She lives off our parents, my brother Anthony said to his inner circle in the back room of the port tavern.
The heat hit me like a physical punch, forcing a gasp. The air was thick, black, and searing hot. My eyes watered immediately, burning. I could barely see anything beyond the swirling smoke and the orange tongues of flame licking at the ceiling.
“Leo!” I coughed, my voice raw. “Leo!”
I stumbled through the familiar layout of the garage, past the shadowed shapes of dormant forklifts and workbenches. The smell of burning oil was overwhelming, metallic and acrid. I knew the back office, where Leo often hid when things got too loud or stressful. He would be there. He had to be.
The roar of the fire was deafening, amplified by the collapsing roof beams. A shower of sparks rained down. My shoulder, still aching from the fire escape, screamed in protest. I ignored it, pushing deeper into the inferno.
I found him in the small back office, collapsed on the floor beside the old filing cabinet. He was unconscious, his face ashen, a thin stream of blood from a cut above his eye. His small, asthmatic lungs, already weak, had given out.
I knelt, tears streaming down my face from the smoke and the terror. His skin was cold. “Leo,” I whispered, touching his cheek. “Leo, wake up.”
No response.
With a desperate surge of strength, I hoisted him into my arms. He was light, too light. His head lolled against my shoulder. I stumbled back towards the garage entrance, navigating the collapsing debris. The heat was unbearable.
Somehow, I made it out, bursting from the smoke into the relative cool of the night air. Firefighters, their faces grim, rushed towards me. I collapsed onto the wet pavement, Leo still cradled in my arms.
“He’s here! My nephew!” I choked out, my throat raw.
Paramedics descended immediately, pulling Leo gently from my arms. They laid him on the ground, starting chest compressions, attaching an oxygen mask. The rhythmic thud of their efforts was all I could hear, mingling with the crackle of the fire.
I watched, numb, as they worked. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. An eternity.
One of the paramedics looked up, shaking his head slowly. He covered Leo’s face with a white sheet.
Leo was gone.
The world went silent. The wailing sirens, the shouts of the firefighters, the crackling flames – all faded into a distant hum. My vision narrowed to the small, still form beneath the sheet. My Leo.
Anthony arrived then, pushed through the crowd, his face pale with shock. He saw the sheet. He saw me, covered in soot and ash. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
I turned away from him, from the police officers who tried to question me. I shook my head, unable to speak, unable to acknowledge their presence. There was nothing to say. There was nothing left but a cold, hollow space where my heart had been.
My promise to my sister. Broken.
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