Part II: The Incident

 The story you are reading is true but rest assured we are all fine.  Here is part two...

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The walk was short.  I can't recall exactly but I think we just traipsed along the river way, over toward the school and then reversed course back.  Albeit quick, upon entering the house Bandit still ran for his water bowl .  We could walk to the end of the driveway and back, and out of habit, he would still scurry in and get a drink.  He loves his routines.

Chris was no longer downstairs.  The dance music was off.  I noticed a glass of wine waiting for me.  With meal preparations on autopilot, he was apparently attending to other things.  I could hear the clunk of the washing machine above.

At the kitchen counter, I checked the mail left out for me.  His already opened, neatly folded and pushed to the side.  I grabbed the envelope opener from the junk draw and rifled through my small pile:   Mortgage statement, oh joy...another damn credit card offer...and what the heck kind of non-profit is this?  I guess they have to send me a shiny penny to ensure I'll open it.

When I got upstairs, Chris sat on the floor in front of the fireplace.  He folded a pair of sweatpants with his eyes on the television.  Bandit had already settled in my chair.  "Nice fire, huh?" Chris asked.

Courtesy of DesignBlahg

I step into the great room -- why the builder chose this room over the garage to be lower than the rest of the second floor I don't really know.  The fire snaps; the pine smells nice.  "Very nice,"  I say.  I notice he's watching HGTV.   David Bromstad's biceps catch my eye.  Chris knows I have a little crush on this interior designer.    

"I'm going to get my comfy clothes on,"  I said watching Bromstad bend down to pick a swatch of material.  "I'm in for the night."

Dinner was excellent, the cabernet splendid - another offering from our favorite little wine shop down the street.  Then back in the great room, in my recliner, watching another round of  home renovation shows with Bandit on my lap I hold the clicker in my hand.  Damn, no more Color Splash.  I flip through the channels, onto FoxNews  (my gay card having been revoked long ago.)  What did the stock market do today?  Sometimes I act like such a Republican.

Chris sat at the computer in the office.  I could see him as I reclined back in my chair.  I reached over to the marble end table, grabbed my glass and  took the last sip of wine.  Bandit a bit annoyed that I disturbed him, looked up  wanting his ears rubbed a bit more.

Suddenly, a loud metallic-like snap and a bang occurred.  Startled, my feet jerked.  Bandit  jumped to the floor and ran downstairs. 

"What the hell was that?  Chris said from the office.

The fire billowed.  I jumped from the recliner.  I went to the fireplace.  "I think it came from the chimney.  But everything looks okay,"  I said, Chris now by my side. 

"That was loud," he said.

"The fire looks fine.  It might have just been the metal chimney liner expanded and contrasting from the temperature differences. "

Chris furrowed  his brow but seemingly satisfied with my theory headed back to the office. 

I settled back into my chair, called for Bandit to rejoin me but he never came back up.  More State of the Union crap.  Enough!  I think Obama gave a good speech.  Let's be done with it.  I click back to HGTV.  I'm definitely not a Republican.

Then, an alarm shrieked. 

My body got cold. 

I slammed the recliner back down and leaped over the fireplace.

Where's it coming from?  Then to the hall I met Chris.  He yelled something to me but I couldn't hear him over the piercing signal. 

I ran over to the third floor steps and got about halfway upstairs.   The master suite was engulfed in smoke.  "Holy shit!  Get out!  Get out!"  I could barely hear myself scream over the alarm as I bolted back down, two steps at a time.

At the landing I yelled again, "Chris !  Chris!  Get out!"    I ran down the small hallway and met up with him by the great room.  "Get out!  The upstairs is on fire!" 

Something about getting Bandit he said to me and I ran down to the first floor.  "Bandit!  Bandit!" 

The alarm seemed even louder downstairs.  

He was huddled in the corner, below the table in the breakfast nook. 

 

I opened the back door, in front of the table.  He came out from underneath.  I put him on his lead and he dashed outside.

I could barely hear Chris yelling, still upstairs.  "Call 911!  Call 911!"

To the burglar alarm pad I went and pressed the panic button.