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“Welcome to Station 118,” Chimney greets the camera, beckoning it to follow him further into the firehouse. A smile is plastered on his face, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Everything is oddly colourful too, as if someone had increased the saturation to a hundred via Photoshop.
Nobody else seems to be around despite the emergency vehicles parked in their respective spots. All the doors are open, revealing vacant seats with no sign of life. If one were to head up the stairs and to the kitchen, they would discover there’s no food in the fridge. The television in the sitting room would be turned off, a large crack in its middle that spreads like a spiderweb.
However, those minuscule things aren’t important at the moment.
“I’m Chimney. Don’t ask me why they call me that, I can’t say it on TV.” His words are punctuated with an invisible audience’s laughter. Winking good-naturedly, he continues on. “I’m a firefighter slash paramedic. Guess you could say I’ve saved a lot of lives.” He pats the side of the ambulance heartily. “Funnily enough, one of the few people I couldn’t save was my brother. Poor kid wanted to join the LAFD like me, and all he got in return was a hug from some flames.” Sympathetic “awww’s” follow.
For a split second, Chimney’s smile glitches into a frown, then returns back to normal. “He’s been dead for, what, 19 years now? I’ve died,” he adds with a shrug. “I‘ve cheated death. Dunno why I’m not in a coffin yet.” Laughter again.
Unexpected buzzing in his head has Chimney thinking it might be splintered in half by a chainsaw. Slightly blinded by the sensation, he stumbles towards the stairs. “My head is a pain in the ass. Ha, isn’t that funny?” Chimney laughs emotionlessly, eyes screwed shut. He doesn’t expect to bump into Bobby, who gives him a concerned look.
“Dude, why are you in your turnouts?” Chimney asks, laugh track playing in the background.
Bobby merely frowns, raises his phone so the other man can see himself in the camera. He’s met with the sight of a rebar punctured through his head, trails of blood running down his features. Blood that stains his fingers when he reaches to feel his face.
A beat, then, “Why are you fucking with me, Cap?” No answer. “Bobby, come on!”
The Captain disappears as quickly as he appeared, the audience clapping and cheering. Nausea rolls in Chimney’s stomach, flashes from the night of his car accident swaying him like light flares.
“Okay, that’s enough! Jesus fucking Christ,” Chimney tells the invisible (or imaginary?) crowd. He subconsciously rubs his forehead and is surprised to discover there’s no metal protruding through his head, but a gaping hole resides where the rod had previously been. Strange, how the buzzing sensation has vanished; he’s not complaining though.
In a flash, his annoyance vanishes and Chimney looks at the camera with the same smile full of fake cheer. “Wow, what a callback, am I right?” He laughs along with the audience, his figure slightly disturbing with the hole in his forehead.
He ventures towards the locker room, then stops when the unmistakable sound of a knife meeting skin cuts through the air three times. Confused, Chimney glances around, concludes there’s nothing wrong until he spots a puddle of blood in front of the door to their lockers.
“Guys, come on,” he calls to the absent firefighters. “What’d we say about cleaning up after ourselves, huh?”
“That’s yours, Chim,” Buck’s voice rings out, making Chimney whirl around in surprise. They lock eyes, and he notices Buck is wearing his civvies, clothes similar to the night he found Chimney bleeding out in front of Maddie’s apartment.
That’s yours. That’s yours. That’s yours. The words repeat like a mantra in his head, bringing Chimney back to that fateful night and seizing him in a chokehold of fear.
Gaze travelling downward, Chimney’s breath hitches when he sees his shirt soaked with blood, abdomen bleeding profusely. He stumbles, falls to the floor, ignores the “ooohh’s” emitting from the audience as he tries to draw some air into his collapsing lungs.
“Buck,” he manages to gasp out, “help me out here!”
The other man crouches in front of Chimney, observing him with a sinister grin. “Help you?” He reaches out to grab a fistful of his shirt, dragging him closer. “You couldn’t even help me.”
Thunder booms around them. The firehouse is consumed in darkness before the lights flick back on. Buck’s expression morphs into pure, unfiltered rage. His clothes have been replaced with his turnouts, the jacket cut open down the middle to reveal scars spreading over his chest like tree branches. Whatever little oxygen Chimney had gathered dissipates, and he’s left to struggle once more.
“You should’ve gone up the ladder!” Buck exclaims. “Not me. Then, what, you were struggling to bring me back to life? Some fucking paramedic you are.” His hold tightens on him considerably. “Some fucking hero you are.”
Chimney’s head jostles as Buck shakes him like a ragdoll. “I’m sorry, man!” One hand closes over Buck’s in an attempt to pry it off him. “You’re still alive, you’re here. Isn’t that what matters most?”
By now, his eyes practically bulge out of his sockets from his uncontained rage. “I’m alive?” Buck repeats, laughing a humourless laugh. “I still feel like I’m dead! You should know the feeling, you should understand! You’re the only one who does!”
And when Chimney is abruptly released, all he hears is you should understand! repeated like a broken record as he falls through nothingness, eventually landing on the softness of the couch upstairs.
He blinks once, twice, thrice to fully regain his bearings. Chimney glances at his wound to discover the bleeding has stopped, but he knows the skin is still cut open.
Big deal. He’s been through worse.
“Well, that was quite a scene, wasn’t it?” he addresses the audience, chuckling at their noise of agreement. “It’s my fault, I know.” His smile dims slightly, eyes sad. “I just can’t seem to stop failing my brothers. Still trying to find out why I curse them with death.”
The cracked television flicks on, displaying a gravestone. Kevin’s. Right next to it is Buck’s, followed by Albert’s. The motionless picture haunts the screen for a couple moments, striking an indescribable fear in Chimney’s heart. Then it switches to a picture of– Maddie’s gravestone.
Sitting upright, Chimney stares at the screen, dizziness rolling over him in waves. “What the fuck is this?” He stands and walks over to the TV. “Why the fuck are you lying? Albert and Buck are alive! Maddie’s alive! They’re here, they’re—“
Interrupted by his own voice cracking, Chimney rubs his face with bloodstained hands, a soft whimper escaping him. Self-hatred blooms in his chest and travels throughout the rest of his ruined body, pulling him further into the pit of mental despair.
“Oh, stop, you fucking crybaby.”
His head snaps up to spot Jonah sitting on the previously vacant couch. “Shut up,” is the best Chimney can retort, hands clenched into fists.
Jonah snickers and picks up the remote. He stares at it before pointing at the TV and pressing the power button. Simultaneously, it turns off and Chimney drops like a fly, paralyzed on the ground.
“What are you doing?” he demands as the killer paramedic walks over to him. Chimney manages to stand on his feet, only to be knocked down again by another press of the button.
“You think you’re so strong,” Jonah says, “when, in reality, you’re the weakest person I’ve met. There’s this false confidence about you, and you try to give off the impression you know what you’re doing.” He kneels next to him, eyebrows raised skeptically. “The truth is, you’re just as confused as everyone else.”
At least I try. That has to count for something.
Jonah smiles wickedly as if he’d read his thoughts. “You try, but it only ends in disaster. Hell, even when you don’t try you get the same outcome. You didn’t try with Maddie, did you? You did at first, then you pretended you were trying to help.”
Eyes wide, Chimney opens and closes his mouth uselessly like a goldfish.
I’m sorry for missing the warning signs or maybe ignoring them. I just wanted so bad for you to be okay that I pretended you were okay.
“She nearly died,” Jonah says in barely a whisper, “and it would’ve been your fault.”
Then he shoots out one hand and rests it on Chimney’s chest.
“Get your hand off m—!”
Loud beeping bounces off the walls, shrill and intense to Chimney’s ears. He’s all too familiar with the sound, having heard it multiple times from casualties who flatlined during calls.
Mechanical laughter accompanies the din of noise; he’s unsure if it’s coming from Jonah or the people watching him. Maybe both. Gritting his teeth together, Chimney attempts to sit up but is pushed back down by Jonah.
“You know you shouldn’t have survived, right?” He wears an expression of mock solemnity, blue eyes taunting Chimney both in his dreams and in real life. He sees those eyes on strangers who are probably kinder, less homicidal, but it fills him with dread all the same.
Before he can respond, Jonah practically evaporates into thin air and the flatline sound stops. Hesitant, Chimney props himself on his elbows. That was short lived, but there’s a gnawing feeling in his gut telling him this isn’t over.
“Weird.” He stands back up on two feet, glancing at the now dark TV. The previous images of his loved ones’ gravestones are still burned into his mind, but he brushes them aside for now. There are other things to worry about.
The reality show persona he had adopted has completely faded; facing your traumas head on tends to have that effect. Though Chimney worries for what may be next, posture tense and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
Comedically enough, his stomach growls and Chimney sighs, ignoring the audience’s laughs as he strides to the kitchen. When he opens the fridge door, he’s no longer looking at its contents, but the night sky instead. Disoriented, he takes in his surroundings, realizing he’s somehow on the roof of the fire station.
Strangely, the usual concrete is gone, glass taking its place. Despite it being night, Chimney can see his reflection thanks to the light poles positioned around the building. The hole from the rebar remains on his forehead, daunting and disturbing. After a few seconds of staring at himself, the glass starts to crack, rippling throughout the surface like spiderwebs.
Can’t you see? You ruin everyone and everything that stands in your path.
Chimney does the only thing he can do: run.
He runs across the breaking material, hearing it shatter and fall apart completely as he dashes towards the door which leads back inside. He flings it open and descends the stairs two steps at a time. Chimney is so distracted by his adrenaline he doesn’t immediately catch the bloody puddles he steps in. It’s only when he nearly slips he does notice them, wearing an expression of terror as he observes the engine bay.
The formerly clean firehouse is stained with blood. Crimson, red, scarlet. Whatever shade you want to describe it as. It paints the walls, the floors, even the vehicles. If there’s one thing Chimney knows, it’s that the red liquid is his own.
Jonah suddenly reappears behind him. “You’re not human,” he states. matter of fact.
Chimney turns, weakness flooding his veins with tired eyes looking at the man before him.
“How do you bleed this much and still survive? It’s unnatural!” He stalks towards Chimney, who’s too frail to stop him as fingers close around his neck.
Please, stop. I’m tired and I don’t know if I can do this anymore.
“You’re tired?” Jonah asks, words wrapped in venom. “Let me put you to sleep, then.”
Chimney feels the cool metal belonging to the barrel of a gun press against his forehead, right in the middle.
“Bull’s eye,” Jonah hums in satisfaction.
Bang!
Body moving of its own accord, Chimney shoots up like a rocket, chest tight and lungs struggling to pull in oxygen. His head weighs a thousand pounds and his mouth is dry as if someone had shoved cotton in there. For a brief moment, he thinks he sees Jonah lurking in a corner of the dark room which increases his anxiety tenfold.
He feels Maddie moving around before he hears her. The unmistakable sound of a lamp being flicked on has him flinching, shakes racking throughout his body.
“Chimney.”
Everything is spinning, his vision obscured by unshed tears, hands clenching the comforter tightly. Sweat soaks his shirt, clings onto his torso and reminds Chimney of the vivid experience he had gone through, even though none of it was real.
So why does it feel like it was?
“Howie.”
Tearing himself from the ruins of his own mind, Chimney locks eyes with Maddie, her own filled with worry.
She nearly died, and it would’ve been your fault.
Without thinking, Chimney raises his index and middle fingers to her neck, directly over the pulse point. He breathes in his first breath of air when he feels the steady thump thump thump underneath.
“Y-You’re alive,” he stammers out.
(Every time he blinks, the gravestones from earlier appear, tattooed on the inside of his eyelids.)
“I am,” she affirms, tone gentle as her hand cupping his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. You just had a nightmare. You’re safe, I’m safe.”
Her words combined with her touch has Chimney teetering on the edge.
You don’t deserve this. Her. The life you’ve built. You cheated through all of it.
“I’m sorry,” is all he gets out before crumbling completely.
Arms envelop Chimney as he cries into Maddie’s shoulder, one hand rubbing circles into his back and the other mirroring the motion on the back of his head. His stomach burns with nausea and his face is on fire, uncontrollable tears that are the fuel adding to the sensation rolling down his cheeks.
He mumbles apologies in between. To Kevin, to Albert, to Buck, to Maddie. To every person he couldn’t save while on the job. A part of him wishes he were dead so surviving countless near death experiences wouldn’t hurt so much.
“You’re okay,” Maddie says repeatedly, her hold tightening ever so slightly. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”
Sooner or later, tears fade into soft hiccups. Chimney sniffs, pulling away to look at Maddie properly. Phantom pain twinges at his old injuries, his mind is clearer but details from the dream remain fresh and raw.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
Brushing away a stray tear, Maddie shakes her head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
I do. You have no idea how much I do.
He simply stares at the wet patch on her shirt, the numbness he’s become accustomed to after having a nightmare steadily flowing from his chest to every nerve, vein, and artery.
He fiddles with his engagement ring, finger tracing around the heart stone in attempt to calm himself down. In the distance, Chimney hears the sound of a flatline.
“There’s so much wrong with me.” He glances at Maddie in time to see perplexion overshadowing her features. “I don’t know what’s happening. I just—“ Hands pressed against his face, Chimney mumbles, “I dunno what to do anymore. With myself.”
There’s this false confidence about you, and you try to give off the impression you know what you’re doing. The truth is, you’re just as confused as everyone else.
A soft touch to his forehead has Chimney looking up to see Maddie, brown eyes gentle and calculating, as if deciding how to respond.
When she does, her thumb continues to brush over his faded rebar scar. “I used to feel that way too, when I had postpartum depression,” she starts. “Everything I did felt wrong, and whatever I did to try and feel better felt wrong, too.”
“But this isn’t the same thing.”
“It’s not,” Maddie agrees slowly. “You’re not sick the same way I was, but…” She exhales softly. “I think you need help, Howie.”
Her words rattle him in surprise, all thoughts lingering on the dream vanish in an instant. “What?”
“You’ve been having these nightmares for weeks now,” she points out. “All with the same recurring theme. Your mind is trying to tell you something but your heart refuses to believe it.”
Perhaps there’s some truth to what she’s saying. Chimney had pushed aside most of his traumas for so long; he thought they’d go away if he just pretended it never happened. Life had been better that way until recently.
“You don’t have to book a therapy appointment right away, but…” Maddie trails off, thumb moving to brush over his cheekbone. “…just think about it, okay?”
His lungs are ablaze with guilt for the gentleness he is treated with. Jonah’s whispers echo in his ears, insisting he doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve her.
Chimney swallows the embers burning in his throat. “Okay, I will.”
She offers a comforting smile. “Good. There’s no pressure at all, alright?”
He thinks his voice will betray him if he speaks, so he elects for a nod. Creases form in Maddie’s forehead from worry. Regardless, she draws him in for another hug, Chimney’s head tucked into the base of her neck.
“You know I’m here with you every step of the way,” she says.
You ruin everyone and everything that stands in your path.