The Running Series Complete Collection: 3-Book Set plus Bonus Novella (105 page)

The smoke begins to billow out the window and when I visually follow its path, I can barely make out what appears to be a pair of headlights in the driveway.  I scream with all my might, hoping beyond all hope that someone is out there and can hear me.  I can’t see clearly and I don’t know if it’s doing any good.

Then it happens.  I hear a voice.  Doubt paralyzes me momentarily.  Is it real or am I hallucinating?  Suddenly, I hear it again, a man’s frantic voice.  “Jette?  Is that you?  Are you in there?”  It’s Adam.

My body is seized in a fit of coughing.  I find a way to choke out a response.  “Yes, Adam, I’m here.  I can’t get out.”  My mind races with thoughts of what Adam might do.  He blames me for his split with Evan.  Could he leave me here, finding this a suitable punishment?

“Okay, listen very carefully.  I’m going to help you, but you have to move quickly.  Can you get a blanket?” he calls back.  Relief immediately rushes through me.

I remember the blanket still lying on the couch just a few feet away from me.  “Yes,” I holler, hoping he can hear me.

“Go get it.  Quickly, Jette.  There isn’t much time.”

I struggle to the couch, grab the blanket, and inch my way back.  Each breath a struggle.  Each step a fight.  I call back, “I got one.  Now what?”

He speaks slowly and carefully.  “Wrap yourself in the blanket as tightly as you can.  Cover your face and your hair.  You’re going to have to open the front door and jump through the flames.”

“No way, Adam.  I can’t do it.”  The thought of what he’s asking terrifies me.  Embers begin to fly through the shattered window and into the house now.

“Yes, you can.  Just open the door and jump.  I’ll be here to catch you, Jette.  I’m right here.  Trust me.  I won’t let you get hurt.  I’m right here.”  He sounds so confident.  I suppose it could work.

“Adam?  I’m scared.  There’s too much smoke.  I can’t see.”  The wall of smoke is just inches above my head.  I can feel the temperature in the room increasing tenfold and my fear is that the ceiling has ignited.  Despite the wet rag, I begin coughing and gagging, unable to catch my breath.

An enormous explosion of sparks in the back of the house startles me and I scream.  There’s no time left to debate.  “Jette?  What’s happening?” Adam calls. 

The front door is my only way out.  “I’m okay.  I’m coming out.  Get ready,” I warn him.  With the rag over my mouth, I choke back thick smoke and struggle to regain my footing as the black cloud thickens around me. I wrap myself in the blanket, covering my face and head as best I can.  Holding my breath and closing my eyes, I shield my hand with the blanket, turn the knob, ignoring the searing burn of the hot metal, and swing the door open.  Unable to see what’s happening, I hear a loud “swoosh” race past me as I leap across the threshold.  Just as promised, a pair of strong arms is there to catch me, ripping the blanket from me and tossing it to the side in one swift motion. 

I feel the rush of fresh air all around me, but when I try to take a deep cleansing breath, my chest burns.  My ears begin to ring loudly and my field of vision begins to narrow.  I hear sirens wailing in the distance.  Adam is talking to me, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.  I feel him wrapping something around my arm.  I want to say something.  I try to thank him, but I can’t get the words out.  A dark curtain closes around me, and I give in to the blackness, unable to stop it’s advance.

On Borrowed Time

I
hear words and voices, but none of it makes sense.  Still cloaked in darkness, I listen, trying to sort out the sounds.  It’s no use.  My chest hurts and my head is pounding.  I shut it all out again and allow sleep to claim me.  The pain subsides and the confusion clears, leaving only the dreamy images of flowers and football.

More voices creep into my dream state.  Some voices are familiar, others are not.  Evan’s voice is loudest of all.  He sounds distressed.  I hope he’s not mad at me.  In the background, I hear the repetitive beeping of medical equipment. My body is heavy.  Even my eyelids feel unmovable.  Unconsciousness beckons, offering solace and relief.

Again, the fog begins to lift and unpleasant memories come surging forward.  There was a fire.  And smoke.  So much smoke.  I ran through the flames.  Then nothing but black follows.  I feel the pressing force of a blood pressure cuff on my arm, squeezing tightly.  The beeping sounds return, along with voices. 

Slowly, I open my eyes, curious but afraid.  Where am I?  How badly hurt am I?  I see Evan standing near me, talking to a doctor.  I can hear their voices, but it’s like watching a movie.  I observe and listen, unaffected and disconnected.  They see me.  Evan takes my hand in his and kisses it, but I cannot feel his lips, his beautiful, perfect lips.  He’s asking me questions.  He wants me to answer him.  I’m not ready.  It’s too soon.  I’m scared.  This time, when I begin to feel myself being dragged back down into oblivion, I welcome it.

Soft, reassuring voices wake me again, urging me to talk.  Auggie is here with me now.  I open my eyes and look at his face.  He’s been crying.  He’s teary-eyed and sad.  He knows I can see him.  I want to tell him I’m okay.  I want him to know that I’m here, but my body betrays me.  I scream, but nothing comes out.  I reach for him, but my arm won’t budge.  I hear the quickening of the beeps, keeping perfect rhythm with my frenzied heart rate.  The fog returns bringing darkness with it.  I fight and struggle, but it’s no use.  Auggie slips away from me and I’m helpless to stop it.

Time passes without meaning or consequence.  Has it been minutes?  Hours?  Days? 

I feel the adoring, gentle touch of Evan’s hand, sweeping the hair from my brow and placing it lovingly behind my ear.  He traces a line down my neck and shoulder, and then takes my hand in his.  He begins tracing tiny circles with his thumb all along the soft, sensitive flesh of my inner arm.  It feels so good, like home.  I open my eyes and I see him, sitting beside me in the dark, his hair a mess.  This is my favorite way to wake up.  Memories of playful mornings, waking in his arms, paying no attention to time or schedules, come rushing back.  They are such sweet memories.  I moan a soft grunt of pleasurable satisfaction.

Evan stops his caresses and stares at me in disbelief.  He heard me.  “Don’t stop,” I mumble.

“Juliette?  Baby?  Can you hear me?” Evan asks, his voice cracking and strained.

I try to answer, but my mouth is so dry.  I nod my head and squeeze his hand.  I try to take a deep breath, and I’m rewarded by a harsh, painful cough instead.  “Water,” I hiss.

Evan helps me sit up.  He brings a straw to my lips, and the cool, refreshing liquid feels glorious.  I can’t seem to get enough.  Evan refills the cup, and I drink until it’s empty.

I feel something resembling a chinstrap beneath my jaw.  When I reach up to check, I find an oxygen tube wrapped behind my ears, feeding me fresh oxygen with every breath.  I look down and discover an I.V. line in the crook of my elbow.  My clothes are removed, leaving me in nothing but a hospital gown.  When did all this happen?  Why don’t I remember?

“What happened?” I whisper.

Evan frowns.  “You’re in the hospital.  You have the flu, smoke inhalation, and you went into shock.  You’ve been sleeping for a day and a half.  Do you remember any of it?” he asks.

I nod my head.  There are all kinds of wires attached to me.  I try to move, but it’s a tangled mess.  Evan sees me struggle and stops me.  “Wait, let me get the nurse.”  He reaches over and presses the buzzer.

Instantly, in walks a nurse wearing a friendly smile and a carrying a tote filled with all sorts of bandages, gauze, tubes, and other medical supplies.  “Well, look who decided to wake up.”  She reminds me a little of my mother.  She’s in her mid-fifties with short blonde hair and a round face.  “My name is Susan and I’m your nurse.”  She starts looking at the numbers on the machines surrounding me and makes notes in my chart.  “Do you know what day it is?”

I look at her with a blank stare. 

“Okay, let’s try a different question.  Do you know where you are?”

Relieved that I know that one, I answer, “Yes.  I’m in the hospital.”

Susan smiles.  “That’s great.  Do you know why you’re here today?”

I have to think about that one.  “House fire,” I answer, my voice barely audible.

“Very good, Juliette.  Your vitals are strong.  I’m going to remove some of the monitoring devices now.”  She takes off the blood pressure cuff and the heart monitors.  I try to remove the oxygen, but she won’t allow it.  “Not yet.  Your O2 levels are just starting to stabilize.  A few more hours and we should be able to remove that, too.”  Slowly, she removes my I.V. and places a cotton ball and Band-Aid over the hole in my arm.

She asks Evan to step out as she removes the catheter and helps me to the bathroom.  My legs are weak; it feels like I’m trying to walk on spaghetti rather than bone and muscle.  But Susan supports my weight as I feebly try to walk.

Once I’m safely tucked back into bed, she signals for Evan to return.  And when he does, he brings my mother and his with him.  He stands back and watches with a grin as these two women fuss over me and plant kisses all over my face. 

They pepper me with questions.  “How are you?”  “What do you remember?”  “Are you in pain?”  “Can you tell me what happened?”  “Do you know how worried we’ve been?”

I give a few monosyllabic answers.  “Good.”  “Umm.”  “No.”  “Yes.”  “I know.”  It’s a struggle for me to keep up with the conversation when all I can think about is Evan.  My last thoughts were of him, wondering if I would ever see him again, and hoping I told him enough how much I love him.  As I watch him standing there, I start to notice things about him.  He hasn’t shaved in days, his hair is a mess, and his clothes are beyond wrinkled.  There are dark circles under his eyes and it looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in days.  He looks haunted and exhausted.

Now that I’m free of tubes and wires, all I want to do is feel his arms wrapped tightly around me.  Jill and my mother each take a seat in one of the guest chairs, now chatting with one another about how relieved they feel and how good I look, “considering”.

I gather all the strength I have into one movement, and I shift my body to one side of the bed, leaving a fairly large vacant spot beside me.  I pat the empty space and beg, “Please.”

Evan nods and for a brief moment, I think I see a hint of a sparkle returning to his beautiful blue eyes.  He climbs into bed with me and I snuggle up to him.  Our bodies know each other so well.  With no effort or struggle, we find immediate comfort and relief.  Instinctively, I wrap one leg and one arm around him as he buries his nose in my long hair. 

I put my hand on his chest, and when I look down, I stop breathing.  My left hand is empty.  My ring is gone.  I hold my hand up and examine it more closely, hoping that I’m wrong.

“Looking for this?” Evan asks.  He pulls a necklace loose from beneath his crumpled shirt, revealing my engagement ring dangling on a gold chain.  He slips the chain over his head, opens the clasp, and removes the ring.  He takes my hand in his and slips the ring back on where it belongs.  “They took this from you when you arrived.  I wanted to keep it safe.  They wouldn’t let me in here to see you for hours and I wanted a part of you with me.”

For the first time since I heard the fire alarm sound, I cry.  I don’t need to be brave or strong.  There’s nothing left to be afraid of.  I allow the emotions to take hold and flow, unbidden.  Evan holds me as I cry for what feels like an hour.  All the emotions that I felt come flooding back in waves, packed so closely together, I cannot tell them apart. 

The first to come back to me are the physical pains.  They come back so strongly, I can barely stand it.  I recall the agony of fighting to breathe and struggling for each step, afraid that the poisonous smoke would kill me faster than the flames.  The searing pain of grabbing the doorknob comes rushing back.  Through the veil of tears, I look at my right hand and inspect it for wounds.  It seems tender and sore, but better.

Evan tries to comfort me, but all it does is bring on more sobs.  Do I tell him that my final thoughts were of him?  Relief that he was safely away from the danger and fear that I would never again be able to tell him how much I love him.  I recall the grief I felt as morbid thoughts crept into my mind.  It is nearly insufferable.  My friends, my family, and Maddy come to me in my thoughts and I cry harder knowing that I’ll get to see them all again, soon.  That my last visit with them wasn’t my last.

Then my tears turn to anger and frustration.  The unfairness and cruelty of it all slam into me.  I remember breaking the window and inviting the fire into our home, the home that we share.  I don’t know what happened when I opened the door, but I can imagine the fire rushing inside, engulfing our beautiful home in the destructive effects of the fire.  The tree we planted together that greeted me each time I came home is now forever gone.  I cry from loss and I cry in rage.

Eventually, the tears subside.  When I look up at Evan, he’s crying right along with me.  How terrifying it must have been for him.  How did he find out about the fire?  What has he been doing for the day and a half I’ve been asleep?  The last thing I wanted was to bring him even a portion of the pain that I had felt.  And yet, that’s exactly what I did.  Not intentionally, but just as regrettably.