Chapter 14
927words
Under Vincent Wells' cool and determined gaze, I simply lifted my head and said to Francis Foster: "Mr. Foster, I'm busy right now."
Francis Foster's body swayed slightly, and a flash of disbelieving hurt crossed those bloodshot eyes.
He looked at me, then at Vincent Wells who sat beside me with a calm expression, and finally said nothing, just smiled self-mockingly and turned to leave the restaurant. His straight back, under the magnificent crystal chandelier, appeared incredibly desolate and lonely.
After that night, Francis Foster no longer appeared outside my company building, nor did he send that never-missing breakfast anymore. He seemed to have disappeared from my world once again.
I should have felt relieved, but in my heart, there was inexplicably an empty space.
On a weekend night, I was home alone when suddenly lightning flashed and thunder roared outside, followed by torrential rain. The old apartment building I was renting already had aging electrical wiring, and after a massive thunderclap, the lights in my room flickered a few times before completely going out.
In the air, there seemed to be the smell of something burning.
My heart skipped a beat, and before I could react, shrill screams and chaotic footsteps erupted in the hallway.
"Fire! Run quickly!"
I immediately realized the situation was dire, grabbed my phone and keys, and rushed out. Thick smoke had already begun spreading up from the stairwell, making it impossible to keep my eyes open. Covering my mouth and nose with a wet towel, I stumbled out of the apartment building with the fleeing crowd.
We had just run down to the safe open space below when a huge explosion came from behind us. On the floor where I lived, a window shattered from the extreme heat, and flames like a ferocious fire dragon spewed out from the window, quickly devouring the entire floor.
The scene was chaotic—women's screams, children's cries, and the approaching sirens of fire trucks all blended together into an apocalyptic scene.
I stood among the crowd, watching my home that I had just escaped from turn into a sea of fire, still in shock.
At that moment, two cars, almost simultaneously, sped through the rain curtain at a breakneck pace and stopped outside the police line.
The car doors opened, and Francis Foster and Vincent Wells rushed out of the vehicles one after another.
They had obviously learned about the fire from different sources and hurried over immediately. Both of their faces were filled with anxiety and panic.
Due to the chaotic scene and disrupted communications, neither of them could contact me.
They all thought I was still trapped in that burning building.
"Jessica Johnson! Jessica Johnson!"
They pushed through the crowd, rushing to the police line that had just been set up, and desperately called out my name toward the building that looked like an inferno.
Firefighters firmly held them back, loudly warning of the danger.
But they couldn't hear anything.
At one moment, their eyes met in mid-air. Gone was their usual confrontation and hostility, replaced by a single emotion—a desperate determination to save me.
The next second, they almost simultaneously made the same move.
They pushed aside the restraining firefighters and, like two crazed lions, recklessly charged into that smoke-filled, flame-engulfed building that could collapse at any moment!
"Don't go in! It's dangerous!"
"Come back!"
The shouts behind them were left far behind by their resolute silhouettes.
I stood in the crowd, watching this scene, completely dumbfounded, my mind blank. I opened my mouth, wanting to call out their names, but no sound would come from my throat.
I didn't know what they had experienced inside the fire.
I only knew that about ten minutes later, when firefighters finally controlled part of the blaze and rushed in to rescue people, Vincent Wells was the first to be carried out.
He was severely affected by the thick smoke, with burns of varying degrees on his face and arms, but fortunately, he remained relatively conscious.
I didn't see Francis Foster.
My heart, at that moment, was gripped tightly by an invisible hand, aching almost to the point of convulsion.
Just as I was anxiously about to rush forward to inquire, I heard Vincent Wells on the stretcher grabbing a firefighter's collar, using all his strength to roar.
"Quick... go save him!" He coughed violently, his voice hoarse, his eyes filled with terror and pain. "It's... it's him who saved me! Hurry..."
Before he could finish speaking, my gaze caught sight of another team of firefighters rushing out of the fire scene.
They were carrying a stretcher, and the person on it was completely blackened by smoke, his face unrecognizable. But I recognized that expensive suit on him, now burned and tattered.
His body lay motionless, one hand hanging limply over the edge of the stretcher.
In that moment, my world came crashing down.
I don't know how I rushed over there, I only remember pushing past everyone and lunging toward that stretcher.
I reached out with trembling hands, wanting to touch him, yet afraid to do so.
Tears, like beads from a broken string, poured frantically from my eyes.
I knelt beside the stretcher and for the first time, from the bottom of my heart, I hysterically cried out loud to this man whom I had both loved and hated.
"Francis Foster... wake up! Please wake up!"
From the ash-colored thick smoke, it seemed like his final echo came through.
But I could no longer hear anything clearly.
