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Tales of Whisper Gap
Stories from the small
town of Whisper Gap where one
life, one tale invariably reaches out to touch the next.
by Jo Janoski.
The Hero
 It was too far
gone by the time Joan smelled smoke. To work late, after store
hours at the car dealership, was unusual for her. But she needed
to get the payroll taxes in on time. What kind of a bookkeeper
would miss that deadline, bringing the IRS down on her employer.
She'd been so immersed the stinging odor
didn't bother her at first. Rubbing her nose, she'd continued
to work without giving it any thought. Pausing to look up, however,
Joan found it difficult to see across the room through a gray,
thick haze that was forming. Bolting from her chair, she placed
her hand on the closed office door. It was hot. She knew better
than to open it, next dropping to her knees and bending low to
where the air was clear and cooler.
Huddled in sheer terror, Joan had no idea
what she should do next. She thought of her husband and little
daughter. Her baby girl's sparkling smile danced around her heart
in a happy memory. Could life be over so soon? Were her husband
and child merely a few seconds joy in an all-too-short life?
A pounding on the door brought her back
to the moment.
"Anybody in there?"
"Yeah, it's me, Joan Bradford, the
bookkeeper!"
"Joan, it's Sam, the night watchman.
Stand back. I'm going to break down the door!"
She moved back as the guard thundered his
way through, making the door bang wide open. A torrent of hot
air and smoke smashed through with him, tidal waving its heat
and stench. She spied an inferno just beyond the doorway.
"I know it looks scary out there,
but I'll get you through it," Sam said reaching for her.
She pulled back. "I can't." Her
words were more exhaled air than a statement.
"Just take my hand. You can do it."
Even as he reached for her, she felt woozy.
In a moment, it seemed the last breathable air had reached her
lungs, and all went black as she gasped for more. The watchman
gathered the bookkeeper up in his arms and ran. Blasting through
the flames at full gallop, he zig-zagged across the showroom,
past shiny cars that were now coated with ash, ghostly visions
in the din of sirens and lights. The watchman didn't stop until
reaching the front door to safety. Firemen sped from all directions
to help.
"Geez, Sam! You're lucky to get out
of there alive. What'd you go in there for?"
"To get her," he replied, nodding
at Joan as he lifted his coat to reveal her face. "I didn't
think anyone was in there, and then the boss told me she was
working tonight."
"Well, you're definitely the hero
for today," the fireman replied, reaching for Joan to put
her on a stretcher.
"Yeah, a real hero," Sam muttered.
He walked away, hands in his pockets, leaving the noise and tumult
behind him. He, the "hero of the day," was the same
one who threw a Molotov cocktail through the front window in
the first place. He hated his job, hated his boss. He'd just
plain lost it and wanted to get even, destroy. But how was he
to know Joan, the bookkeeper, was working late? Yeah, a real
hero....the hero for today.
Copyright 2008 JO Janoski
Jo Janoski is a poet, author,
and photographer from Pittsburgh, PA.
Send Jo a message either directly or using
the Word Catalyst feedback form. For more from Jo visit the
Word Catalyst archives or her online
home.
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