Through the Fire by Shawn Grady

understanding is that he’s renting a one bedroom off of East Taylor.”
    Waits folded his arms across his chest. “Right back in District One.”
    “Yes,” Mauvain said. “Which is why I wanted you all to see this. I know we’ve been getting beat up around here. Some of you haven’t been home for four or five days. But I need your eyes and your vigilance. These fires are not only increasing in frequency, but with an intensity that I personally have not witnessed in my career.” He motioned to Miss Lab Coat. “In lieu of Investigator Blake Williams, who is still out at the scene of last night’s fire, I’ve asked recently hired prevention analyst Julianne Caldwell to share a bit about the latest test results that support the mounting case for Biltman as the prime suspect.”
    Julianne stepped forward. Her quiet demeanor gave way to a confident delivery. “Essentially, the latest lab tests conducted affirm that the recent fires are in fact arson, and are related to each other.” Her voice stirred in me the sense of hearing an old, old song, like one from an heirloom music box that only comes out at Christmastime. “We still know very little about the incendiary method being used. But we do know this—recent fires have been burning hotter and faster, and the risk for flashover is exponentially higher. One second the fire is in its incipient phase, the next second the entire place flashes into flame.”
    Timothy Clark leaned forward. “So, we don’t know what’s causing it to do that?”
    She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Not yet.”
    The ceiling speaker chirped. A female dispatcher’s voice came over. “Battalion One, please landline dispatch.”
    Mauvain glanced at the ceiling and then at Julianne. “Thank you, Ms. Caldwell.” He put his hands together. “Well, that’s it for now. You guys are doing a good job. Stay heads-up and be safe.” He started toward the stairwell and pulled a cell phone from his belt.
    Captain Butcher stood. “All right. Let’s get to morning checks and house duties.”
    Guys stretched and conversation resumed.
    Timothy Clark turned to me. “I’ll clean the north bathrooms if you’ve got the south ones.”
    I nodded. He disappeared down the hall toward the dorms. My stomach growled, so I made for the kitchen and found a couple heel slices of bread wrapped in plastic in the free-for-all bowl on the counter. I pushed the handle down for the toaster and watched the metal wires glow red-hot, feeling the warmth on my face.
    “Excuse me,” a voice said from across the room. “Do you know where . . .” Julianne stopped when I turned around. “Never mind,” she said, and walked over to a set of cabinets, opening and closing doors.
    “Are you looking for something?”
    “I’m fine.” She opened and closed two more cabinets. “Thank you.”
    “Coffee cup?”
    She closed three lower doors and exhaled. She kept her back to me. “Yes.”
    “Second top cabinet from the right.”
    She threw her hands in the air and muttered, “Of course, the one I didn’t check.”
    My toast popped up. I grabbed a couple paper napkins and set them on it. “So, sounds like you’ve had your hands full with the new job.”
    She pulled down a mug and walked to the coffee maker.
    “Yep.”
    I buttered the toast and watched her from the corner of my eye. She poured the coffee and stared at it. Her shoulders slumped.
    “Creamer?” I said.
    She turned her head to the side and gave a slight nod.
    “Fridge to your right. First door.”
    She fished out the half-and-half.
    I set the butter knife down. “You new to this area?”
    She stopped pouring and held the creamer carton in the air for a moment, then added a splash more. “I’ve been out of state for a while.”
    “Oh. Nearby?”
    “Northern California.”
    I bit into my toast and stared at her, chewing.
    “Thank you,” she said, raising the coffee mug.
    I swallowed my bite. “My pleasure.”
    She gave a quick polite smile