It wasn’t unusual for Tommy to watch YouTube videos of fires. The other guys did it, too, and sometimes, they’d all watch them together as instructional videos. But the way Tommy was obsessively watching these videos recently was not normal. As the other guys played cards and made lunch, Tommy hid in the bathroom and watched the videos of five-alarm house fires like they were explicit. 

What frightened him even more was that the videos he was repeatedly watching were making him feel aroused.

“Tommy? What the hell are you doing in there?”

It was Chief Hendricks pounding on the door. The other guys hadn’t noticed many changes in Tommy’s behavior, but he had to be careful with the chief. Sam Hendricks was a very observant man – nothing got by him.

“I’ll be right out! Give me a second.”

“Well, hurry up. I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

Tommy swung the door open and saw Hendricks standing there anxiously as if he was about to burst. “Wait right there,” the chief said.

As Hendricks relieved himself, Tommy snapped back into the moment. What was happening to him? He was feeling spooked.

Hendricks emerged from the restroom like a new man, his face now calm. “Hey, bud,” the chief said. “What’s going on with you?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asked defensively.

Hendricks started walking and motioned for him to follow. They stepped outside so the other guys couldn’t hear them.

“Look, Tommy,” he said. “Something’s going on. I can tell. You’ve been like a space cadet lately. I saw you last night on that call. You were zoning out, staring at the building like you’ve never seen a fire before.”

Hendricks put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder in that avuncular way he was known for. “So, I’ll ask again. What’s going on with you?”

Tommy avoided the chief’s eyes. Hendricks was a tall, broad-shouldered man, and though Tommy was no weakling, the chief had a commanding presence that sometimes intimidated him.

“Nothing, chief. I swear. I’m good.”

“The hell you ain’t. Come on, Tommy. You got trouble at home? How’s Sarah? How are the kids?”

Tommy was itching to end this conversation. “They’re fine. Everything’s fine, chief. I wouldn’t lie to you. Just tired. It’s been busy, you know?”

Hendrick stared him square in the eyes, making Tommy squirm. “Okay. If you say so. You know I’m here if you need to talk, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Always. But I’m telling you …”

Before he could finish, the alarm sounded, and they both turned to the firehouse to see the guys rushing around. On instinct, they darted inside. Alex was putting on his suit, and the guys were climbing in the truck.

“Brush fire!” Alex yelled. “Let’s move!”

—

It was an oppressively dry and hot summer in East Tennessee, leaving the air feeling heavy and the ground parched and starved for water. The drought had made parts of the region’s fields and brush into tinder, ready to ignite with the slightest spark. In the bright, hot afternoons, brush fires were blazing everywhere without warning, creating a constant threat.

Unlike the catastrophic fires that consumed the West Coast, these fires didn’t explode into full-blown forest infernos. Nevertheless, they were frequent and unpredictable enough to keep the Willow Creek Fire Department busy and on high alert throughout the long, exhausting summer.

As Tommy sat in the back of the truck while they raced toward the scene, he thought about something he hadn’t considered in a while. He was reflecting on his PTSD diagnosis and how one doctor told him that sometimes, those with post-traumatic stress can fall into psychosis. It was a scary thought, for sure, but Tommy had brushed it aside and never considered it much. As they dashed toward the brush fire, Tommy wondered if he should see that doctor again.

He was almost disappointed the fire wasn’t larger when they arrived. It seemed like something any civilian could’ve put out.

“Ah, this ain’t shit,” Chief Hendricks said as they climbed out of the truck.

The guys hosed it down quickly and used swatters and flaps to beat the flames in the low-lying brush. For the next half-hour, the team mopped up, extinguished hotspots, and surveyed the area for burning debris. The sun was beating hard on them, and Tommy was sweating profusely under his gear. He hoped seeing the fire would give him his fix, but he felt dissatisfied with this bit of action.

As the guys loaded the gear back in the truck, Tommy started having intrusive thoughts again. The obsessions wouldn’t let him go, and he wasn’t sure what to do about them. He replayed the images of the grocery store fire, feeling himself get worked up over how tall and mighty the flames were.

Tommy looked back at the brush along the highway as Chief Hendricks and the rest of the crew chatted and prepared to leave. He noticed all the dry vegetation in the area, including dead leaves, branches, and dry grass. It was the perfect kindling for a nice, big brush fire. He knew that strong winds were forecasted tonight and that this area wasn’t being monitored closely.

“We’ll come back tomorrow for a controlled burn,” Hendricks said to Tommy, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Oh … yeah. Smart idea.”

Hendricks slapped him on the shoulder. “We’re good for now. Let’s head back.”

–

Tommy didn’t go home to Sarah and the kids that night.

Instead, he found himself back at the scene of the brush fire under the cover of darkness. He had no idea what he was doing there. There was an intense urge to leave but a similarly powerful urge to stay.

The thoughts were so deafening in his head now that they forced him to sit down in the brush and punch his fist into his leg. 

When his PTSD was the worst several years ago, he had never cut himself, but he would sometimes punch his leg. They weren’t soft punches, either. No, they would leave bruises, and they would hurt like hell.

As he slammed his fist into his legs, he wanted to cry, but he couldn’t. He was terrified that someone would see him out here. What if Chief Hendricks spotted him out here? What if the crew came back? What if he was wrong, and this area was being monitored by aircraft?

Everyone called him “Tommy The Hero,” but he rarely felt like that. When he saved Mrs. Turner from the house fire three years ago, people suddenly thought he was the most courageous man in the town.

What they didn’t know was what else he saw. They didn’t know what Mr. Turner looked like as the flames consumed him and seared off his flesh. Nor did they experience the smells. Not just the suffocating toxic smoke but the way the room smelled of burning flesh. Tommy was used to the harsh, bitter smells of burning plastic, fabric, and electrical components. But three years ago was the first time he caught the overpowering scent of human flesh, and he’d never forget it.

They also didn’t hear Mr. Turner’s agonizing screams, nor did they see Mrs. Turner crying uncontrollably as Tommy dragged her out of the house. He knew it would’ve been impossible to save them both—still, the image of Mr. Turner burning alive was engraved in his mind.

The doctor helped him process some of these emotions, but how are you supposed to heal from something like that? Tommy thought.

He pulled out his Zippo lighter and, his hands trembling, reached for a cigarette. Smoking was another bad habit he had developed since that terrible fire.

Once again, he was entranced by the flame as it struggled to stay alive with the strong wind picking up. He cupped his hands over the lighter to keep the flame going and put the cigarette back in the pack.

Then, he took the lighter and kneeled in the brush. The first spark of fire developed slowly, but soon enough, it spread quickly.

To Be Continued …

Read Part I here.