to do—ever.

I stood in the frigid early morning air, my favourite time of the day, and watched the animals eat quietly for a few minutes. The dew on the grass and the gentle noises coming from the horse’s soothed me for reasons I did not understand. Maybe it was the quiet that drifted across the paddocks and the white crispness of the grass from the morning frost, or maybe it was because I was an antisocial arsehole who preferred the company of my equine and bovine friends rather than people—Dylan, Carson, and their families being the only exceptions. The other guys at the station did not fit into the category of friends, as harsh as that sounded. Being alone out here on my small farm with my modest house suited me just fine.

Once upon a time, I had been a totally different man who socialised, went out with, and made love to women. I hadn’t given that up completely. I was still a red-blooded male with needs and loved women, but I was just a little… picky. Sleeping with a woman meant more to me that a few hours of release. Most of my work colleagues and the people who had only known me for a few years believed I was some kind of loner who made myself off-limits to affection.

Nothing could be further from the truth. I wanted to have love, to feel that all-consuming need for just one person and to have it reciprocated.

Not much to ask, hey? I mumbled the question to the horses who, of course, didn’t give a shit about anything other than their breakfast. Picking up the bucket, I looked wistfully over my land. I owned fifty acres of lush grazing paddocks, perfect for the plans I had for the future.

One day it will happen, I thought with a sigh, but right now, I had to get to work. Quickening my pace, I headed to the stables to put away the bucket and change my shoes.

I was on day shift at work this week, which meant lots of cleaning the equipment and no sleeping, but regardless of the harder work, I preferred days because it gave me more time at home on the farm. And daylight saving made that even better.

See you in ten hours, I called over my shoulder to the horses and the few cows that were starting to mill around the trough, waiting for the horses to finish so they could scavenge any dregs or luck out and score a sugar cube, not that there was much chance of that happening.

When I walked into the station’s garage, the first thing I saw shouldn’t have surprised me, but it kinda did.

Seeing Hoove hanging upside down on the fireman pole, using just his thighs wrapped around it to keep him up, and eating a cupcake wasn’t something I cared to see ever again. Although… reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone, opened the screen, and snapped off a couple of photos of the idiot I called my best friend. These would be good for blackmail or maybe blown up and pinned to the noticeboard in the day room.

Seriously, Hoove, your kid has no chance of being normal sharing DNA with you, I said, chuckling as I passed by him. The fireman pole didn’t serve any purpose other than for Hoove’s entertainment. A few years ago, we put it there for a charity function to raise money for a local kindergarten where we dressed up in exaggerated stripper outfits, and well, we pole danced for money. That night, we not only raised a shit-ton of money for the kiddies but we also traumatised ourselves until the end of time. Watching Hoove and Carson dance badly—very badly—in glitter-covered G-strings and titty tassels would give anyone nightmares.

Hey! My kid is going to be just like his old man—fucking awesome, Hoove declared with a mouth full of red velvet sponge cake, bits of it spewing out of his mouth and onto the floor underneath him. Before