Title: The Flames of Redemption

Chapter 1: The Call

Lieutenant Jake Callahan was no stranger to chaos. As a firefighter with fifteen years of service, he had seen it all—raging infernos, collapsed buildings, and the thin line between life and death. But nothing could prepare him for the internal battle he would face on a humid August night when a call came through that would change everything.

"Structure fire at 321 Maple Street," the dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio.

Jake knew the area well. A dilapidated warehouse, abandoned for years, rumored to be a haven for squatters and the homeless. It was the kind of place where you expected to find forgotten people—those whom society had discarded.

"Let’s move out!" Jake ordered, and the engine roared to life. As they raced through the dark streets, he mentally prepared himself, a routine he had perfected over the years. He was a hero. He saved lives. It was simple.

Or so he thought.

Chapter 2: Into the Inferno

The warehouse was a towering inferno by the time they arrived. Flames licked at the night sky, and thick black smoke billowed upward. Jake could hear the crackle of burning wood, the groan of collapsing beams.

"Check for survivors!" he shouted to his crew as they donned their gear. He led the charge into the blazing structure, the heat immediately searing his skin even through his protective suit.

Inside, the smoke was suffocating, visibility reduced to almost nothing. Jake pushed forward, trusting his instincts. There were always people who refused to leave, thinking they could outrun the fire or save a few belongings. His job was to find them and drag them to safety.

He found the man in a corner of the second floor, unconscious but alive. Jake hoisted him over his shoulder, his muscles straining as he made his way back through the inferno. The heat was unbearable, the flames closing in on all sides. But he was determined—no one was going to die on his watch.

With a final burst of strength, Jake emerged from the flames, the man still slung over his shoulder. He laid him on the ground as paramedics rushed over. The cool night air was a relief, but Jake’s heart pounded with more than just adrenaline. He felt good—he had saved a life. This was why he did the job.

Chapter 3: The Truth Burns

As the paramedics worked on the man, Jake caught snippets of their conversation.

"Isn’t this...?"

"Yeah, it’s him. Jesus."

Curiosity piqued, Jake edged closer. He saw the paramedic’s face pale as they exchanged uneasy glances.

"Who is he?" Jake asked, his voice steady, though an inexplicable dread began to creep in.

The paramedic hesitated before answering. "Jake... this guy... he’s Thomas Granger."

The name hit Jake like a punch to the gut. Thomas Granger. The name had been all over the news for weeks. He was the man responsible for a string of horrific crimes—kidnappings, assaults, even murders. A predator who preyed on the vulnerable, leaving a trail of shattered lives in his wake.

And Jake had just saved him.

Chapter 4: The Burden

Jake felt as though the ground had opened beneath him. His hands, still trembling from the rescue, clenched into fists. How could this be? He had risked his life, pushed himself to the limit, for this monster? The thought made him sick.

He watched as the paramedics stabilized Granger, preparing him for transport to the hospital. Jake’s mind raced. He had always believed in the sanctity of life, that every soul was worth saving. But now, standing here, looking at the man who had caused so much pain, that belief faltered.

What if he had known? Would he have done anything differently? Would he have left Granger to burn?

These thoughts gnawed at him, a corrosive doubt that threatened to unravel everything he had built his life on. He had saved a man who didn’t deserve saving, and now, the weight of that act crushed him.

Chapter 5: The Flames Within

In the days that followed, Jake couldn’t escape the media coverage. Thomas Granger, the man he had pulled from the fire, was now facing a lifetime in prison, awaiting trial for his heinous crimes. The public was outraged, and some even questioned why the firefighters had bothered to save him.

Jake was silent through it all, but inside, the turmoil raged. He found no solace in the praise he received for his bravery, no comfort in knowing he had done his duty. The black-and-white morality he had lived by was now a murky gray.

One night, unable to sleep, Jake found himself standing in front of the burnt-out shell of the warehouse. The smell of ash and charred wood lingered in the air, a ghost of the fire that had consumed it. He stared at the ruins, seeking answers in the destruction.

"Did I do the right thing?" he whispered into the night, though no one was there to hear him.

But deep down, he knew there was no right answer, no way to reconcile the conflicting emotions tearing him apart. He had saved a life, but in doing so, he had kept a monster in the world. The fire had been extinguished, but the flames of doubt and guilt burned on inside him, relentless and consuming.

As he turned to leave, Jake knew that this was a burden he would carry for the rest of his life—a scar that would never heal, a question that would never be answered.

Because in the end, he was just a man, caught between duty and morality, fighting fires both within and without. And some flames, once ignited, could never be put out.

The emergency call comes when I least expect it.

One moment, I'm dunking my sweet custard cream into a mug full of tea and the next moment the shrill, fateful ring of the telephone coming from the lobby of the fire station. Before I know it, my supervivor has swept me away from my precious moment of repose, and I'm frantically putting on my heavy uniform (the sweltering heat seeping in from outside as the door begins to be opened does not help this). As the fire engine is revved up, I clamber into the back seat, sitting beside my friend who I barely even noticed in the frenzy of this all. We both stare at each other blankly, thinking what I believe is the same thing. We're both in the last month of our apprenticeship, and the fact that we've been called on means that our bosses sitting in front of us are going to be watching us, taking note of our every move in this real-life case.

After ten minutes of sirens, sitting tight and driving speedily past compliant traffic, we arrive at the house from where 999 was called, which is expectedly ablaze, a huge flush of vibrant reds and oranges which surround the terraced home in which it's been reported someone is trapped.

The four of us leap out of our vehicle, hoses and helmets in hand, as we begin to enter the burning home, instinctively intent in stopping this flame before it can cause too much harm. I recognise the loud, female voice of my supervisor commanding us over the cacophony of burning embers.

"Right, Lieutenant Peters, Blackmore, survey the ground floor. Try and find the cause of the fire and stop as much of it as you can. Davies, you and I can go upstairs."

I nod slightly to respond to her instruction, before following her at a quick jog, climbing the narrow staircase to arrive at the landing, taking one last look at my friend who's got me through the last two years. Molly Blackmore, a girl I know deep down could never see again if we fail this.

I take a glance around me and realise my supervisor has already started work in the master bedroom, as I notice her blonde, tight ponytail in the distance.

I decide the best thing to do is turn in the opposite direction. Perhaps I'll check if the source is in the bathroom or one of the smaller rooms. And that's when I hear it.

Somebody is pounding on the walls of what must be an airing cabinet, and as soon as I hear a scream which follows from within, I'm running right over there. Powered with a rush of adrenaline and a surging throb of human desire to save and succeed in doing so, I kick down the door and my well-built strength makes it topple easily. I reach my hands out to the cowering figure and I'm relieved as I know they can be saved.

I gasp and notice there is a small candle which has toppled over in the cupboard and in the blink of an eye my hose is aimed at what probably started the fire and its glow fades into nothing as a sense of proudness overcomes me. We have the victim. I just need to get them out of here, reassure them - her, and I could even get promoted!

My joy is cut short as I realise that this person, a girl of about my age, is unconscious. My mind flickers back to my months of training in first aid. My hands lock together in a rigid clasp and I'm pumping down at her chest. It's so thankful I know how to do CPR. After around ten minutes of this my hands become weary and I decide to take a break, switching on my walkie talkie to talk to my team.

"Is that Mike Peters? Yes, I've got the victim, just performing CPR. Seems to be in improving condition. I've luckily stopped the source of the fire too-"

"Sorry Davies. We'll come up here and help in the minute. We're just dealing with some destruction in the kitchen, the fire's shut off all electrical power to the appliances-"

Just like that, the radio connection dissipates. We've been cut off.

I turn back to the girl I'm trying to save. I then try and take a closer look at her face, but it is all covered up with her messy dark-brown fringe and coated in a thick layer of soot. But I know everyone is deserving of another chance. So I continue the CPR relentlessly, and soon I am pleasantly surprised and overwhelmed with consolation - her breath comes back in a splutter, her eyes subsequently open and she raises her hand to brush back the soot, revealing them to be stunningly blue.

"Hello?"

"Hi!" I exclaim happily. Then I realise I need to be professional.

"Dara Davies, apprentice firefighter from the fire department. I.. I think I've just saved your life."

She stares at me in awe for a few moments before unexpectedly bringing me in for a warm hug, warmer than the raging fire my colleagues are trying so hard to quell downstairs. My mind snaps back.

"Can I get you a cold towel to wash your face? Should I bring you some new clothes to change into? I'll get you out as soon as I can."

Her head nods slightly, as I rush off to the nearest bedroom, throwing open a wardrobe which is beginning to cool down. I grab a T-Shirt and shorts which hadn't yet succumbed to the fire and take a wet flannel from the en-suite bathroom.

I hurry over to the girl and hand her the towel, she begins to wipe her face. But when I offer her the fresh clothes, she unexpectedly shakes her head.

"I don't need them, thank you though."

My expression becomes confused. I've not closely looked at the clothes she's in but they can't have fared well if she was literally locked in with the source of the fire.

But when I take a glance, I'm even more surprised. The jacket she's wearing is slightly singed, but not at all burnt. Unscathed. Upon closer inspection, it looks to be the same material as the fireproof coats us firefighters wear. But how could she know a fire was going to happen? No. She couldn't know. She's just an innocent girl, it must have been some kind of coincidence-

But when my eyes wander to her free hand which isn't wiping her face, my fears are confirmed. She's holding a match.

My relief and sincere pride I felt for saving somebody leaves me in an instant. No, this isn't a victim. This person started the fire. I stagger a few steps back, heart pounding in my chest. How naive was I to assume that this was an innocent I was dealing with? She stands up too, revealing us to be the same height, meaning we are now eye to eye. Icy blue to hazel. Where do I recognise those eyes from?

My mind flashes back to when I was sitting in the fire station, with my tea and custard cream, before this all happened. There was a newspaper open on the table, and on the front page:

"Reward of £10000 for capture of woman known as 'Ice-cold Arsonist', currently on run from police." That girl had reportedly killed over ten people by arson. She was a deranged murderer, described to have piercing blue eyes as cold as ice and dark brown hair. Those eyes were the ones which I stared into now.

My legs naturally begin to run away, as I become overcome with guilt - why did I save this criminal? But in my hand the walkie talkie buzzed sharply before I heard Mike's familiar voice.

"We've got the fire mainly dealt with down here, the electricity seems to be back in order, luckily. We're just joining you now."

I go and shelter in a corner, as far as I can get from the murderer. No, I won't tell the team yet. She might hear...

As I reach the end of the corridor I reach the house's main bathroom, and I swing open the door to find a sorry sight. The room's walls are made, or at least were made, of white marble, but it is now blackened by the inferno. In the middle of the room stand my colleages: Molly, seeming distraught, standing alongside Mike, and my boss who looks at me scornfully and says

"Davies, I thought you said earlier you were looking after this victim, that their condition was improving? I don't understand how you could have abandoned him. We've just checked... there's no pulse. You could've saved him from whoever did this."

My mouth gapes open in shock. What have I done? What the fuck have I done?

The figure of the Ice-Cold arsonist is nowhere to be seen, but I see her in my mind and I'm sure I'll see her soon in my nightmares. It's as if she is telling me "Stupid little Dara. You were unprofessional enough to choose to save the wrong life."

The emergency call comes when I least expect it. One moment, I'm dunking my sweet custard cream into a mug full of tea and the next moment the shrill, fateful ring of the telephone coming from the lobby of the fire station. Before I know it, my supervivor has swept me away from my precious moment of repose, and I'm frantically putting on my heavy uniform (the sweltering heat seeping in from outside as the door begins to be opened does not help this). As the fire engine is revved up, I clamber into the back seat, sitting beside my friend who I barely even noticed in the frenzy of this all. We both stare at each other blankly, thinking what I believe is the same thing. We're both in the last month of our apprenticeship, and the fact that we've been called on means that our bosses sitting in front of us are going to be watching us, taking note of our every move in this real-life case.

After ten minutes of sirens, sitting tight and driving speedily past compliant traffic, we arrive at the house from where 999 was called, which is expectedly ablaze, a huge flush of vibrant reds and oranges which surround the terraced home in which it's been reported someone is trapped. The four of us leap out of our vehicle, hoses and helmets in hand, as we begin to enter the burning home, instinctively intent in stopping this flame before it can cause too much harm. I recognise the loud, female voice of my supervisor commanding us over the cacophony of burning embers. "Right, Lieutenant Peters, Blackmore, survey the ground floor. Try and find the cause of the fire and stop as much of it as you can. Davies, you and I can go upstairs." I nod slightly to respond to her instruction, before following her at a quick jog, climbing the narrow staircase to arrive at the landing, taking one last look at my friend who's got me through the last two years. Molly Blackmore, a girl I know deep down could never see again if we fail this.

I take a glance around me and realise my supervisor has already started work in the master bedroom, as I notice her blonde, tight ponytail in the distance. I decide the best thing to do is turn in the opposite direction. Perhaps I'll check if the source is in the bathroom or one of the smaller rooms. And that's when I hear it. Somebody is pounding on the walls of what must be an airing cabinet, and as soon as I hear a scream which follows from within, I'm running right over there. Powered with a rush of adrenaline and a surging throb of human desire to save and succeed in doing so, I kick down the door and my well-built strength makes it topple easily. I reach my hands out to the cowering figure and I'm relieved as I know they can be saved. I gasp and notice there is a small candle which has toppled over in the cupboard and in the blink of an eye my hose is aimed at what probably started the fire and its glow fades into nothing as a sense of proudness overcomes me. We have the victim. I just need to get them out of here, reassure them - her, and I could even get promoted! My joy is cut short as I realise that this person, a girl of about my age, is unconscious. My mind flickers back to my months of training in first aid. My hands lock together in a rigid clasp and I'm pumping down at her chest. It's so thankful I know how to do CPR. After around ten minutes of this my hands become weary and I decide to take a break, switching on my walkie talkie to talk to my team. "Is that Mike Peters? Yes, I've got the victim, just performing CPR. Seems to be in improving condition. I've luckily stopped the source of the fire too-" "Sorry Davies. We'll come up here and help in the minute. We're just dealing with some destruction in the kitchen, the fire's shut off all electrical power to the appliances-" Just like that, the radio connection dissipates. We've been cut off. I turn back to the girl I'm trying to save. I then try and take a closer look at her face, but it is all covered up with her messy dark-brown fringe and coated in a thick layer of soot. But I know everyone is deserving of another chance. So I continue the CPR relentlessly, and soon I am pleasantly surprised and overwhelmed with consolation - her breath comes back in a splutter, her eyes subsequently open and she raises her hand to brush back the soot, revealing them to be stunningly blue.

"Hello?" "Hi!" I exclaim happily. Then I realise I need to be professional. "Dara Davies, apprentice firefighter from the police department. I.. I think I've just saved your life." She stares at me in awe for a few moments before unexpectedly bringing me in for a warm hug, warmer than the raging fire my colleagues are trying so hard to quell downstairs. My mind snaps back. "Can I get you a cold towel to wash your face? Should I bring you some new clothes to change into?" Her head nods slightly, as I rush off to the nearest bedroom, throwing open a wardrobe which is beginning to cool down. I grab a T-Shirt and shorts which hadn't yet succumbed to the fire and take a wet flannel from the en-suite bathroom. I hurry over to the girl and hand her the towel, she begins to wipe her face. But when I offer her the fresh clothes, she unexpectedly shakes her head. "I don't need them, thank you though." My expression becomes confused. I've not closely looked at the clothes she's in but they can't have fared well if she was literally locked in with the source of the fire. But when I take a glance, I'm even more surprised. The jacket she's wearing is slightly singed, but not at all burnt. Unscathed. Upon closer inspection, it looks to be the same material as the fireproof coats us firefighters wear. But how could she know a fire was going to happen? No. Se couldn't know. She's just an innocent girl, it must have been some kind of coincidence-

But when my eyes wander to her free hand which isn't wiping her face, my fears are confirmed. She's holding a match.

My relief and sincere pride I felt for saving somebody leaves me in an instant. No, this isn't a victim. This person started the fire. I stagger a few steps back, heart pounding in my chest. How naive was I to assume that this was an innocent I was dealing with? She stands up too, revealing us to be the same height, meaning we are now eye to eye. Icy blue to hazel. Where do I recognise those eyes from?

My mind flashes back to when I was sitting in the fire station, with my tea and custard cream, before this all happened. There was a newspaper open on the table, and on the front page: "Reward of £10000 for capture of woman known as 'Ice-cold Arsonist', currently on run from police." That girl had reportedly killed over ten people by arson. She was a deranged murderer, described to have piercing blue eyes as cold as ice and dark brown hair. Those eyes were the ones which I stared into now.

My legs naturally begin to run away, as I become overcome with guilt - why did I save this criminal? But in my hand the walkie talkie buzzed sharply before I heard Mike's familiar voice. "We've got the fire mainly dealt with down here, the electricity seems to be back in order, luckily. We're just joining you now."

I go and shelter in a corner, as far as I can get from the murderer. No, I won't tell the team yet. She might hear...

As I reach the end of the corridor I reach the house's main bathroom, and I swing open the door to find a sorry sight. The room's walls are made, or at least were made, of white marble, but it is now blackened by the inferno. In the middle of the room stand my colleages: Molly, seeming distraught, standing alongside Mike, and my boss who looks at me scornfully and says "Davies, I thought you said earlier you were looking after this victim, that their condition was improving? I don't understand how you could have abandoned him. We've just checked... there's no pulse. You could've saved him from whoever did this." My mouth gapes open in shock. What have I done? What the fuck have I done?

The figure of the Ice-Cold arsonist is nowhere to be seen, but I see her in my mind and I'm sure I'll see her soon in my nightmares. It's as if she is telling me "Stupid little Dara. You were unprofessional enough to choose to save the wrong life."

Carter ran into the building, covered in bright red flames. His suit was rubbing against his neck, there would probably be a red mark after this. The air was thick and hot. His suit protected him from the flames, not the heat the flames put off. He rushed through each room, inspecting to see if any people were trapped or needed help getting out. He ran into what seemed to be an office. A woman was unconscious on the floor. Carter knelt down beside her and gently shook her to see if she would wake up. He checked her pulse, she was still alive. He threw her over his shoulder and ran out the building. Fire trucks were hosing off the two story house. The flames grew smaller and finally disappeared completely. Carter set the girl down gently across the stretcher and paramedics rolled her into the ambulance. Carter felt almost committed, he climbed in after them and sat beside the woman lying unconscious. “Is she going to be okay?” Carter asked the paramedic working on the girl. “Inhaled a lot of smoke, a few level 2 degree burns but nothing too serious, she should be fine.” The woman replied. Carter rubbed his hands down his face, it was 2:00 in the morning. Carter lived for these late shifts, that’s when all the action happened.
The ambulance pulled into the Emergency Room entrance. Carter helped the doctors roll her into the hospital. They gave her oxegyn and hooked IV’s up to her forearm, then carter was escorted out of the room.

     About an hour later they called Carter back into the room.
     “Do you know this woman?” One man asked.
    “No, i don’t.” Carter replied.
    “Your a fireman, yes?”
    “Yeah, I am.”
    “She should wake up any moment. I have to run but somebody needs to be here when she wakes up. Will you stay in the room please?”
    Carter nodded and the doctor was off. Carter barely had time to sit down before the girl woke up. She took a quick inhale and tried to sit up but was unable to. 
    “Where am I?” she panicked.
    “Hey, hey it’s okay,” Carter comforted her,”your safe i promise. you were in a fire, I got you out of there.”
    She blinked.
    “What’s your name?” Carter asked.
    “Brynn.” She mumbled. She was scared, she wasn’t supposed to be here, this was bad, really bad.
    Carter leaned in and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear,” Your okay ma’am, i promise.”
    Brynn gulped. He saved her. She didn’t think he realized that he saved a criminal. A law breaker. Everything that goes against what he is. This was bad. This was really bad.

"Hang on, just hang on. I'll get you out of here, I promise." Colton West called to the woman at his side over the roar of devouring flames.

He'd already placed his helmet on her head, and was now covering his own as they rushed around and between fallen wooden beams consumed by the blaze.

Daylight appeared as a pinprick in the next room. Colton stopped.

"What are we doing?" The woman's voice was shaky, frantic.

To get to the daylight, they'd have to clamber over and around flaming debris. But that wasn't what made Colton halt.

The all-too familiar groan of support beams giving way reached his ears. In a split-second decision, he hurried the woman forward and helped her over the debris.

"Go!" He cried as soon as she was clear. The woman gazed at him with wild brown eyes before dashing through the door and out into the early dawn.

The beams were screaming now, bending and cracking in a shower of sparks.

Colton leapt over the debris and bolted. Two more strides, and he was out. Two more strides and he'd be picking his children up from school. Two more strides, and he and his buddies would be celebrating their success tonight.

The beams gave way.

                                   *

"You just refuse to die, don't you?" Alan smirked, offering Colton a cup of coffee as he plopped down on the chair across from him.

Colton received it with his good arm and nodded his thanks. "And you refuse to change."

Alan shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips.

A stretch of silence passed between them as each thoughtfully sipped their morning brew.

Footsteps came from the hallway, followed by eager, disbelieving chatter.

Jackson and Rose rounded the corner, gawking at the newspaper.

"Colton, have you seen this?" Rose asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Colton shook his head, "Seen what?"

Jackson handed him the newspaper, and Rose fiddled with the TV remote.

Colton's heart skipped a beat as he read the heading of the article.

      "Woman saved from house fire is under arrest for criminal history."

He kept reading.

      "Florence Mason, a thirty-six year old hair dresser from Minnesota, was arrested on Thursday, October 10th, for her criminal background, after being rescued from a burning building.
      Mason's crimes are extensive, including, but not limited to, theft, possession of illegal substance, kidnapping, and evasion of arrest..."

Colton stopped reading, his pulse thundering in his ears. Had he really saved a criminal?

His eyes flickered up to the TV, now on the local news channel and reporting the same things he'd just read.

The very same woman, with her deep brown eyes, wavy blonde hair, and slender stature, gazed back at him from the screen.

Resentment boiled in his blood.

A thief. A criminal.

And he'd rescued her.

His arm twinged painfully from beneath the splint, a reminder of what it could have cost him, if he hadn't been so lucky.

A thief. A criminal.

And he'd risked his life for her.

"Where did they take her?" He managed to keep his voice steady.

"The local prison, just down the street. I hear she'll be moved to a state prison next week." Jackson said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Colton nodded and rose from his chair, heading towards the door.

"Where ya going?" Rose asked. "Aren't you on duty 'till two?"

He paused, "Tell chief I'll cover the night shift." He gestured to his arm. "Not like I can do much, anyway." He forced a smile and exited the fire station.

                                     *

Colton ran a hand through his hair with a frown, gazing at the newspaper article for what felt like the hundredth time.

"You'll need glasses before long, if you keep staring like that."

He set the paper aside and sighed, raising his eyes to meet the soft blue gaze of his wife.

She smiled softly and set aside her dishrag, settling herself in a chair beside him. "What's on your mind?"

Colton shrugged. "Still don't know what I'm supposed to think. I saved a criminal, for goodness sake."

His wife was silent for a beat. When she spoke, her voice was slow and thoughtful, "Maybe you're supposed to forgive."

Forgive. The word twisted like a knot in his gut.

How could he forgive a criminal?

His gaze darted across the photos lining the wall. Photos of his three children, so young and beautiful.

How could he forgive a woman who had kidnapped innocent children like his?

"How am I supposed to forgive someone like that, Leslie?" He hung his head in his hands.

"You can't."

He tipped his gaze back to her, arching an eyebrow. "But you just said-"

"Not on your own." She smiled empathetically.

Guilt struck him like a blade.

She was right.

He sighed. God, help me. Because I can’t forgive this woman alone.

He rose from the kitchen table and kissed her before grabbing his keys.

"Off again so soon?" Leslie asked, craning around in her seat.

"There's someone I need to forgive."

                                     *

Colton's mind fumbled for words as he waited, staring at the glass that divided the two sides of the room.

The door clicked. The officer that had instructed him to wait strode in on the other side with two other officers. Florence Mason walked between them.

They escorted her to her seat on the other side of the glass and stood back, waiting.

Florence stared at the table, her eyes tracing every groove and imperfection.

Colton hesitated, watching her. His resentment all but faded away entirely. Behind the criminal history was a woman longing to be seen. A woman longing to be loved. A woman broken in need of healing.

He drew a deep breath. "Ms. Mason, I don't know a lot about you, but I know enough."

Her eye twitched. "Here to grill me about my past, huh?" She drew her finger along the table, now circling the lines her eyes had followed.

"No." Colton said softly.

Florence's gaze darted to his, her eyes full of questions. Full of pain.

"I want you to know that I forgive you."

Her eye twitched again, her brows creasing as her gaze dropped to the table again. "I don't deserve to be forgiven."

Colton smiled. "Neither do I. None of us do."

He pulled something from his pocket and slid it through to her through the hole.

She frowned at it. "I ain't got time for religion."

"Its more than that." Colton said, "it changed my life."

Florence paused, eying the Bible. "I've tried to change. Don't waste your time on me."

"You can't change yourself, ma'am." He acknowledged, "but He can." He nodded toward the Bible.

A silence stretched between them.

"Whatever..." she shrugged indifferently. But Colton could tell by the way she eyed the book, her interest had been peaked.

"Time's up." One of the officers said from the corner, striding forward. Florence rose slowly, hesitated, and took the Bible.

Colton rose from his chair, an odd sense of peace washing over him.

He smiled. "God bless you, ma'am."

Florence gazed quizzically at him before being escorted from the room, Bible firmly in her hands.

I may have saved her from the fire, but I can't save her soul. I can't make her choices for her, but I can still pray for her.

And perhaps, that was the best thing he could do.

Part 1: The Rescue

The fire roared, consuming the old tenement building. Smoke billowed from shattered windows, and the night sky glowed with an eerie orange hue. Firefighter Alex Reynolds, a seasoned veteran, raced toward the inferno. His heart pounded, adrenaline surging through his veins. Lives were at stake.

Inside the building, he found Mrs. Evelyn Thompson, a frail woman trapped on the third floor. Her terrified eyes met his, and she coughed, her voice barely audible. "Help me, please!"

Alex hoisted her over his shoulder, navigating through collapsing beams and searing heat. The stairs groaned under their weight, but he pressed on. Flames licked at his turnout gear, but he couldn't falter. He burst out of the building, shielding Mrs. Thompson from falling debris.

Paramedics rushed to her side, and Alex collapsed, gasping for air. He wiped sweat from his forehead, his heart still racing. Mrs. Thompson survived, and the news hailed him as a hero. But little did he know, the real danger was yet to come.

Part 2: The Revelation

A month later, Alex received an anonymous letter. The handwriting was jagged, the ink smudged. It read:

“Dear Firefighter Reynolds,

You saved Mrs. Thompson, but you don't know her like I do. She's no innocent victim. She's a criminal—a mastermind behind a web of illegal activities.

Meet me at the abandoned warehouse on Elm Street tonight at midnight. Bring no one. You'll see the truth.

Sincerely, A Concerned Citizen"

Alex hesitated. Was this a prank? Or a trap? But curiosity gnawed at him. He had to know.

Part 3: The Warehouse

The moon hung low as Alex stepped into the dimly lit warehouse. Shadows danced across the walls. A figure emerged—a man in a trench coat, face obscured by darkness.

"You're brave, Reynolds," the man said. "I'm Detective Markham. Mrs. Thompson isn't who you think."

Alex's pulse quickened. "What do you mean?"

Markham revealed photos—Mrs. Thompson at crime scenes, her eyes cold and calculating. She ran a drug cartel, laundered money, and orchestrated hits. Her frailty was an act, a mask to deceive everyone.

"She's responsible for countless deaths," Markham said. "And you saved her."

Alex's mind reeled. He'd risked his life for a monster. "Why tell me?"

"Because justice matters," Markham said. "She's elusive, but you're her weakness. She owes you her life."

Part 4: The Showdown

Alex confronted Mrs. Thompson. Her eyes widened when he presented the evidence. "You're mistaken," she stammered.

But Alex knew better. He'd seen the darkness in her eyes—the same eyes that had pleaded for help. He had a choice: uphold the law or let her go.

As the sirens wailed, Alex whispered, "You're under arrest."

Epilogue

Mrs. Thompson's trial exposed her crimes. Alex testified, haunted by the knowledge that he'd saved a criminal. But he also realized that heroes weren't infallible. Sometimes, they unknowingly danced with villains.

And in the flicker of courtroom lights, he vowed to keep fighting—for justice, even when it scorched his soul.

they say every choice you make creates a ripple in the pond of life. I made a choice once, but instead of creative a ripple it created a tidal wave washing over us all. I hadn’t recognized him when I saw him. He just looked like another precious life in need of saving. Not someone who has taken precious lives from others. Even if I had recognized him I still would have done it. I wouldn’t have been able to help myself. Just in that moment he looked so simple, so reliant, so…human. I just hope that he can see through the darkness and into the light, realize the mercy I’ve given him, and start anew. Or else the weight will be on my shoulders, the flames will light my heart and I will never forgive myself.

Tendrils of red swirled around me, snaking its way up the bones of the house. I gasped in long ragged breaths, my head pounding with the irregular beats of my heart. Fumes filled the air and I choked on the stale aroma. A thickness layered my mouth making my words garbled and cheeks chalky. I licked my chapped lips contemplating whether or not it was worth it.

Then I walked into the flames.

Heat licked my cheeks and burnt my clothes, as I continued to carve a path through the red. Adrenalin coursed through my veins, a rythm of unbearable pounding and pulseless silence. Then I saw a hand reach out from the flickering red. I reached forward and pulled on the hand of Onyx Singh. He was saved.

							******************************************

Reporter: Today is the court case of Onyx Singh, allegedly the man behind the brutal fires. He claims innocence in this battle apparently-“

I reached towards the tv remote pressing the off button. I swallowed hard. This can’t be true. Flickers of red rimmed my vision, a tangle of haziness and smoke. This is who I saved. A monster.

										🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Life worth saving No matter who Death is craving But time ensues

Doesn’t matter If good or evil Climb the ladder Saved upheaval

Looking back The risk of death What’s the track Try your best

Lonnie stands next to the island in his kitchen, slapping together a mayonnaise-soaked tuna sandwich. He absentmindedly scratches the scar on his forehead, a lingering reminder of the burning wreckage of what was once a home. He was the only person i managed to save during a building fire and ironically the only one who didn’t deserve to live. The wind blows hard against me, a dog barks in the distance. Lonnie moves to the living room and sits down on the ratty sofa. He has no idea I am here exactly where i have been every night for the past 6 days. Every habit, every movement. Tonight, I am here to right a wrong. My axe feels light and natural, an extension of my body, a vessel of righteousness. He laughs at something he is watching on the TV. Although, i am too far away to hear it, i remember the sound of it. The moment I revived him, he laughed the same way, a laugh that holds a secret. In around 8 minutes Lonnie will go outside to smoke a ciggarette, that will take him around 6 minutes. I check my boots, adjust my balaclava. I check the heavy duty zip-ties in my cargo pocket, still 8 of them. 1 minute. He goes to put his plate in the sink, next to the ones from the last three nights. I hear the lock on the back door disengage. My heart is in my throat-I want to run. I want to leave this whole idea behind. It is not my responsibility to dol out justice at the end of an axe. No matter how much of a piece of human garbage is on the other end. _That whole family is dead because of you. He is alive because of YOU. _My inner monologue taking the reigns. Anger, deep and primal wells within me. I see him cross the threshold on to the back patio. I watch him smoke his cigarette and the smallest shred of rage lingers behind. It is overcome by calm. Calm and a sense of duty, of responsibility. He flicks his cigarette butt into the grass and turns to walk back inside. When he turns to shut the door, he doesn’t even have time to ask who I am.