Mia was crying softly, her yellow sundress smeared with thick black ash. I grabbed her, pulling her tiny body against my chest, burying my face in her soot-covered hair. “I got you, I got you,” I sobbed, feeling her small arms wrap tightly around my neck.
But my eyes immediately went to the floor of the basket.
Leo was lying flat on his back. His chest was heaving with shallow, ragged gasps. His face was unrecognizable, entirely coated in black soot, his eyebrows singed away by the heat. His hands—the hands that had just held sixty pounds of dead weight for twenty agonizing minutes—were deeply lacerated, the skin peeled back and bleeding freely where the friction of the metal railing had torn him apart.
I fell to my knees beside him, dropping one arm from Mia to cradle the back of his head. “Leo. Baby, look at me,” I pleaded, my tears cutting tracks through the ash on his face.
His eyelids fluttered. He looked up at me, his eyes bloodshot and watery. “Mom…” his voice was a broken, raspy whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t drop her.”
“I know, baby. I know you didn’t,” I choked out, kissing his forehead, not caring about the grease or the blood. “You saved her. You saved her life. You’re a hero.”
“Move back, Mom, we need to get oxygen on him right now,” the paramedic said firmly, sliding into the basket beside me. He unhooked a green tank from his hip and quickly strapped a clear plastic mask over Leo’s face, turning the dial to maximum flow.
I stepped back, keeping one hand firmly locked around Mia, allowing the medical team to secure my son to a backboard.
As they lifted him out of the basket, the noise of the courtyard rushed back into my ears. The roaring flames, the shouting firefighters, the wailing sirens.
And then, a sharp, authoritative voice cut through the chaos like a knife.
“Where the hell is the property manager for this complex?!”
I turned around.
Standing in the center of the courtyard, holding a heavy clipboard and flanked by two police officers, was the Fire Battalion Chief. His white helmet gleamed under the flashing red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles. He was furious.
“I said, who is responsible for this building?!” the Chief roared, scanning the crowd.
On the far side of the courtyard, trying to quietly slip away toward the rear exit gate, was Greg.
“That’s him!” the teenager from the corner unit yelled, pointing directly at Greg. “The guy in the gray shirt! He’s the manager!”
The Chief’s head snapped toward Greg. He didn’t walk; he marched across the asphalt, his heavy boots crushing the shards of glass scattered on the ground. The two police officers followed closely behind him.
“Hold it right there!” the Chief barked.
Greg froze. He slowly turned around, attempting to paste a look of concerned authority onto his pale, sweating face. “Officer, Chief, I’m glad you’re here. This was a tragedy, but I have it all on video. That kid—”
“Shut your mouth,” the Chief snapped, stepping directly into Greg’s personal space. He shoved the heavy metal clipboard against Greg’s chest. “I have two engine companies inside right now reporting that the primary fire alarms on the third and fourth floors are completely deactivated. Ripped out at the wire. Want to explain that?”
The crowd, which had gone dead silent to watch the rescue, was now listening to every single word.
“They… they were malfunctioning,” Greg stammered, taking a step back. The arrogant swagger was entirely gone, replaced by the stammering panic of a man who realized he was trapped. “I submitted a work order. Management is waiting on parts.”
“Don’t give me that garbage,” the Chief growled, his voice carrying perfectly across the courtyard. “My men just had to breach a chained emergency exit in the rear stairwell. The lobby deadbolt is jammed with broken tumblers. Your sprinkler system valves in the basement are chained shut and covered in rust. This building is a literal death trap.”
“I was trying to keep the vagrants out!” Greg protested, his voice cracking. He pointed a trembling finger toward me. “She’s the one you should be talking to! Her juvenile delinquent son started that fire to cover up what he was doing to his sister! I was live-streaming it! I have over a thousand people watching right now!”
Greg desperately patted his pockets, looking for his iPad, completely forgetting he had dropped it in the dirt when the window exploded.
The teenager from the corner unit stepped out from the crowd. He wasn’t recording Greg’s fake narrative anymore. He was holding his phone steady, recording the Fire Chief tearing the manager apart.
“He wasn’t dropping her, you idiot,” the teenager yelled at Greg. “He was holding her away from the flames! We all saw the smoke!”
“He’s right!” Mrs. Gable shouted, stepping forward from the police line. She pointed a shaking finger at Greg. “You stood there and wouldn’t let that poor mother into the building! You told us he was a monster! You blocked the door!”
“I was securing the scene!” Greg panicked, backing up until his shoulders hit the brick wall of the courtyard. “I’m the manager! I have protocols!”
“Your protocols almost killed two children today,” the Chief said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. He turned to the two police officers standing beside him. “This entire structure is condemned as of this second. And I want this man detained pending a full criminal investigation by the Fire Marshal’s office.”
Greg’s eyes widened in sheer panic. “Detained? You can’t detain me! I didn’t start the fire!”