Chapter 3:
He could see the smoke from a mile away, and knew, how, he couldn't say, but he knew it was Sophia's house. Without thinking he gunned the accelerator, swerved around a minivan, blasted through a red light, and let his instincts take over. Left foot brake, right foot gas, left hand steering wheel, right hand E-brake. This was SATTF standard rapid response driving, a skill many would call reckless. He ripped the E-brake, slammed the wheel to the right and drifted onto the Hope YMCA Soccer field. Dropping the brake he floored it again, leaving great tracks of mud behind him as he hit sixty, seventy miles an hour. Tapping his brake he spun the wheel, slid off the field and gunned it to slide around the last corner and leaping the last curb he ripped the E-brake once more, and leaving the engine running, he dashed to the smoky door.
He didn't need to think about the fact that her car was in the drive, all four tires slit, it was as if he snapped a picture and cataloged it for later. Nor about the fact he could see flames licking at the windows of the once beautiful house. Even as the world looked on, the birds chirping, cars passing by as if it was a normal day. Peace surrounded the hellscape before him. He didn't slow as he reached the door, he leapt and forced both of his feet into the weak spot at the center of the door, hearing the crack and feeling the wood yield, he threw his weight forward so that he landed on his feet, skidding through the mass of flames.
All around him was a tunnel of flames, red, orange, and yellow they leapt off the wall, trying to bite him, grab him, and suck him into their fiery embrace. They were wild, hungry beasts trying to consume him, trying to steal his breath, his body, his soul. Here he passed the once great wall of pictures, a polaroid of every man, woman, and child whom Sophia had aided since she started the Lovejoy center, now they were a mass of slowly burning images ablaze with some misplaced hatred. There, a table inscribed with the names of twelve men who had made it as a gift to Sophia for aiding a man from their unit in Iraq, now it had split in two, the loving embrace of flames slowly eating away at it, each breath taking a bit more of the once beautiful wood into the mounds of ash below it.
He kept running, charging head first up a staircase, once the wood had been rubbed smooth by passing hands, hers, the volunteers, his, even a few of the people she spent each day of her life trying to spare. Pictures of Sophia's dearest friend smoldered here, himself included. He grimaced as he darted past a shot of him holding Emma, passing it, as it slowly burned away. "Sophie!!!" He knew he shouldn't waste his breath but he had to locate her, he had to find her before-
His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of sheer terror calling to him from just down the hall "Help! Please help me! Help!" He didn't think, he ran up to the door of the room from which Sophia's voice had come, and kicked the door. The wood shattered inwards as the door flew open, pieces of it hanging from the hinges, he rushed into the room and gave a start. If there actually was a hell, whoever had done what he saw before him belonged there.
*
She smiled to herself, as the wind rushed through her copper and ruby hair, the sound of the engine's purr intermingled with the wind's growl. Ah, sweet freedom. She turned her thoughts to her latest accomplishment, giving herself a mental pat on the back at the destructive beauty of it all. The way her target had screamed, mmm, the way her body hung, as even now she screamed. The background of pride burning to ash gave the imagery a nice flare. Her crowning gem was the signature. A joke to her target, but to the ones she wanted to see, it was a beacon. A sound off. A welcome sign. As to her victim...
Sophia would either die, or he would rescue her. Either way, her presence would soon be known widely enough for her purposes. The puzzle pieces of her evil plan were steadily falling into place, one by one. Soon everything would be ready. Then perhaps she could attract enough attention to herself for… no. Not yet. If this was going to work, it had to be absolutely foolproof, believable, and she would have to wait to the very end. A shame really. She would have loved to have won her prize back now.
Oh well.
She still had cards up her sleeves, cards that when played would give her exactly what she wanted. As well as the mantle of hero. Perhaps even redeemed one. Who would have thought?
Until then, Anna Stockholm would settle for murderer, arsonist, and tormentor.
She floored the gas pedal, feeling the Stingray buck and smile. What was a good story without any collateral damage?
*
Her cruiser positively flew, the sirens splitting the air like a well used axe would split wood. She ripped the wheel sliding around a corner and pushing the old cruiser to its limits, ignoring the grinding of the motor. "Come on... hold on Ms. Lovejoy... the cavalry's coming..." she whispered to herself, as she often did in these kinds of situations, and ripped around the next corner, searching the horizon for the lights of fire-engines, a prayer on her mind as she refrained from asking aloud.
As if to answer her unspoken question, her radio crackled into life. "Hinkleman to Anderson, Anderson do you copy?" She could hear the edge of his tone and knew this wouldn't be good news. She grabbed the radio and pressed the side button, allowing her voice to flow through the radio.
"This is Anderson, I copy. Over." She listened, hoping beyond hope to hear good news, but she knew immediately that good news was on the other end of the spectrum from what she would soon receive. Knowing the answer doesn't delay the hope however.
"Sheriff, there's been a pile up on the tracks, engines one and two were involved... Veronica, we can't get through and the engines from Macannon are half an hour out. You're on your own." Her stomach dropped, and she only pressed harder on the accelerator. What else was there to do. Damn, damn, damn!
"Alright, get your men to safety. I'll think of something. Over and out." She dropped the receiver, praying the good lord would give her a miracle. Would give Sophia Lovejoy a miracle. As she turned the final corner she saw a black, Chevy Silverado, driver door ajar, fresh mud still falling off the fenders. Glancing at the house she saw the door, or pieces of it swinging on its hinges.
Well, that was not what she'd expected.
Suddenly she heard the country accented voice of Blake Johnson over the phone in her office all over again. "I've gotta do a check up for the housin' center." It all fell into place immediately.
Sophia Lovejoy, the owner, and manager of the Lovejoy Housing Center, hadn't shown up this morning, for whatever appointment Blake Johnson, and whoever else, was supposed to have with her that morning. Being an investigator, she filled in the blanks with educated guesses as she drew her gun, and turned on the water hose. From what she knew of Sophia, she was consistently on time, and always in touch with her employees. So, when Blake shows up that morning, he realizes Ms. Lovejoy is late, and calls her. Then, after she doesn't respond once, twice, maybe three times, he and his colleagues decide someone should check on her. By this point she was soaking herself with water from the water hose next door, before she dashed to the door. So after that he starts to drive, calls the Sheriff's office to have a conversation with the Sheriff herself while he drives, ease his nerves and make sure she knew he would be there that night. Then... she glanced at the soccer field, and catching sight of the tracks leading to the other side where she saw a pile-up of cars that seemed to have stopped in a sudden bout of confusion, she understood. So he'd ran a red light, there would be picture evidence from the red-light cameras, clearing him of the arson. Considering the circumstances, she would have to help remedy the ticket that would ensue. Sprinting into the blaze she put all that aside and rushed towards the sound of Blake shouting for Sophia. Her last prayer was that if Blake was her miracle, then she would have the chance to get all three of them out of this hellish inferno alive.
*
He lost it. He was standing before a scene from a horror flick; she was chained up, her arms and legs held taut, forming an X in midair, and it was much worse. She was naked, her body displayed in the worst of ways, skin that had once been a pale ivory, was now mottled in fresh bruises. The evidence of her torture was all over, except the exacting care to leave her sexual areas bare of damage. Tears streamed down her face, as she held her eyes open, almost as if she was being forced to watch the flames eat their way towards her. Worst of all, burned into her flesh across her stomach was the word APOCALYPSE. He felt his stomach tie itself in a knot, as he stared at the woman who had become like his sister. Then his rigid control shattered.
The beast that was hidden beneath awakened.
"Sophia, I'm here! I'll get you out! And then I'll kill whoever did this to you..." he ran to the chains, and seeing that the ones holding her in place from above were held in place from new hooks in her ceiling, he began to decide what to do. He didn't have any time, however, flames licked at the area around the hooks, and he knew instantly that the material holding them in place would have been greatly weakened by the fire. Or else his ideas would have little to no effect.
He grabbed the chains attached to her right wrist, and felt an odd sensation on his palms, but he pushed it out of his mind as he grunted, yanking on the chain. It held fast on the first tug, but as he yanked the second time, he felt it give way, and then it fell from the ceiling in a great clang of falling metal. "Hold on Sophie! Just hold on!" He shouted as much for her as for himself, he had to focus on freeing her. He made his way to the other chain as heat erupted on his shoulder. "Damn!" He let the word out without thinking and ripped off his shirt. He tossed it aside and grabbed the second chain "We're getting outta' here god freakin' dammit!"
Bracing to rip this one free, he gave a start as a new voice entered the cacophony of sound. "Hurry! The support joists are burning through!" He turned and would swear to this day that an angel from heaven stood in the doorway, haloed in molten golden locks, wearing a bright silver badge, and brandishing a standard issue nine millimetre Glock.
*
"Hurry! The support joists are burning through!" She shouted it as she burst through the door and found Blake to be ripping away at the chains that were holding... she put it out of her mind, feeling the curls of steam rise from her clothing as she rapidly assessed the situation. There were three chains left- no, two, as he ripped the last roof held one from its spot in the ceiling. The last two were attached to what looked to be concrete, poured directly into the floor. She stared as he wrenched on the chains, as hard as he could, pulling, heaving, they wouldn't even budge.
Then she had the idea, stupid, insane, desperate, it had to work. That or they would all perish. "Get back! Get her as far from the concrete as you can!" The shouted words seemed to linger only for a split second before Blake had Sophia in his arms and as far as the chains would let her go from the blocks of cement that were meant to anchor her to her death. She took aim, and fired, three cracks split the air as she shattered the right block. The chain fell free. Blake only grunted in surprise, pulling her into him, as he tried to make the least flesh possible open to the flames. Veronica took aim again, and let three more cracks split the air. The third shot ricocheted, tearing past her hair on the return trip. Flinch she let her gun rend the air once more. With a crack, the cement split, freeing its anchor. The last chain was free.
"Go! Get her outta' here!" She didn't need to shout the orders, he was already turning on his heel and sprinting towards the stairs. She had no choice but to follow, and seeing his toned body, slick with sweat in the glow of the flames, she knew any other time she would have been one hot mess, metaphorically. At that moment however, she felt like she was the literal meaning of the words, which was far worse. Pushing those thoughts aside, and gathering her control, she ran, and heard the sudden cracking sound before Blake did. "Jump!!"
The single word saved all of their lives, as he leapt at the same instance she did, and catching hold of a trailing chain, she felt him roll, pulling her out of the blaze as chunks of the second floor bathroom suddenly formed a half bath on the lower floor, the half, she noticed, gazing through the door, with the tub in it. Shaking her head she stood and walked over to Blake and Sophia.
The sirens of the Macannon fire-engines were still way off in the distance as she slowly sat down on the grass, and shot the cowboy a glance. "You're a bit early for dinner, hell, I almost feel like a third wheel." His voice, though rough with smoke, pain, and anger, was as ever joking in such a way that ninety percent of women would have wanted to stab him, but she was one in a million, or at least one in whatever a tenth of the world's female population adds up to these days. She stifled a laugh before he spoke again. This time when he spoke, his voice was serious, commanding, bearing a previously hidden air of authority. "Behind the driver seat, there's a first-aid kit, burn cream is beside the pain killers, don't ask why, just get it. Also, there should be a leather duster in a dry-cleaning bag, cover Sophie with it, Ralph can fix the damn thing later. And grab the bolt cutters from the tool box, let's see about gettin' them chains off her." He spoke with precise instructions as he sat Sophie up and began to tend to her.
Sophia Lovejoy spoke for the first time since her cries for help had ceased, and did so with a smile on her face. "God sent me a miracle when he sent you to me those many years ago, Mr. Johnson. Did Emma like her gift?" It seemed like Ms. Lovejoy was trying to think of anything to get the topic off her burning home, or her scarred chest. Or perhaps how she was supposed to die.
Veronica saw a soft side of the cowboy then, as she watched him hold Ms. Lovejoy. "You know, Sophie, I reckon she did." And as he laid a kiss upon Sophia's brow, she fell into a deep sleep, far from the world where houses burn and miracles drive Chevy Silverados.
***
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