Chapter 8: The Day Room

Ansel's POV

I drove into the city on Thursday night with a suspension letter in my glove box and no plan.

Calla thought I was buying diapers.

I did buy diapers, so it was not exactly a lie.

I parked across Cedar Street from Station 9, in front of the burned building.

It was a black shell with plywood nailed over the fourth-floor window.

I had stood on that ladder with Calla's weight in my arms, saying her name until she answered.

I did not intend to tell her that.

The bay doors of Station 9 were rolled up for the evening.

A man in a navy T-shirt was washing the engine's running board.

He was the engineer, the driver who had been on Dalton's rig for six years.

I stopped at the edge of the apron.

He looked up and saw me, and his hand went still on the sponge.

"Killian," he said. "You're the one they sent home."

"I'm the one."

"You shouldn't be here."

"I'm not here. I want to ask you one thing."

He glanced at the door to the house.

"Walk me to the back," he said.

We went around the side of the building to the trash cans, and he lit a cigarette.

I didn't speak.

A man who wants to talk will talk if you let the quiet get long.

"We were all in turnouts," he said finally. "Every one of us, at the rig, with our boots on."

"What time?"

"About twenty to seven. The tones went off for Cedar Street. The address came up on the screen. Right across the road. We could smell it."

Keep reading free with an account. Start The Day Two Sisters Burned for Husbands Who Never Came from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.