The Enforcer - Kelli Callahan Page 0,3

I test the door handle and cringe at the heat behind it. Pulling out my phone, I dial 911. The phone rings irritatingly four times before the operator picks up sounding bored.

“911. What’s your emergency?” the voice says, and I hear the sound of chips crunching in the background.

“Yes, there is a fire. I need assistance,” I say, rattling off the home address.

“Thank you sir. Is anyone trapped in the building?”

“Yes, I believe there’s a woman here. Her car is here,” I say, looking around and cringing at the golden flames now consuming the curtains behind the living room windows.

“Okay sir, thank you. Stay where you are.”

“Not fucking likely,” I say with a click of the phone. Lifting my T-shirt up over my nose, I gasp in the fresh air as I try the hot handle. It’s locked. I consider the windows for a moment. I change my mind as I remember the house fire that I witnessed all those years ago. Smashing up a front window will only increase the oxygen to the flame. It would explode. The fire would explode out of the house and at me. No, there has to be another way. God, there isn’t any time. She could be in there. Hell, she could be dead by now for all I know.

Reaching for my wallet, I yank out the bank card. I clutch the handle through the fabric of my shirt. It’s hot but bearable, and I sigh in relief at the clicking sound as the handle unlocks. Slowly opening the door, I jump back as the heat rushes toward me.

“Diana!” I shout, opening the door inch by inch. I’m afraid of allowing too much air in and further igniting the flames. “Diana!” I slowly step forward as the flames subside a little. The furniture is burning, as are the once lovely hardwood floors which are now stained black from the blaze.

“How the fuck did this happen?” I mutter, looking around the room. Stepping forward, I groan. I don’t think this was an accident. Fires rarely start on the floor. Holding my arm up to shield my head and tugging my T-shirt tightly over my nose again, I inhale what little bit of fresh air remains and make my way through the foyer. Grabbing the vase that hold golden sunflowers, I toss the flowers to the floor and drench my T-shirt. I don’t know much about fires, but I think that being damp can only help, right? Turning my head, I make my way further down the hall.

“Diana?” I call as my eyes burn. There’s smoke everywhere. I know that neither of us have much time. Flames creep up the walls of the kitchen as I step into the room, ducking down to get cleaner air. “Diana!” I call as the flames roar around me. I whirl around while running through the downstairs. “Diana! Where are you?” Sweat beads down my forehead as I look back up to the stairs. Christ, I hope she’s not up there. The stair rail is charred. I pull my limbs close and dash up the stairs, praying that they are stable enough to support my weight.

“Diana!” I shout, ducking as a flame bursts forward with a bang. “Jesus fucking Christ!” I shout, jumping to the side and wondering what possibly ignited.

A biting pain makes me whirl around as I cry out in pain. My jeans are on fire. Reaching forward and slapping my leg hard, I try to put out the fire. I grit my teeth against the pain and try to ignore the smell of burnt flesh. Squinting up into the dark house, I can only see by the dangerous glow that the flames are giving off. I walk toward what I hope is her bedroom.

Feeling the knob, I jerk my hand back gasping in pain. My lungs feel suffocated by the smoke, I am choking on air that feels more like water or salt or anything but air. I force myself to grab the hot handle and jerk open the door. I duck down and stick to the sidewall, just out of view of the door. Flames leap forwards flicking up over the door frame. The smoke is way too thick for my eyes. I crawl forward, making my way to the low light emanating on the far side of the room.

“Diana?” I choke, feeling myself starting to get dizzy. Rising up, I walk across the hot carpet that is melting and trying to stick to my