J. Wachowski - In Plain View

“I’m no hero.” Ainsley shook his head.

“Old guy might not make it,” the paramedic said to me. “Smoke. Really hard on the heart at that age. Took him to the hospital a few minutes ago.”

“Great. That’s where I’m headed next. What about Rachel?”

“She wasn’t in the house,” Ainsley answered. “It’s weird, Maddy. Nobody seems to know where she is. But nobody seems worried either.”

“That is weird,” I whispered, suddenly very aware of all the ears nearby.

“No shit,” Ainsley repeated all-seriousness.

I flashed back to the day I was hired and Uncle Richie’s concern. If teaching the kid street-French was a problem, second-degree burns acquired during unsupervised location shoots were going to be a hanging offense.

I sat down next to him and rubbed my throbbing head. “What happened here? You didn’t mention a fire on the phone. How’d it start?”

“Not sure yet,” the medic answered. “Looks like the kerosene stove had something to do with it. Everybody’s saying it started in the kitchen.” He tied off the last bandage. “No operating any heavy machinery today, got it? In a few hours, those puppies are gonna smart a bit.” For my benefit, he added, “I’d have someone at the ER give him the once-over. They can give him something for pain as well.”

“I’ll make sure he checks back.”

“Not yet,” Ainsley complained. “There’s stuff to do here.”

“Get there before nine. The wait won’t be as long,” the medic offered, before heading off to pack his gear. One guy’s emergency was another guy’s average day. I could relate.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well?” I asked.

Ainsley held up the swaddled palm of his right hand. “I used this one to open the door.” He pantomimed reaching for a doorknob, metal no doubt, and snatching back a burned hand. “This one,” he blocked with the back of his left hand, “kept something from falling on Jost.”

“As you were dragging him out of the house?” I said, marveling at my own calm.

“But don’t worry, I remembered to leave the camera rolling. I’ve looked at some of it, Maddy, and it’s not bad. I’ve got this great idea for a dissolve. Fire into dawn? Sort of re-create a time-lapse look?” He was so excited he stood up and waved his thickly padded hands in the air.

“Go on.”

“As soon as we hung up, I saw weird lights moving around inside the house. Not the same kind of lights though. Upstairs, the light was a muted yellow-red. Downstairs it was a blue-white light.” His eyebrows emphasized the point. “Really hot.”

“Halogen?”

“Definitely. Mondo flashlight, I’d bet. Remember, the kind Mrs. Ott said they used for courting?”

“Somebody was coming for Rachel?”

I could tell he was thinking the same thing, but he shrugged. “The blue light went out. And then I saw a yellow glow downstairs. It was a fire, Maddy, I could tell by the color and the smell the minute the wind turned. So I called 9-1-1 and ran across the yard, climbed the fence, got into the house as fast as I could.”

I started shaking my head. I felt sick again-the way I had when I found Jenny in the ditch.

“As I was going in the front door, I heard a car pull out. Gravel. I know I did.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Yeah. They acted like I was the suspect. What was I doing there? Did I have permission? All these other questions.”

“They think somebody set the fire on purpose?”

“Yeah. But why?” His voice cracked. “Why would anyone want to hurt these people? These are good people.”

My sister. Jenny. Saint Ainsley the Hero. Goodness was no shield.

“Ainsley, Ainsley, Ainsley,” I interrupted that line of thought. “What’s the rule? What is the rule? ”

“Rule?” He blinked, welcoming the chance to refocus his emotions before the tears dropped. “You mean about the camera? I left it on the tripod, running the whole time. Everything’s wide, but I checked it, Maddy. We’ve got some amazing stuff. Really.”

“Not that rule.”

“Huh?”

“The one that says you report the news.” I grabbed his closest hand and held it up between us. “You don’t become the news.”

He looked confused. “What do you mean? There were people in there. They could have died.”

“You could have died. You were there to do a job. Your uncle was counting on you. I was counting on you. By all means call for backup. Call fire. Call police. Call your mom-but I can’t have you rushing into burning buildings every time I send you out. My nerves can’t take it.”

“Your nerves? That old guy may still die.” He might look like spun sugar, but it was all grit now. “What about him?”

“The rule is you stay on your side of the camera, and they stay on the other. If you can’t handle that simple instruction, I can’t work with you.” My voice got loud enough to make some crows in the trees take flight. Nice Amish country people probably never shouted loud enough to scare birds.

“That how you handle it?” Ainsley leaned into my face.

“We aren’t talking about me, College Boy.”

“Right. Television is about entertainment, Ms. O’Hara. Even I know that.” His voice stiffened. He sounded older. “Nobody dies for entertainment.”

A mental flip chart of images appeared, one I was glad he couldn’t see. “People die for it all the time, kid,” I admitted. The smoky air surrounding us felt like a rasp down my throat. “ You have to be careful.”

“Careful?” He took two big steps backward. “Careful? Right. Now explain to me how I live with myself the next day?”

“If you’re alive the next day, I’m good with that.” My vision was blurring and my nose was stinging. I blinked about a hundred times to keep the view cleared.

Ainsley shook his head in disgust and backed even farther away.

“I’ll get you back to the hospital as soon as the gear’s packed,” I told him.

“Don’t bother. I’d rather go with the ambulance.” He waved a club-like hand in dismissal, turned his back and stomped off.

Damn, I hate it when other people have a point. My phone rang and it gave me an excuse to put off chasing him down and apologizing.

“Miss O’Hara?” The voice was familiar-older, female.

The first person I thought of was the nurse who’d been helping Jenny and my heart stopped for a second. “Yes?”

“This is Grace Ott. We met the other day at my house. You recall?”

I pressed my shoulders back down, out of the hunch-of-dread. “Sure. What’d you need, Mrs. Ott?”

“Oh, nothing. No, I’m fine. I’m sorry to call so early but you seemed like the type that wouldn’t lay about come morning.”

“You didn’t wake me.”

“Good. I thought you should know, Rachel Jost is here with me.”

“With you? Where?” I blurted out the next thought as the light came on, “She’s left the community.”

“Yes. I think so. She’s going to stay with me a while anyway.”

“Mrs. Ott?” I closed my eyes, ostrich-style. “I have some bad news. There’s been a fire.”

“Yah. We know,” Grace replied, her accent coming through heavily. In a hushed voice, as if she were talking to herself, came the whispered words, “Patience. Patience.”

How long since I had stood on the porch talking to Jost? “When did she come to you, Mrs. Ott?”

“Yesterday. She and her father had a bit of a to-do.” She stopped all of a sudden. “Rachel wants to talk with you. I can’t convince her to wait. The only way I could get her to rest at all, was by promising you would come soon. Is that possible?”

“Um, that could be tricky. Maybe tomorrow?”

“I was hoping we might come and meet you.”