Free Vain: A Stepbrother Romance by Chelsea Hunter Page A

the floor,
awaiting my fate.
     

Chapter 11 – Firetrucks Mick
    “911 what’s
your emergency?”
             
“My house is on fire! My fucking house is on fire!”
             
“Calm down, sir. Please give me your address.”
             
“Holy shit! Calm down? You’re telling me to calm down?! My fucking house is on
fire!”
             
“Sir, please give me your address so we can send firetrucks.”
             
“I am at 546 Blue Terrace.”
             
“Stay out of the house, we are sending help now.”
             
I watch in terror as my house is engulfed in flames. The fire emerges from the
window at the front of my house and wraps itself around the roof, licking the
treetops. Running to the garage, I take the hose and pull it as far as I can. I
begin trying to quell the fire. It seems hopeless, but I am not going to let my
house go up in flames. The tiny hose doesn’t do much, but it is better than
nothing. Where the fuck is the firetruck? Why do I pay for extra service?

          Sirens blare in the
distance. It is deeply disturbing to watch helplessly as my personal belongings
and the place I live in goes up in smoke. Finally, the firetrucks pull in. When
the firemen come out, they cast me sidelong glances upon realizing I have been
trying to put the fire out with a hose. The supervisor comes over to me and
begins peppering me with questions.
             
“I think we can take it from here. Is anyone inside?”
             
“No.”
             
“Are there any animals inside?”
             
“No.”
             
“Is there anything combustible—explosives, gasoline, or a high-pressure vessel
of some type?”
             
“No.”
             
“All right. Do not leave the property. We have some more questions to ask you.”
             
I feel numb. This is one of the most surreal moments of my life. I broke up
with my girlfriend, I lost my opportunity with Sam, and now it seems the fire
department thinks I set my own house on fire. That’s the only reason I can
think I was asked to remain here. It seems like he is telling me that this is
my fault. Fuck him!
             
I walk around the driveway, apprehension slithering through my veins as the
fire crews extinguish the fire. It doesn’t take them that long. The damage,
however, looks extensive. The front room of my house is now exposed to the open
air; you can see through the gaping hole that the walls are now black. I cannot
believe it. I walk over to my steps, sit down, and put my head in my hands,
only to be rudely interrupted by the supervisor.
             
“Tell me what happened.”
             
I tell him everything that I know, all the way down to the Molotov cocktail. I
hear one of the firemen call out.
             
“Found it.”
             
The fireman brings over the remains of the bottle with a rag in it. Who
would do this to me? Why would anyone want to do this to my house? Delia
came to mind, but that would be just too much, even for her . Is this
something Sam would do? Nah, she doesn’t even know where I live.
             
“Do you have any idea who would want to do this to you?”
             
“No.”

          A police car pulls onto
my driveway and stops right in front of me. With his window open, the officer
begins to speak.
             
“Are you Mick Anderson?”
             
“Yes, sir.”
             
I notice Delia in the back of the car.
             
“Do you recognize this woman?”
             
Delia avoids my gaze, looking straight ahead, tears streaming from her eyes.
Her blonde hair is all dishevelled and makeup is running in lines down her
face.
             
“Yes, that is my ex-girlfriend. Did she do this?”
             
“Well, we found her walking around outside of