She is dead weight as I lift her from the small space by her armpits, being careful not to get poked with anything else sharp that could be hiding on her. She’s limp and floppy as I carry her out of the stall and unceremoniously shove her into the burning trash can ass first.
Her eyes fly open at the contact of the flames with her skin, her face twisting up in pain, her hands reaching out for me frantically as her first scream echoes in the room.
“Help me!” She screeches in agonizing pain, but I could care less, she deserves to die, to go out with the rest of the trash, and burning in a fucking garbage can she lit ablaze, is so fucking fitting.
“Shhh, accept it.” I shush her, clamping my hands on her mouth, stifling her screams as the fire takes her.
The crack whore lights like a candle, her clothes searing, her skin turning black and peeling, her hair going up in a fiery glow. She fights it, bucking, flailing, and clawing at me with her nails, but she’ll never get to me, my uniform is too thick, too fireproof, too protective of the filth that wails as she burns.
I can’t imagine the pain she’s in as she continues to fight me, taking the fire much longer than I expected before she succumbs to it. She goes out like a champ, struggling to the very end, until her mouth falls slack behind my hands and her arms and legs cease to move.
It's a gruesome way to die. I mean, it’s beautiful to me, especially watching her skin bubble and char, but to her, that’s the worst way to go. It’s not like the peacefulness of drowning, or the speed of a bullet to the head. It’s slow, terrifying, and an excruciatingly painful way to go.
The can clatters loudly with a kick of my foot, knocking it over, dumping her body out onto the seared floor. She rolls across the floor with a little push, her skin sticking to the tile under her, peeling off her meat sack in flaky black chunks.
“Disgusting.” I grumble, backing away from her to the door, looking at the destruction of yet another drug riddled piece of shit. “Fucking disgusting.”
Chapter
Fourteen
“In here. Hoses please.” I call out of the bathroom door, directing my brothers with the water hose into the room with a flag of my hand.
The fire is contained in the hall, just like I knew it would be. These places don’t become infernos like homes do. I mean they burn, they can cause big damage, and sometimes they explode, but not this type of place. There’s nothing combustible besides the furnishings and well, the shit stain now glued to the floor by her melted skin.
“Oh man.” Marcus says, pausing and shaking his head as he storms in with the water.
“Yeah, such a shame.” I answer him, hanging my head, making the sign of the cross in front of me. “May God help her soul.”
And may the Devil eat it up and spit it out.
“I’ve got this. Go get yourself checked out, you’re a little singed. You good?” He says, blasting the flames with the hose, holding on tightly, spraying the room and all the contents, quickly extinguishing the blaze, including the little flickers that still cover her corpse.
“Yeah I’m good.”
The action is settling down as I jog down the steps and exit the stairwell into the lobby again. Cops and other brothers mingle around poking through the debris, shaking their heads at the destruction, even though it’s not all that bad.
“Contained, one victim third floor bathroom.” I call out to the detectives standing at the front door with their note pads in their hands taking notes. “Looks like a hot spoon in a trash can.”
“Fucking druggies.” A young detective says, shaking his head, looking up at me as I pass by.
“Amen brother.” I add, holding up my charred, gloved hand for a fist bump. “Amen.”
The night air is already clearing, the smoke plumes wafting away on the night breeze. The oranges and reds of the sky have disappeared, and the horizon is black again, except for the sliver of light coming from the rising sun.
I should be on my way back to the firehouse, but I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to hear all my brothers talk about how sad it is that a woman perished, and how they wish her family the best, and all that jazz. I want to go back to my new haven and the angel waiting for me to return. The angel who knows part of my secret and still accepts me for it.
Yeah, but if she knew it all, she’d turn you in, in a heartbeat.
“Maybe.” I shrug to myself as I slip out of my gear, checking the integrity of my gloves and sleeves.
Extended contact with flames will cause the material to lose its protection, but it looks okay and ready to be used again as I hang it on the back of the ladder truck, and cap it off with my helmet and tank, grabbing my keys from the jacket.
In just my jeans and t-shirt, I climb back on the bike, fire her up, and take off back into the city, leaving another night’s work behind me with a sick smile and a hard on behind my zipper.
Riding squid lets the wind blow the smell of the smoke off me as I tear down the streets, racing the coming dawn. I want to wake my angel, to kiss her lips as the sun breaks through the early morning sky. Then I want to pull her in the shower with me and taint her with my soot covered hands before I wash them clean. A metaphorical dirtying of the clean woman that I’m fucking infatuated with.
She’s not in bed though when I return. She sits at her kitchen table, a mug of coffee in her clasped hands as I quietly come through the front door. The television is on in the background in the living room, and the news report of the blaze I just attended to plays loudly. Her eyes dart up to mine, her face lighting up in relief, her hands shaking as she tries to set her drink down.
