Chapter 2

2

The Storm

* * *

Like I said, it wasn't the wind that woke me up. If I'd gone to sleep sober, maybe it probably would've been. It sounded like jet engines right outside of my window.

I was dead asleep when my bedroom door opened and Stone shook me. "Grady! Grady! Dude, wake up!"

I moaned and waved him away, now half-awake. Stone sat in his chair on the right side of my bed. A ghostly white light lit up his face. It took me a moment to realize it came from his cell phone.

I blinked.

The clock on my nightstand read 2:19 a.m., but it felt like it was much later, like I had slept for hours.

"What?" I said, my voice hoarse.

"Dude, you gotta go look outside."

"Why?" I rolled over and propped myself up on my elbow. "It's the middle of the night. I'm too old to be up this late." My hand went to my brow and rubbed. I was only dimly aware of how cold my fingers felt. "And I'm already starting to get a hangover." I reminded myself to never drink again.

"Forget all that," Stone said. He sounded like he'd accidentally caught a glimpse of Bigfoot and was wanting to share his glorious discovery.

"What is it, man? And why is the air conditioning so high? It's freezing in here."

"You don't know the half of it," Stone said. "It's Christmas outside."

I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head, mostly to get my bearings back. "Christmas? Stone, it's July 4th. How much of that good whiskey did you have at Ed's?" The previous evening's escapades hung fresh in my mind, but I almost couldn't believe it. It was as if an entirely different Grady had been there, not the one of the last two months.

"Just look out the window."

"Are you sleepwalking?" I asked.

He stopped and turned around. "Yeah, I got up, put on my crutches, grabbed my cell phone, and wobbled in here, all while unconscious."

"Fair point."

"Sarcasm, if you didn't catch that. I'm gonna go wake up Jonas. He's gotta see this, too. Meanwhile, go look out the window."

"Be careful," I said. "Jonas never saw action, but he'll come at you like he's having a 'Nam flashback."

Stone frowned, and like it was planned, he said, "'Nam isn't a joke, Grady. It was a tough time for all of us."

Even though it was the middle of the night and Stone was apparently hopped up about something, Christmas in July or whatever, it didn't stop him from remembering one of our many inside jokes. This one I did find funny, no matter how dumb it may be. We were obviously too young to know much of anything about the Vietnam War besides what we learned in school and saw on the History Channel—which wasn't much—but, and I don't know why, we always had a good laugh whenever one of us said something like: "I haven't been there (or seen or heard this) since 'Nam," to which someone else would reply: "Vietnam isn't a joke. It was a tough time for all of us."

Like I said, it's stupid, I know. But then again, what inside jokes aren't to an outsider?

Stone walked out of the room, shaking his head.

I rose and planted my feet on the floor. Without socks, it felt like I was stepping barefoot onto an ice rink. Talk about a wake-up call. The temperature of the room really hit me then. My flesh broke out in goosebumps. The hair at the back of my neck and along my arms stood at attention, almost to the point of being painful. I grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around my shoulders.

Something was off. Not in an intriguing way or anything like that, but off in the way I always imagined stepping foot into a real haunted house would feel. Of course, like I said earlier, I didn't believe in any of that stuff then. It was all fiction, reserved for low-budget movies and cheap paperback books.

The wind howled. A gust hit the house like a truck, rattling the glass in the windowpanes and making me think the roof might blow off. I thought of The Wizard of Oz and that great tornado that swept Dorothy off to the land of make-believe. The problem was this wasn't make-believe.

Another gust followed, and icy air drifted through cracks in the lake house's walls. So bitterly cold.

I don't know how, but I had this feeling it was already really bad and only getting worse.

"Holy shit!" Jonas shouted from his room down the hall. "No way this is real!"

"It's Christmas! I told you!" Stone said.

"Grady!" Jonas's footsteps thundered toward my bedroom. I was still sitting on the edge of the bed, my feet frozen to the floor, almost literally. When Jonas came in, he had the bewildered look of a man who'd just seen something completely impossible, and that bad feeling in the pit of my stomach sunk its claws in a little deeper. "Are you seeing this, dude?"

"I—" I began, but Jonas, the meathead he is, grabbed my shoulders and yanked me from the mattress up to my numbing feet. As much as I didn't want to see what this was, I had no say in the matter. Jonas dragged me to the window on the far wall, and with each advancing step, the temperature dropped another five degrees. Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but it was cold.

Jonas swatted the curtains away. I stepped back, my eyes wide. I couldn't see much, mostly because frost covered the glass, but even without seeing beyond, I knew what it was.

"This is insane," Jonas said. He scraped some of the frost away with the palm of his hand. His skin squeaked against the window. I saw clear as day. The moon was a cold crescent still shining its light on the world below, and in that light, there were ever-growing drifts of snow. It must've been six inches already; if the fat flakes whirling down were any indication, the storm wasn't stopping soon.

I couldn't speak. My throat felt as frozen as the outside, so I nodded instead.

"Have you checked the weather app or Facebook or anything like that?" Jonas asked Stone, who wasn't looking out of the window but was swiping on his phone.

"Yeah. There's a few posts about it, but mostly I think everyone's sleeping right through this."

"Their loss," Jonas said. "I gotta snap some pictures. This is probably some Ohio record. I bet it's never snowed in July."

"Not this much," Stone said absently. His eyes were glued to his screen, then his eyebrows rose. "Holy shit! Look at this!" He turned the phone around. Here was a good-looking woman dressed in short-shorts and a tank top. She was standing in about an inch or two of snow.

Neither Jonas or me said anything.

"She's from South Carolina, not too far from Myrtle Beach," Stone said. "It's hot as hell down there in the summer."

That bad feeling in my stomach turned into a physical pain. I grabbed my side and squeezed. Part of me thought I was still dreaming. That any second now, the images in my sleeping brain would change to flames and I'd hear the dead boy's screams again, because those were the usual dreams. The worst thing, though, is part of me wished for that.

"No way. South Carolina snow in the summer? On the beach?" Jonas said. "What the hell's going on? Did some country drop a nuke on us, and now the mushroom cloud is messing with the weather or something?" He started pacing, the excitement deflating from his body language like air from a balloon.

"I don't think that's how it works," Stone said. He shook his head. "Whatever. I don't know. Beside the point."

"See if there's snow in Hawaii or Florida," Jonas said.

I turned back toward the window. The frostless part was already fogging over, but I could see clear enough.

That was when something moved out there. I can't say what because I'm not completely sure. It could've been a deer or a coyote—and most likely that was the case—but knowing what I know now, I don't think it was.

It moved too fast, whatever it was, and jerky, like a glitching video. I leaned in closer, cupped my hands around the glass, and peered out. Whatever I saw was gone.

Or hiding.

Behind me, Stone and Jonas were arguing about how a nuke might trip up the weather systems in the United States. I wasn't listening, but I had a feeling they were both wrong.

"Well, shit," Stone said, and that caught my attention.

I turned and said, "What?" My chest grew heavier, like I was wearing a weighted vest, and I found it hard to say even a one-syllable word.

"The wifi crapped out on me," he answered. "And I'm not getting any service out here."

The house had become noticeably quieter. I strained my ears for…I don't know, something, but whatever was missing wasn't hitting me.

"That's normal. The wifi's shit anyway," Jonas added. "Couldn't even stream Netflix earlier. I can't fall asleep without my Netflix, guys."

I suddenly realized what I wasn't hearing.

My room was about five steps from the kitchen, and it shared a wall with the same wall the refrigerator was pressed up against. Like most of the lake house, it was a relic of a long ago time. One of those fridges without a water dispenser or an ice maker. Loud as hell, too. Its constant thrumming vibrated the shared wall. I didn't mind it. I liked the white noise come bedtime.

But now I heard nothing. The refrigerator was off.

I pointed toward the switch behind Stone, near the door. "Flip on the light, Stone."

"Huh?"

"The light, man."

His brow wrinkled, but he crutched back and reached for the switch. Flicked it. Just as I thought, nothing happened.

"Bulb burn out?" Jonas asked.

I shook my head. "Power outage."

Now both Stone and Jonas looked a little more than concerned for the first time that night.

"We better get a fire going," I said. "Or we're going to freeze."

So that was what we did.

Since sleep wasn't going to happen in our bedrooms without heat, we set up shop in the den, as close to the fireplace as possible, like we were boys having a slumber party. I don't think we could've slept anyway.

Jonas opened the front door to help clear some of the initial smoke hanging around the room, and as soon as he did, a blast of icy wind sliced inside.

"Shit, man, close it!" Stone shouted. He was currently wrapped up in both his own comforter and a faux bear rug he found in one of the closets. The latter smelled strongly of dust.

Jonas closed the door, but only after he stepped onto the porch.

"That man is crazy," Stone said, shaking his head, but I saw the curiosity in his eyes. Then his hands snaked out from beneath the blankets and gripped his crutches.

"I wouldn't, man," I said. The sound of my voice pretty much gave me away. I was curious, too, convinced this was all some sort of vivid hallucination and needing proof otherwise.

"What, man? It's just snow," Stone said. "We've seen our fair share of it, and we know it can't hurt us." He limped toward the door, stopped at the threshold.

"But we've never seen snow in July. It just seems—"

"Wrong, I know," Stone finished.

But that wasn't the word I was thinking of. That word was actually sinister.

Stone didn't listen to me. He went outside with Jonas, leaving me alone next to the roaring fireplace. The dead boy was the furthest thing from my mind then, and I guess I was somewhat subconsciously aware of that. The snow had become a blessed distraction.

I wanted to keep this distraction going, too. I wanted to keep burying the nightmarish images in my head for as long as possible. So I did what anyone in my unique situation would've done. I guess it was the same thing millions all over were probably doing.

I went outside with my friends. Into the summer snow.

Pushing the storm door proved difficult because the snow was already piled pretty high on the porch, even with the awning covering most of it. The wind blew it in all directions; nowhere was safe. As soon as the first flake landed on my skin, melting nearly as fast as the one on my windshield all those hours ago had, I knew it was real.

Still, I stepped out from under the porch, Stone's crutches crunching as he followed me. I was wearing a pair of tennis shoes without socks. Hardly the type of footwear for a blizzard.

"Yep," Stone said. "It's real."

"No shit!" Jonas shouted. Unlike us, he'd gone right into the dunes like an overzealous puppy. He threw a couple of snowballs our way. One hit me in the shoulder; the other banged off the den's window.

"Hey!" I said. "Not cool, Jonas! I'm already freezing here!"

"Oh, lighten up, Grady. Have some fun for once!" Jonas threw another, but this time I dodged it. Suddenly, the snow didn't seem so sinister anymore. I mean, not on a surface level. The wrongness of it hovered in the back of my mind, but very far in the back, where the apartment fire and the dead boy were, waiting for the distraction to end.

I felt them there, and I felt the little diversion fleeting, so I scooped up some snow and hit Jonas.

"Real mature, guys," Stone said as he watched this battle ensue.

Jonas spun around the back of my car and lobbed one that landed inches from my feet.

As soon as he stuck his head out, I beamed him.

"The world is ending," Stone continued, "and you two are having a—"

Just then a snowball glanced off the side of Stone's head, dusting him in white. Underneath the porch awning, we were shielded from the worst of it coming down from the skies, but now his entire left shoulder and side of his face was covered.

Jonas had come out from behind the car. I was standing on the edge of the porch, shivering, grinning stupidly, and watching Stone's reaction.

"Oh, okay," Stone said, looking down at his shoulder at the melting flakes, "I see how it is. If that's how you want to play it, then let's go." He ditched his crutches, dropped to his knees, and began rapidly gathering snow.

"Game on!" Jonas shouted, and I whooped with joy.

And that was how three men in their late twenties began a snowball fight in the middle of an Ohio summer.

* * *

After the fight, which left us out of breath and covered in melting snow, we tried going back to sleep. The novelty of the odd winter storm had begun wearing off, becoming only just another few inches of snow on the ground in Ohio. Crazy to say that? Maybe.

I couldn't go back to sleep anyway because the wind continued its howling. The lake house was old, not like Ed's down the way, and had only been renovated on the outside years ago. The owners, knowing they'd probably never rent the place out in the winter months, must not have cared about insulation because the cold air was sneaking inside through many unseen cracks.

The power hadn't come back on, either, so all we had was the fire. I laid down and closed my eyes, teeth chattering, my skin craving the heat of the flames like a drowning man craves air. I must've laid there for a half an hour just listening to the wind pummel the lake house before Jonas's snoring started. I can't say for sure how he slept so heavily, but I do believe the whiskey played a large part.

"You up?" I whispered to Stone. He was stretched out on the couch, piled high in blankets.

"How could I sleep with Jonas sounding like a lawnmower in labor?" Stone answered in a not-so-soft whisper that made Jonas stir on his section of the floor.

I sat up. "Good point."

"Even without that, I'd still be awake. Can't stop messing with my phone. Sometimes the signal in the corner will show 3G, but as soon as I try opening Safari, it gives me a big old X. It's bullshit, man. What'd I pay all this money for if my smartphone acts as dumb as me?"

I laughed. Had we gotten service or power for the wifi, we would've known these storms weren't just happening in Ohio and South Carolina. They were happening all over the world. Places that hadn't seen snow since the last ice age were now covered white; and the places that were exceptionally snowy year-round were now buried, which was quickly happening to us on Lake Prism.

The fire's strength dwindled. I stood, grabbed a couple of logs, and threw them in. They caught soon after, bathing me in warmth. The den wasn't much, not when you compared it to Ed's, but I liked it. It reminded me of those warm summer nights staying up with Stone and Jonas, talking about girls and sports and video games.

I sat on the bricks and lowered the blanket into my lap, letting the heat roast my back. Stone was looking up above the mantle, where a big moose head had been mounted since long before we ever set foot in this place. His dad said the moose head was here first, the owners just built the lake house around it.

I think it was then, sitting there, listening to the storm outside, that I accepted the fact I'd not sleep for the rest of the night. Not with the wind and the cold and the oddness of our situation.

Stone looked down at his phone, swiped and tapped a few times with no luck, judging by the annoyed look on his face. "This sucks. I need my phone, dude."

"Don't worry," I said, "power'll be back on soon."

I was wrong. To this day, the grid remains down. Some are lucky enough to have backup generators, but those'll eventually die out, too.

"Your phone having any luck?" Stone asked me.

I shook my head. "Been dead a little after we got back from Ed's. Never got around to plugging it in. It's like an iPhone 5 or something. The battery holds a charge for about an hour, and that's only if I'm not doing anything on it. Thirty minutes, forty-five if I'm lucky, when I am using it."

Stone pinched the bridge of his nose. "And Jonas has a fucking flip phone. Yikes, you guys really need to get with the program. It's like you're already on your way to a nursing home." He laughed. "And you thought those kids calling you 'sir' was bad."

"I think I've accepted that. I like simple things. Books, TV with only a few stations, nice walks in the park."

"You're lame, Grady, but I love you," Stone said with a grin. "I think you've been a lost cause since you came to school in a pair of cutoff jean shorts that one field day in eighth grade. Remember that?"

"It was one time. Why do you keep reminding me?"

Stone shrugged. "Eh, 'cause it's funny."

A few seconds later, a gust of wind crashed into the house hard enough for me to think the windows might shatter. They held together. Somehow.

Stone shot up to a sitting position on the couch, cringing.

Another, smaller gust followed. It sounded like a hundred animals were dying out there.

"This really is insane, man," Stone said. "Batshit insane."

"Yeah. We did have a snowball fight on the Fourth of July," I replied.

I don't think any of us really knew how crazy it was. Some things the mind just can't comprehend. The summer snow was only the beginning of a long list of things we'd never truly understand.

Stone dabbed at his brow with his blankets. "I think I'm actually getting a little toasty now."

Joke or not, it was the last time anyone I knew ever said that.

Then things went quiet again as we sat there soaking up as much heat as we could, both of us deep in thought. I was staring into the flames but not seeing them. The distraction was over, I guess, because although I wasn't seeing our fire, I saw a different one.

It was the fire that burned the apartment complex and an innocent boy's life to ash.

I tilted my head downward and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping I seemed like a guy suffering from an oncoming hangover and not like a guy fighting the ghosts in his head.

"Dude," Stone whispered.

"Yeah?"

"It's not just the snow, man. You are not okay, I can tell."

"I'm good."

I held my head up and gave him my best fake smile. If it looked as false on my face as it felt, there was no convincing him. It seemed like he sometimes knew me more than I knew myself.

"Bullshit. You look about as sunny as it does outside." He paused and looked into my eyes, but somehow he was seeing deeper than them. "I know. Plain and simple, Grady. I've seen you when you're happy. This ain't it. I know you. And, right now, you aren't right. Just because we're older doesn't mean we have to bury our emotions, brother. Talking about stuff that's bothering you is freeing, in a way. Take it from me, man. After I lost my parents, I didn't wanna talk to anyone. I wished I was dead with them. I wished I would've gone through the windshield, gotten flattened by an eighteen-wheeler. Hell, at the very least, I wished I would've never woken up from my coma—"

"Don't say that," I said.

"No, I can say that because I don't feel that way anymore. I'm glad to be alive. I'm glad I had a chance. I've got two wonky legs, but I know how to party. If I was six feet underground, getting munched on by the worms and maggots, I would've missed out on so much." He sighed, crossed his arms over his chest. I noticed, even in the orange light of the flames, how his lips looked slightly blue. The temperature was still dropping, and the fire was proving useless. Then again, without it…we might've been a couple of ice cubes already.

"Listen," Stone went on, "all I'm saying is that life goes on and wounds scab over. Whatever it is, it'll get better. And it'll fade away. I promise."

I opened my mouth, unsure of the words I planned on saying, but Stone held up a hand.

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want, but—"

"No," I said. "You're right. I should talk about it. I've just been bottling it and it's been poisoning my insides. I can feel it taking years off my life."

Stone remained quiet, studying me.

I cleared my throat. "Okay, if I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna need a drink."

"Well, I can guarantee you one thing," Stone said, "the beer's definitely cold."

"Someone say beer?" Jonas said from his spot on the floor. He raised his head and was looking at us, the fire twinkling in eyes still heavy with sleep. "I'm always down for a midnight sip." He looked around, focused on the window, which showed a wall of white coming down outside. "Fuck, is it still snowing? I was hoping I dreamt that."

Through the glass, despite the frost, you could see the white flakes falling like daggers.

It didn't seem like it was stopping any time soon.

Jonas blinked and shook his head. "Yeah, I'm gonna really need a drink, too, Grady."

I got up and grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, which was no longer running, but Stone was right—they were still ice cold. We cracked them open, and then I told the story of the dead boy.

Outside, the wind screamed and rocked the house, the low flames crackled in the fireplace, and the snow buried the world.

* * *

Here's how it happened.

I've never told this story to anyone before because it's not an easy story to tell. There's just no way of telling it where I come out as the good guy, and that sucks. Naturally, when it's your story, you want to be the good guy.

It was going on one in the morning on a Tuesday in late April. We don't get many big fires in a town as small as mine. Just the occasional bonfire gone awry, or fireworks that torch rose bushes and some trees. Usually the fires we got called to could be put out with an extinguisher, but protocol is protocol, and even if someone calls 911 because they smell gas coming from their neighbor's house, we roll out the whole brigade.

On that Tuesday in late April, the weather was in the seventies. People were generally in good moods. I didn't mind the lack of action, so to speak. I'd been in the break room at our station watching one of the west coast NBA Playoff games, which usually went on well after midnight. Trailblazers versus the Clippers. It was a close one, probably going down to the wire for an amazing finish, but I never found out.

Because the alarm wailed.

Devereux, the lead during that shift, came in and told me and the others we had a live one, which meant it was no joke.

We instantly shot up from our seats and got our gear on.

The adrenaline undoubtedly pumped fast through all of our veins. This was what we became firefighters for. Not to save cats from trees and douse small rose bush fires (though I never turned down the opportunity to save a cat or some rose bushes when the time came) but to be heroes who scaled burning buildings and saved human lives.

I'll admit, however, I wasn't ready for this.

I'd seen my fair share of big blazes while working at the fire department, but nothing like what I'd seen on Swan Drive. The apartment building was a beacon. You could see it burning from a mile away.

We got there and we got to work trying to keep the evacuated occupants back. Most fought us, and I didn't blame them. All their belongings were turning to ash. Things they loved and cherished, things they'd spent hard-earned money on. With every occupant supposedly accounted for, there wasn't much we could do now besides watch the building burn.

The big hoses were on. They were loud as hell. There was so much happening, I was surprised I had heard the boy at all, what with the confused screams of the occupants and the rumbling truck engines and the water tanks pumping into the hoses.

But I did.

He screamed, I heard it clear as I hear the wind blowing outside now. He was yelling for his mom.

I didn't hesitate. I broke free from my post on crowd control duty and rushed to the building.

"Miller!" Devereux shouted. He tried grabbing me, but I slipped right through his grip. In all my gear, I don't know how I moved so fast.

Each advancing step made the kid's screams louder. The agony, the desperation…I wasn't prepared for that.

"Mommy! Please! Mommy!" he shouted.

"Hold on, kid, I'm coming!" I shouted back as I busted through the front doors. The smoke was so thick, I could barely see inside, and the roar of the flames pounded my eardrums.

The boy was on the second floor. I trucked up the steps, breaking quite a few in the process, almost getting stuck more than once.

"Keep yelling, kid!" I said, "I'm close!"

He kept yelling.

I was scared as hell. The ceiling above me had fallen in a little ways down the hall. There was a big hole in the floor, too, one I'd have to jump over if he was in one of the apartments at the end. I told myself that this was what I trained for over and over, that this was why I wanted to become a firefighter in the first place. Helping people, saving lives, that was all that mattered.

Then, with a huge crash, a part of the building behind me caved inward. I heard the rest of the foundation groaning. I swayed on my feet, and I reckoned I had about three minutes before it all fell down and buried both the kid and me for good. That three minutes would go fast.

And it did.

I spent all that time trying to get my bearings right, and before I knew it, I was nearly out of time.

"Help! Help! Help me!" the boy shouted.

I located the source of the screams. They came from 22B. The door was locked, but I kicked it open. A spout of flames flashed and reached out for me. I held my arms up and warded them off, and then plunged inside.

I didn't see much. There was a burning couch, a knocked-over TV, glass all over the floor. The wallpaper was curling and singed. Smoke hung around the ceiling like a rain cloud.

"Kid! Kid! Shout again! Let me know where you're at!" I yelled.

"Help—"

The sound of his voice was coming from behind me now. Somehow.

Then I realized the problem…

Behind me was the connecting wall to 22A. I fucked up, had gone into the wrong apartment.

I told myself there was still time, that I could still save him.

Unfortunately, as I turned, ready to head out the door, the ceiling caved in and it damaged a good portion of the connecting wall, offering me a glimpse into 22A.

I saw it all like I was having an out-of-body experience.

There, in 22A, a blond boy stood in the middle of the living room. He couldn't have been more than five. He was clutching a teddy bear to his chest, and his face was dark with soot. Tracks cut through the gray on his cheeks from a constant stream of tears.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Hey! I'm right here! Hold on! I'm—" There was a hole in the connecting wall I was pretty sure I could kick through.

But I never got the chance. My time was up.

The ceiling in 22A fell and buried the boy in the blink of an eye. I remember screaming and reaching out. Then I remember feeling weightless, falling.

The next thing that happened was me waking up in the back of an ambulance with an oxygen mask over my face. Devereux told me I went through the floor and a couple of guys pulled me out before the building could bury me. I was lucky to be alive.

I sat up, ripped the mask off, and stood on wobbly legs. Besides feeling lightheaded and having a few first-degree burns, I was okay.

I stepped toward the building's remains, and that was when I caught them pulling the boy's blackened body from the wreckage, all twisted and broken and scorched. It didn't look human.

And here I was, still breathing, barely a scratch on me. I didn't even have a broken bone.

You get that? I was okay, but a little boy who had had the rest of his life ahead of him was gone.

That's the story.

* * *

We were all silent after that. I had nothing else to say anyway, but the way Stone and Jonas were both staring at me was making me uncomfortable. Like I was under a microscope, and I can't imagine it was a pretty sight. Tears were stinging the backs of my eyes. I was pretty sure I was going to break down and start sobbing.

Finally, Stone spoke. "That's…that's terrible, man."

"Yeah, I'm so sorry," Jonas added. "Fuck, you needed this vacation more than all of us put together."

"Yeah, you needed this vacation, and it's been ruined by a blizzard in July." Stone shook his head. "I'm sorry, Grady, but dude, it wasn't your fault," Stone continued. "You're a dumbass, but you're not so dumb that you don't realize it wasn't your fault, right?"

"I didn't save him. I fucked up," I said and looked away from my friends. The tears came now, slow, but I made like I was pinching the bridge of my nose and wiped them away before they became too noticeable. "It was my job, and I let the kid die."

Jonas got up and sat by me at the fireplace. To my surprise, he put an arm around my shoulder. That was odd. Jonas wasn't too practiced in the way of sentimentality, especially to anyone other than his wife and kids. He held his mostly-full beer bottle in his free hand. I thought that was also odd because I was sure this sudden burst of sentimentality came from the booze.

I was wrong, though. As it turned out, one of my best friends just cared for me.

"You did what a bunch of other people wouldn't have done, Grady," Jonas said. "You literally braved a burning building to save a boy."

"I was doing my job," I said.

"But how many others did you see running into the burning building?" Stone said from the couch.

"No one," I answered, "but they didn't—"

"Hear him? Yeah, bullshit. Odds are there was at least one other firefighter there who heard the boy, but saying something would mean having to go in and save him. The kid was probably screaming loud enough for the people in Akron to hear him."

The boy was loud, Jonas was right about that. He was so loud, I sometimes still hear him.

Jonas put out his hands as if to say his point was made. "But you were the only one who went in after him. I believe you when you said you went rushing into the flames without a moment's hesitation. If that's not something a hero does, I don't know what is."

"Yeah," Stone agreed, "and no one else followed you."

"A hero's successful," I said. "Otherwise, you're not really a hero. And no one else followed because going in was stupid, as I proved."

"Whatever," Stone said, "think what you want. Think you're not a hero. Think you're a monster for plunging into a burning building and trying to save some kid. But know you're wrong. Know the outcome wasn't your fault. You did all you could."

"I went into the wrong apartment. If I'd just gone into 22A, that kid would've been alive."

Jonas clapped me on the back hard. "The cards just didn't fall that way, Grady. I'm not a religious fella, but I think if there is a God or Gods, He or She or They do everything for a reason, and I think it was just that kid's time to go."

What kind of God does that? I wondered. Takes innocent lives because it's their time?

I guess it's the kind who ended the world with a blizzard.

I knew there was no arguing with them. I felt how I felt at the time and there was no way around it. The boy was dead, and there was no getting around that, either. I was no hero. I had failed.

What's worse is that after they pulled his body from the wreckage and everything settled down, we learned the fire originated from the boy's apartment. The fault belonged to the boy's mother. She and a guy had been smoking crack in her bedroom while her boy watched cartoons not five feet outside her door. She got so high, she passed out with the burning pipe. She most likely went peacefully while three stories of flaming wreckage crushed her son.

The world isn't fair sometimes.