One more man inside.
Taylor felt as if he were dying inside. His lungs screamed for him to take a breath of the burning, poisonous air around him. But he ignored the need, growing dizzier.
Smoke snaked around him and Taylor dropped to his knees, his other eye beginning to spasm now. Flames surrounded him in three directions, but Taylor pressed onward, heading for the only area where someone might still be alive.
Crawling now, the heat like a sizzling anvil. . . .
It was then that Taylor knew he was going to die.
Hardly conscious, he continued to crawl.
He started to black out, could feel the world beginning to slip away.
Take a breath! his body screamed.
Crawling, inching forward, praying automatically. Ahead of him, still more flames, an unending wall of rippling heat.
It was then that he came across the body.
With smoke completely surrounding him, he couldn’t tell who it was. But the man’s legs were trapped beneath a collapsed wall.
Feeling his insides weakening, his vision going black, Taylor groped the body like a blind man, seeing it in his mind’s eye.
The man lay on his stomach and chest, the arms out to either side. His helmet was still fastened firmly on his head. Two feet of rubble covered his legs from the thighs down.
Taylor went to the head of the body, gripped both arms, and pulled. The body didn’t budge.
With the last vestiges of his strength, Taylor stood and painstakingly began to move the rubble off the man. Two-by-fours, drywall, pieces of plywood, one item of charred debris after another.
His lungs were about to explode.
Flames closing in now, licking at the body.
Piece by piece, he lifted off the wreckage; luckily none of the pieces were too heavy to move. But the exertion had taken nearly everything out of him. He moved to the head of the body and tugged.
This time the body moved. Taylor put his weight into it and pulled again, but out of air completely, his body reacted instinctively.
Taylor expelled his breath and inhaled sharply, strangled for air.
His body was wrong.
Taylor suddenly went dizzy, coughing violently. He let go of the man and rose, staggering in pure panic now, still without air in the oxygen-depleted room; all his training, every conscious thought, had seemingly evaporated in a rush of unadulterated survival instinct.
He stumbled back the way he had come, his legs moving of their own volition. After a few yards, however, he stopped, as if waking forcibly from a daze. Turning back, he took a step in the direction of the body. At that second the world suddenly exploded into fire. Taylor nearly fell.
Flames engulfed him, setting his suit on fire, as he lunged for the window. He threw himself blindly through the opening. The last thing he felt was his body hitting the earth with a thud, a scream of despair dying on his lips.
Chapter 24
Only one person died that early Monday morning.
Six men were injured, Taylor among them, and all were taken to the hospital, where they were treated. Three of the men were able to leave that night. Two of the men who stayed were the ones Taylor had helped drag to safety—they were to be transferred to the burn unit at Duke University in Durham as soon as the helicopter arrived.
Taylor lay alone in the darkness of his hospital room, his thoughts filled with the man he had left behind who had died. One eye was heavily bandaged, and he was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with the other, when his mother arrived.
She sat with him in his hospital room for an hour, then left him alone with his thoughts.
Taylor McAden never said a word.
Denise showed up Tuesday morning, when visiting hours began. As soon as she arrived, Judy looked up from her chair, her eyes red and exhausted. When Judy called, Denise had come immediately, Kyle in tow. Judy took Kyle’s hand and silently led him downstairs.
Denise entered Taylor’s room, seating herself where Judy had been. Taylor turned his head the other way.
“I’m sorry about Mitch,” she said gently.
Chapter 25
The funeral was to be held three days later, on Friday.
Taylor had been released from the hospital on Thursday and went straight to Melissa’s.
Melissa’s family had come in from Rocky Mount, and the house was filled with people Taylor had met only a few times in the past: at the wedding, at baptisms, and at various holidays. Mitch’s parents and siblings, who lived in Edenton, also spent time at the house, though they all left in the evening.
The door was open as Taylor stepped inside, looking for Melissa.
As soon as he saw her across the living room, his eyes began to burn and he started toward her. She was talking to her sister and brother-in-law, standing by the framed family photo on the wall, when she saw him. She immediately broke off her conversation and made her way toward him. When they were close he wrapped his arms around her, putting his head on her shoulder as he cried into her hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I’m so, so, sorry.”
All he could do was to repeat himself. Melissa began to cry as well. The other family members left them alone in their grief.
“I tried, Melissa . . . I tried. I didn’t know it was him. . . .”
Melissa couldn’t speak, having already learned what had happened from Joe.
“I couldn’t . . . ,” he finally choked out, before breaking down completely.
They stood holding each other for a long, long time.
He left an hour later, without talking to anyone else.
The funeral service, held at Cypress Park Cemetery, was overflowing with people. Every fireman from the surrounding three counties, as well as every law enforcement official, made an appearance, as did friends and family. The crowd was among the largest ever for a service in Edenton; since Mitch had grown up here and ran the hardware store, nearly everyone in town came to pay their respects.
Melissa and her four children sat weeping in the front row.
The minister spoke a little while before reciting the Twenty-third Psalm. When it came time for eulogies, the minister stepped aside, allowing close friends and family to come forward.
Joe, the fire chief, went first and spoke of Mitch’s dedication, his bravery, and the respect he would always hold in his heart. Mitch’s older sister also said a few words, sharing a few remembrances from their childhood. When she finished, Taylor stepped forward.
“Mitch was like a brother to me,” he began, his voice cracking, his eyes cast downward. “We grew up together, and every good memory I have growing up included him. I remember once, when we were twelve, Mitch and I were fishing when I stood up too quickly in the dinghy. I slipped and hit my head, then fell into the water. Mitch dove in and pulled me to the surface. He saved my life that day, but when I finally came to, he only laughed. ‘You made me lose the fish, you clumsy oaf,’ was the only thing he said.”
Despite the solemnity of the afternoon, a low murmur of chuckles rose, then faded away.
“Mitch—what can I say? He was the kind of man who added something to everything he touched and everyone he came in contact with. I was envious of his view on life. He saw it all as a big game, where the only way to win was to be good to other people, to be able to look at yourself in the mirror and like what you see. Mitch . . .”
He closed his eyes hard, pushing back the tears.
“Mitch was everything I’ve ever wanted to be. . . .”
Taylor stepped back from the microphone, his head bowed, then made his way back into the crowd. The minister finished with the service, and people filed by the coffin, where a picture of Mitch had been placed. In the photo he was smiling broadly, standing over the grill in his backyard. Like the picture of Taylor’s father, it captured the very essence of who he was.
Afterward Taylor drove alone back to Melissa’s house.
It was crowded at the house as people came by after the funeral to offer Melissa their condolences. Unlike the day before—a gathering of close friends and family—this time everyone who’d been at the service was there, including some Melissa barely knew.
Judy and Melissa’s mother tended to the busywork of feeding the masses; because it was so packed inside, Denise wandered into the backyard to watch Kyle and the other children who’d also attended the funeral. Mainly nephews and nieces, they were young and, like Kyle, unable to fully understand everything that was going on. Dressed in formal clothes, they were running around, playing with each other as if the situation were nothing more than a family reunion.
Denise had needed to get out of the house. The grief could be stifling at times, even to her. After hugging Melissa and sharing a few words of sympathy, she had left Melissa to the care of her family and Mitch’s. She knew that Melissa would have the support she needed today; Melissa’s parents intended to stay for a week. While her mother would be there to listen and hold her, Melissa’s father could begin with the numbing paperwork that always followed an event like this.
Denise stood from her chair and walked to the edge of the pool, her arms crossed, when Judy saw her through the kitchen window. She opened the sliding glass door and started toward her.
Denise heard her approaching and glanced over her shoulder, smiling warily.
Judy laid a gentle hand on her back. “How’re you holding up?” she asked.
Denise shook her head. “I should be asking you that. You knew Mitch a lot longer than I did.”
“I know. But you look like you need a friend right now.”
Denise uncrossed her arms and glanced toward the house. People could be seen in every room.
“I’m okay. Just thinking about Mitch. And Melissa.”
“And Taylor?”
Despite the fact that it was over between them, she couldn’t lie.
“Him too.”
Two hours later the crowd was finally thinning. Most of the distant friends had come and gone; a few members of the family had flights to catch and had left as well.
Melissa was sitting with her immediate family in the living room; her boys had changed their clothes and had gone outside, to the front yard. Taylor was standing in Mitch’s den alone when Denise approached him.
Taylor saw her, then returned his attention to the walls of the den. The shelves were filled with books, trophies the boys had won in soccer and Little League baseball, pictures of Mitch’s family. In one corner was a rolltop desk, the cover pulled shut.
“Your words at the service were beautiful,” Denise said. “I know Melissa was really touched by what you said.”
Taylor simply nodded without responding. Denise ran her hand through her hair.
“I’m really sorry, Taylor. I just wanted you to know that if you need to talk, you know where I am.”
“I don’t need anyone,” he whispered, his voice ragged. With that he turned from her and walked away.
What neither of them knew was that Judy had witnessed the whole thing.
Chapter 26
Taylor bolted upright in bed, his heart pounding, his mouth dry. For a moment he was inside the burning warehouse again, adrenaline surging through his system. He couldn’t breathe, and his eyes stung with pain. Flames were everywhere, and though he tried to scream, no sounds escaped from his throat. He was suffocating on imaginary smoke.
Then, just as suddenly, he realized he was imagining it. He looked around the room and blinked hard as reality pressed in around him, making him ache in a different way, weighing heavily on his chest and limbs.
Mitch Johnson was dead.
It was Tuesday. Since the funeral he hadn’t left his house, hadn’t answered the phone. He vowed to change today. He had things to do: an ongoing job, small problems at the site that needed his attention. Checking the clock, he saw that it was already past nine. He should have been there an hour ago.
Instead of getting up, however, he simply lay back down, unable to summon the energy to rise.
On Wednesday, midmorning, Taylor sat in the kitchen, dressed only in a pair of jeans. He’d made scrambled eggs and bacon and had stared at the plate before finally rinsing the untouched food down the disposal. He hadn’t eaten anything in two days. He couldn’t sleep, nor did he want to. He refused to talk to anyone; instead he let his answering machine pick up his calls. He didn’t deserve those things. Those things could provide pleasure, they could provide escape—they were for people who deserved them, not for him. He was exhausted. His mind and body were being drained of the things they needed to survive; if he wanted, he knew he could continue along this path forever. It would be easy, an escape of a different sort. Taylor shook his head. No, he couldn’t go that far. He wasn’t worthy of that, either.
Instead he forced down a piece of toast. His stomach still growled, but he refused to eat any more than necessary. It was his way of acknowledging the truth as he saw it. Each hunger pang would remind him of his guilt, his own self-loathing. Because of him, his friend had died.
Just like his father.
Last night, while sitting on the porch, he had tried to bring Mitch to life again, but strangely, Mitch’s face was already frozen in time. He could remember the picture, he could see Mitch’s face, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what Mitch looked like when he laughed or joked or slapped him on the back. Already his friend was leaving him. Soon his image would be gone forever.
Just like his father.
Inside, Taylor hadn’t turned on any lights. It was dark on the porch, and Taylor sat in the blackness, feeling his insides turn to stone.
He made it into work on Thursday; he spoke with the owners and made a dozen decisions. Fortunately his workers were present when he spoke with the owners and knew enough to proceed on their own. An hour later Taylor remembered nothing about the conversation.
Early Saturday morning, awakened by nightmares once more, Taylor forced himself out of bed. He hooked up the trailer to his truck, then loaded his riding mower onto it, along with a weed whacker, edger, and trimmer. Ten minutes later he was parked in front of Melissa’s house. She came out just as he finished unloading.
“I drove by and saw the lawn was getting a little high,” he said without meeting her eyes. After a moment of awkward silence, he ventured, “How’re you holding up?”