We worked quickly but with exhaustion and feeble movements. This was getting difficult, not just for us but for the entire town. People could begin to die, and it would get worse before it got better.
“Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious,” I shouted to my crew and then muttered under my breath, “Oranyone.”
“Hansen, Butler,” Chief Davis said as the others got to work extinguishing the flames. “The arson investigator is on his way. Can you guys tell him your current suspicions about these fires? About who could be starting these fires?”
“Of course, Chief,” I said. “We can’t keep letting this happen.”
He turned to look at me, those brave eyes sad and defeated. “I know,” he said. “So let’s fix this before it’s unfixable.” He turned to walk away, and I pulled out my phone to text Peyton, letting her know that I would probably be late getting home in the morning. But before I could text her, her name and number popped on the screen. She was calling me.
“It’s Peyton,” I said to Hansen, my breath catching.
“Answer it,” urged Hansen. I put the phone to my ear.
“Peyton, is everything okay?”
“No,” she said quietly, adrenaline pumping through my body. “It’s my mom. She’s in the hospital. An—an overdose.”
I looked up, meeting concerned gazes with Chief Davis and Hansen. I swallowed. The lump in my throat was painful and heavy; I felt like I might never dislodge it. “I’m on my way, Peyton.”
Chief Davis urged me to go quickly, and he handed me the keys to the department’s company truck for me to take. I dropped my PPE and left in the truck, speeding towards the hospital with fear I hadn’t felt so intense in many years. An overdose? How? Susan wasn’t the kind, making me think it must have been accidental. Frequently the fire department had been called to the scene of an accidental overdose, often with elderly patients who overtook their meds by accident or at the wrong time. But Susan—Susan was too alert for that. Too independent. So how had this happened?
Even as the question floated around desperately in my mind, I knew.
I knew how this had probably happened.
I spotted Peyton’s car in the parking lot, pulled in next to it, and then jogged through the ER doors. I stopped and looked around for Peyton, spotting her a moment later standing by a coffee maker in the corner of the lobby. She looked relieved when she saw me, but she didn’t smile. I walked forward, opening my arms for her, and she fell into them, tears breaking free and streaming down her face.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, stroking her hair, and holding her against me. “What happened? How’s Susan?”
“She’s in the ICU,” Peyton said, running the back of her arm over her eyes. “She hasn’t woken up yet.”
I took Peyton’s hand and led her to an empty corner of the room, helping her sit down before falling. She clasped my hands between hers desperately, tears still streaming down her face.
“How could this happen?” she murmured, shaking her head in shock. “Just—how?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe it was an accident, Peyton. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“She wouldn’t do this,” Peyton said fiercely. “She wouldn’t do this.”
“Let’s wait and see what the doctor says,” I murmured, and Peyton nodded in agreement, closing her eyes against the reality of the situation.
“I can’t lose her,” she whispered, burying her forehead into the side of my jacket. “Not after everything she’s been through and beat. I can’t lose her now.”
I opened my mouth to comfort her, but before I could, the ER physician, Doc Shaffer, joined us out in the lobby. He took a seat across from Peyton and me with a sympathetic sigh.
“How is she?” I asked, and Peyton looked up at him, her tear-stained face prominent against the lights of the ER. “Is she awake?”
“Not yet,” Doc Shaffer said gently. “But we’re hopeful it will be soon.”
“What happened?” I asked. “Did she take pills?”
“Actually, no.” Doc Shaffer sighed again, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Fentanyl patches.”
“The fentanyl patches were prescribed by her doctor for pain management,” Peyton said, struggling to sit up. “She knew how to properly use them.”
“Sometimes patients that have gone through Susan’s trauma and pain can become disoriented in the middle of the night or when the pain is at its worst,” Doc Shaffer said patiently. “There’s a chance she didn’t even realize what she was doing. We know she was coherent enough to call 911 at some point.”
“She called herself?” I asked.
