Hearts on Fire Ch. 01

I've never felt so lost, so vulnerable as when I watched my home burn to the ground, becoming a distorted mass of melted metal and pitch black ashes. I watched as my memories went to the winds one by one, my irreplaceable diaries, photo albums, and even my half-finished book, taken and cast aside carelessly by the unmerciful flames. The careful planning of the living room decor came to mind as the flames swept about my house. It had been the first room I had ever decorated myself; everything from the wallpapering to the tiny glass figurines over the fireplace had been my own design and idea. I pictured what it must have looked like from the inside as it burned, the bluebell carpeting being eaten up first.

The flames spreading to the flower-patterned wallpaper, then to the picture of my college graduation, with my mother, father and sisters all looking particularly windswept, but pleased. The furniture must have gone next, even my cream-colored sofa, and its matching pillows with bluebell trim that I had painstakingly sewn together. The feeling of utter helplessness came over me when I recalled the only portrait I had of my brother Ken hanging over the fireplace. He had stood proudly that day, standing next to me and smiling in full confidence after his wedding to Diane. The thought of the only picture I had treasured so much in flames sent me over the edge, tears welling up in my eyes, tearing me out of my stupor and back into the world of feeling. I heard a dog's frantic barking from inside the building: my dog, Cassie. The heat, raw emotion, and pain were too much to bear; and all went black.

When I came to, I could still feel the heat on my face, in stark contrast to the cold wetness I felt underneath me. Suddenly, there was a clear voice cutting through the jumbled mutters, telling everyone to move aside. Then a cool hand rested on my forehead. "Come on sweetheart, let me know if you can hear me," came the clearly masculine voice. I tried to make my head move, but found that I seemed to have lost control of my bodily functions. I remembered vaguely reading about severe shock rendering a person in a state of semi-consciousness, where the mind works, but the body remains out of the person's control.

It was absolutely absurd, I thought to myself, that I remembered that silly little fact when I was, in fact, the one in shock. The voice cut through my thoughts again, "She is unresponsive, let's get her hooked up," and then to me, "Darling, this will be over before you know it, okay? You're gonna be okay." I wondered briefly if he knew I could hear him after all, or if he was just comforting himself with his words. I felt myself being lifted from the puddle and slipped into unconsciousness once more.

I recall having slipped in and out of consciousness for who knew how long. Every time I awoke there was someone holding my hand, and often the male voice I had heard at my rescue was there, talking to me about all manner of things. "Ashley? Oh Jesus, Ash..." The words were coming from somewhere beside me the next time I slipped back into my own mind. It was the voice of my mother, soft and comforting as it had always been. I attempted to flex my fingers, and found that not only could I think coherently, but I could move again. I cracked my eye open slightly, and shut it immediately as the light flooded in.

"Ash!" My mother had noticed my small movements, and I could feel her moving around. "How are you feeling dear?" she asked, as she took my hand, her fingers trembling slightly. An overreaction I thought, I had only fainted.

I attempted to speak, but found that the only sound I could make was a light groan, and I attempted to move my head from side to side, only to find that there was something restraining it. Oh damn, I thought to myself, now I've gone and broken my neck. Once again, I attempted to open my eyes, and found that it was too bright. Seconds later I heard a small click and saw the light fade from behind my eyelids.

"Is that better, Miss Connelly?" It was that voice again, sending shivers up my spine as it rumbled into my ears.

I opened my eyes hesitantly, and then fully, noting that I was most definitely in a hospital room. I looked over to my side, and sure enough my mother was sitting there, with her brows fixed downwards, the very picture of worry. Her eyes looked sunken and were accompanied by large dark circles underneath, she was obviously wearing no makeup. It alarmed me to see her in such a state of disarray. Her clothes were rumpled and her chestnut hair was greasy and unwashed, pulled back into the simplest of ponytails. My eyes strayed around the room, to avoid the picture my mother presented. And there he was, the owner of that voice, the only voice I recalled from the night everything had burned to the ground. He looked to be around my age, standing at around 5'10" with a quizzical look in his defined features. He ran a hand through his dark hair, and fiddled with his stethoscope with the other. His white coat was in contrast with his tanned skin, and his dark slacks, which loosely covered his legs.

"Often patients find themselves disoriented when they recover consciousness, honey. Le me explain what happened after you came home to the fire and passed out. Your body shut down completely, and when your knees buckled, your neck fell on the curb, breaking it in two places. You've been here in the Contra Costa County Hospital for six days, and you were in the ICU for two of them," He explained, taking a clipboard from beside my bed and flipping through the paperwork. My eyes must have widened, because when he looked over his eyes twinkled and he chuckled saying, "A bit of a shocker, isn't it darling?"

I attempted to speak again, only to find that my vocal chords were still in defiance of my brain, as I let out a small squeak.

The corners of his mouth lifted perceptibly and he said in a soothing voice, "It may take a while before you have full use of your vocal chords, the doctor says." I raised an eyebrow at this statement. "No, I'm not the doctor," he said, seeming to read my mind. "My name is Chad, I'm in training with your doctor, he'll be in shortly." He winked at me before saying, "In the meantime, I'll be taking your temperature and all of the little things that nurses usually do."

I watched as he began to take my temperature, my eyes crossing when he put the thermometer in my mouth. Suddenly, I felt my mother's hand squeeze mine, I had completely forgotten she was beside me, with the appearance of Chad and the news. She began to talk about the family and how concerned everyone was about my condition, telling me how my father had come up from the city to see how I was doing when it happened. I was extremely glad that she knew me so well as to not mention the house or what was left of it anyhow. She went on while Chad reviewed my health, and proclaimed that I was doing far better than I was when he had picked me up on his ER shift. The doctor came in and after a few more minutes of poking and prodding, told me that he thought my neck was certainly improved, but that we should schedule a few more x-rays to be certain, and I could go home, in a neck brace of course, in a week or less.

Over the next two days my family dropped in and out of the hospital, and mom looked considerably less hassled after I made her go home. I had regained my voice after drinking some water and having a bit of chicken broth, and had berated her for neglecting herself on account of me. Chad was always around, talking to me, taking my basics and filling me in on the daily news. A few days after I awoke, he took me on my first walk since "the incident." It was the most exceedingly embarrassing thing I had ever experienced, having tripped every few steps and fallen twice. Each time, Chad was there to break my fall or steady my shoulders, constantly talking me through it, pretending I was walking perfectly fine. This mollified my sense of pride somewhat, making it easier to accept this increasingly desirable man's help.

The day before my release I hesitantly asked him what had happened to my home. He looked down at me, in the middle of taking my blood pressure readings, and sat down beside my bed, looking somewhat surprised. "Well sweetheart," he began. "It was completely destroyed by the fire, but thankfully it didn't spread to any of the other houses down the street. Your dog, Cassie, was killed in the fire. I'm sorry sweetie, the fire-fighters tried to save her, but she was trapped on the third floor."

I nodded, swallowing hard. Cassie had been my best friend since I was sixteen, and had even gone through college with me. "Was anyone else hurt?" I asked.

"Only one other person, your next door neighbor, Mr. Moores. He got a few minor burns saving this," he pulled out a large parcel sitting on top. I recognized it instantly; it was the portrait of my brother and me. My eyes teared up and I cried in relief, that picture meant more to me than all the belongings in my house combined, aside from Cassie. Chad reached over and took my hand, rubbing his thumb over its back in soothing circles.

I cleared my throat, having calmed down a little, and said, "There were a lot of things that held sentimental value to me. I designed the whole house myself, it's what I do for a living, but it was the first real interior designing I had ever done myself. This picture," I looked down at it and smiled, "was the most important thing of all. The man in the picture, my brother Ken, was killed last year, in a fire ironically enough. I guess it was the thought of this and Cassie being burned to cinders that made me faint in the first place."

"I'm so sorry about Cassie, and your brother. It must have been difficult to have lived through two deaths in the last year." Chad looked concerned.

A tear rolled down my cheek, Ken and I had been very close, as had Cassie and I. "Yeah," I said.

"Oh, sweetheart, it will be okay. Things will look up soon, I promise," Chad lifted my chin up. He looked into my eyes for a few seconds, and brought his lips to mine. The kiss was soft and gentle, undemanding and comforting. He ran his tongue along my bottom lip, and I let his tongue explore my mouth. We kissed for a couple more minutes and he pulled away gently, smiling. When I protested he said, "Now, now, there's plenty of time for this later. When you're not my patient to care for, eh?"

I smiled at him mischievously and said, "All the time in the world."

He cleared his throat and said in a husky voice, "I suppose I should be going then, honey. If you need me, just ring the little button."

As he walked out of the room, I said, "Thanks for telling me, Chad."

He turned around and looked at me intently, his eyes searching mine for something, and responded, "Any time, sweetheart," before smiling and walking out of the room.

I spent the rest of the afternoon fingering the picture my neighbor had saved, and pondering the kiss earlier. It hadn't been entirely unexpected. Chad and I had been eyeing each- other from a distance for a while, and I had certainly been attracted to him from the beginning. It was a new feeling, to be attracted to someone and have the time for it. I had always been so busy with schooling and then with working, I only really ever had time for one serious relationship, and it had ended badly, with hatred and angry parting words. Maybe it was a good thing for me to get involved again. The doctor's orders were basically no stress for the next few months, as my neck recovered. I smiled and put the picture down, falling asleep with that smile still gracing my lips.