The Wright Way

Chapter 12 - The Wright Way

"Two fire engines at the scene," says Amelia Harper. Her shining, immaculate hair swings from side to side as she shakes her head. "With all the firemen at the scene—and there were quite a few, as we can see in the footage," she continues as the picture on the screen switches to what must have been filmed by one of the spectators, showing our guys operating the hoses. "With so many professionals on the scene, the building still burnt down completely. How is that possible?"

"The bitch," says Mike.

The screen shows him now, standing next to me as I sit on the grass, probably moments after I have emerged from the building, because Joshua's body is still motionless on the ground next to me. Taken out of the context, the scene looks like I'm just relaxing there, gazing at she stars, a fellow fireman keeping me company, while the building goes up in flames. I cringe, but that hurts my burnt face, so I force my muscles to relax.

"On the bright side, there were no causalities. One civilian was even rescued from the flames by a local fireman, Ethan Wright."

I cringe again, despite the pain. The screen now shows me, barraging out of the building, Joshua's body limp in my hands. With all the gear I had on and the poor lighting, I look barely recognizable, and I'm thankful for that.

"How did they know my name?" I mutter.

"I told them," says Lagana. He's sitting on the side of the hospital bed I have just vacated, his face turned up to the TV mounted on the wall. "We could use some good publicity. Local news aren't exactly our big fans, as you can see."

"It's just this Amelia," says Mike. "Others are better."

"She's a reporter," says Lagana. "She wants a story."

Mike sighs and shakes his head.

"If I knew I would be in the news," he says, "I'd have taken the helm off. Brushed my hair and stuff. I also look best when filmed from the front—you see, like that?" He strikes a pose, bulging his muscles. "Makes shoulders look wider. Not so much when they film from that angle." He glances at me. "Do you know your good angles?"

I shrug, still feeling too numb to play along.

Lights are dim in the ER room where the three of us are waiting for my discharge papers. I'm thankful for their company. It's been a comfort in this unnervingly white and gleaming place full of efficient people in scrubs eager to subject me to all kinds of painful procedures.

There were also the unpleasant things Lagana said to me. I hoped the telling-off was over, but judging by his heavy stare, that might not be the case.

"There could have been other people," he says. "Others could have followed you into the building to try and rescue you, and they could have been killed."

"They didn't," I say. "They weren't."

He keeps staring me in that cold, heavy manner of his, his greying eyebrows knitted together, until I give up.

"Sorry," I say, for perhaps the tenth time tonight. "Won't happen again."

"I don't need you to be a hero," he says. "I need you to do your job and come back alive. I don't want to stand in front of your family one day and..."

He trails off, perhaps remembering that his usual speech might not apply to me, that my family, once informed of my death, might react unlike the others.

He shakes his head and gets up to his feet.

"I'm responsible for you," he says. "I gave you this job."

"I wanted it," I say, but I know what he means, and he knows that I know, so he says nothing, only sighs and walks over and pats me on the shoulder.

"Let's go."

"Yeah, what's taking her so long?" says Mike, picking his jacket from the chair.

"We can wait at the reception," says Lagana, glancing at me.

"I'm good to go," I say, and a corner of his mouth twitches up in a smile.

We come out into the brightly lit corridor and walk slowly towards the reception area, passing nurses and patients, some walking, others being rolled in wheelchairs. Tall windows show the dark sky, with only the pinkish outlines over the buildings' tops hinting at the approaching sunrise. The city is still asleep, but the ER is lively. Perhaps our fire supplied them with extra work today, some of the spectators showing up after breathing in too much smoke. Quite a price for taking a few pictures.

"There you are!" The short, curly-haired nurse comes to us, a file with papers in her hands. "Take this to reception. You're clear to go." She hands me the file, clasps her hands on her round belly and looks at me admiringly. "I'm in awe with you! I mean, you too," she gestures briefly at Mike and Lagana, then turns to me again, "but you? Carrying a stranger out of the flames like that? I would have taken a selfie with you, but we're forbidden to do that." She winks at me. "Can't bother celebrities."

I feel briefly grateful for my skin already being red from the fire so that the blush can't possibly register on it. Her smile grows wider, and she reaches out and squeezes my hand affectionately. Then she looks away, as if suddenly struck by an idea.

"Want to see him?" she says. "They guy you've rescued?"

"No," I say, but then the curiosity gets the best of me. "Is he okay? Is he conscious?"

"Oh, way too conscious," she says. "Doesn't shut up. Quite a handful, really."

"That's the princess for you," says Mike, and the nurse casts him a confused glance. "I'll explain to you later," he says to Lagana who also gives him a blank look.

"Go," Mike says, turning to me and taking the file with papers from my hands. "Go check on him. We'll wait for you at the reception."

"Uhm," I say as the hand of the nurse tightens on my wrist and pulls.

I really don't want to see Joshua right now. I've had enough drama for today, and there's nothing I want to say to him and certainly nothing I want to hear from him. I did what I had to do, and now I want to call it a night.

I try to gently free my hand from the nurse's grip as I follow her along the corridor, arranging the words of refusal in my mind. Before I open my mouth, though, a shrill voice comes out of one of the rooms.

"What do you mean I can't go?" someone shouts, and a few people in the corridor pause to listen. "Is this a police state? Am I arrested? I'm fine! I'm leaving! Get this thing off me!"

The nurse opens the door to a brightly lit examination room. There's a hospital bed by the wall, and a few glass and metal closets, a desk with a computer, and a couple of people in scrubs hovering around Joshua who stands in the middle of the room. He's wearing a hospital top that looks like a sheet with a hole cut in it for a head. It's long enough to reach his knees, and below it, his jeans-clad legs are visible, dirty with soot.

He whirls around at the sound of the opening door and then freezes, seeing me.

"You?" he says, and the defensive expression on his face melts away. "It's...you?"

He makes a step to the door, then another. Then, he runs into the corridor and hurls himself at me, wrapping his arms around me, making me stumble back.

Catching the breath that he's kicked out of me, I look around and see the nurse smiling happily, and, in the end of the corridor, Lagana and Mike, looking at us, the electric light gleaming on their wide grins. There're more people in the corridor, and they all stand and stare.

I try to unglue his hands wrapped around me, and then, when it seems that nothing can possibly make the situation any more embarrassing, the nurse takes out her cell phone.

"To hell with the rules," she says. "Say cheese!"