Free The Writer by Amy Cross

sending pieces of burning wood tumbling onto the lawn with so much force that the ground shakes. Wide-eyed and shocked, all I can do is stare at the inferno.
    “It looks like she tried to get out!” one of the other fireman shouts from the truck, his voice barely audible over the roaring flames. “We found her body by the back door!”
    “This can’t be happening,” I whisper, grabbing my phone from my pocket and bringing up Jacqui’s number. As the call tries to connect, however, I slowly become aware of a ring-tone coming from inside a nearby ambulance.
    “There’s a phone in her pocket,” says a voice. “Leave it for now.”
    Cutting the call, I watch as one of the firemen pushes the ambulance’s rear door shut just in time to stop me seeing Jacqui’s body as the black cover is removed. I get a very brief glimpse of a smoldering, blackened corpse before the door clicks into place, and then I turn to look at the burning house. I can feel the heat on my face, and as the flames continue to consume every last piece of wood, all I can think about is how Jacqui must have suffered during her final moments. When I spoke to her on the phone just thirty minutes ago, she sounded fine, but now she’s gone forever.
    Looking down at my phone, I realize that there’s only one person I can call right now. I try John’s number, but there’s no connection, which I guess means he’s still up at his cabin. Bringing up the twenty-four-hour emergency number for Doctor Ferguson, my hands tremble so much that I can barely even raise the phone to the side of my face. As I wait for someone to answer, I can’t stop imagining Jacqui stumbling out of the house, probably on fire, most likely screaming and -
    “I’m sorry,” says an agitated woman suddenly as she answers the phone, “Doctor Ferguson is unavailable right now.”
    “It’s urgent!” I tell her, with tears in my voice. “My name’s -”
    “He’s unavailable,” the woman says firmly. “He… He might not be available for a while.”
    “I don’t care!” I shout. “He gave me this number for emergencies and -”
    “Doctor Ferguson was attacked by a patient this afternoon,” the woman cuts in, sounding as if she too is close to tears. “He’s at Morgan General Hospital. He’s in surgery right now, they don’t know if…” She pauses. “They don’t know if he’s going to make it. He was stabbed multiple times.”
    “Hospital?” I reply, hurrying toward my car. “No, that’s got to be wrong. Put him on!”
    “I’m sorry,” the woman continues, “but I need to keep this line clear. Please, call back tomorrow and I’m sure someone will be able to help you.”
    Cutting the call, I stop by my car and look back at the burning building. There’s some deep part of me that thinks this has to be a mistake, that somehow I’m going to wake up and find that it’s all in my head. After a moment, I fumble with the phone again and bring up Jason’s number, but as soon as I try to call him I get a wrong number dial-tone. I swear, I spoke to him over the phone several times recently, yet now it’s as if his number doesn’t exist at all.
    “I’m losing my mind,” I mutter as I open the car door and climb inside. Even though I definitely don’t feel like driving right now, I can’t sit here and watch Jacqui’s house as it burns to the ground, so I put the car in gear and turn it around, heading back toward my house. With my mind racing, I try not to think about Jacqui’s final moments, or about whatever must have happened to Doctor Ferguson; finally, even though I know I shouldn’t use the phone while I’m driving, I bring up Jason’s number and try him again, only to hear that same wrong number tone. Convinced that there has to be some kind of explanation, I keep trying the number, over and over, each time with the same result. When that doesn’t work, I try John, but he’s still out of reach.
    “Come on,” I whisper, barely able to see the