 “Where
were you?” the pain-wracked voice rang from the wainscoted walls of the
high-ceilinged room. Randolph Martin stood his ground stoically in the
face of his friend’s anguished words. Lying in the stark hospital bed,
covered in multiple layers of bandages, Cyrus Valentine resembled
nothing so much as an Egyptian mummy-- a mummy with raging eyes flaming
behind the blood-spotted linen wrappings. He had been severely burned
in the tragic fire that destroyed his house and killed his family. While
attempting to force his way into the fully-engulfed wreckage of his
home to save his wife and infant son from the conflagration, Valentine
had been struck on the head by a falling beam, slamming him to the
flagstone floor of the portico before he could force his way inside. Randolph
Martin was not only an attorney who had graduated near the top of his
class from Yale Law School, as had Valentine; he was also the captain of
the local fire brigade. He had been across town at a dinner party when
the alarm had sounded; without his leadership, the relatively untrained
men of the recently established brigade had been late leaving the
firehouse, and their unorganized and disjointed efforts once they
arrived at Valentine’s house had been in vain. By the time Randolph
arrived to bring order to the chaos, the house was a total loss.
Valentine’s family was dead, and Valentine himself was in an ambulance
racing to the hospital. “I’m so sorry, Cyrus; I was across town, ” Randolph tried to console his distraught friend. “I got there as quickly as I could.” “You should have been…” Cyrus began. “I’m
not clairvoyant, Cyrus!” Randolph interrupted firmly. “How was I to
know a fire would start in your house, or any other house for that
matter? It’s summer, and you know that we rarely have such fires in this
time of the year!” “So
because you didn’t think there was any danger, I have lost all that was
most precious to me,” the seriously injured attorney accused, his voice
bitter with loss and grief. “But it is not my fault that the fire started!” his friend protested. “No, but if you had trained your men appropriately, my family might still be alive!” Cyrus raged. “The
fire brigade is new, Cyrus, and the men are working hard to be prepared
for any circumstance. What more would you have me do?” Randolph
pleaded, his voice rising. “If I had it within my power, I would gladly
undo what happened, but that is one thing I cannot do! I’m truly sorry!” “Your
apologies will not restore my body, or the lives of my wife and son!”
Cyrus declared, his weak, smoke-roughened voice filled with menace. “But
I will have a reckoning, Randolph. Mark my words!” Randolph
Martin turned away sadly, distraught that he was unable to comfort his
friend, and discounting the chilling words as the product of Cyrus’
inconsolable grief. Randolph could not know then just how deeply those
few, softly-spoken syllables would affect his life one day... $16.50 Postage paid. Be sure to let me know who to autograph it to! |