Can You Keep It Saintly?

6 “Fireproof”

Year 2017

Tatum tossed and turned intensely in his bed in his deep sleep, the sweat beading on his forehead as he relived the traumatic events from his past. A nightmare, vivid and terrifying. A nightmare that he has been getting ever since he was younger. A nightmare that still scares him. A nightmare that still haunts him. It was a memory that haunted him, one that continued to evoke a deep sense of fear and sadness that permeated his dreams, turned into nightmares and even carried over into his waking hours. The images of the violence and grief haunted him almost daily in his dreams, leaving him drenched in sweat and panting with fear.

As Tatum sat there, still shaken by the nightmare, he began to quietly recite a mantra to himself, a mantra that he had been practicing over time to help find some semblance of calm. He whispered softly under his breath, “It is just a nightmare. It is not real. You are safe. You are in control. It is just a nightmare. It is not real. You are safe. You are in control. It is just a nightmare. It is not real. You are safe. You are in control.” The repetition of these words served as a grounding anchor for him to stay in reality, a reminder that the horrific visions he witnessed in his dreams were not his reality, and that he could overcome them. “It is just a nightmare. It is not real. You are safe. You are in control.”

Tatum bowed his head slowly and massaged his temples, trying to relieve the throbbing headache that was about to get the better and the absolute worst of him. The whispering mantra kept repeating in his mind like a continual background noise, and the images of the nightmare still persisted in his thoughts. He kept saying the phrases in spite of the headache, thinking that maybe they might give him some tranquility and emotional control.

Tatum had reached out for professional help for years now, seeking therapy in an attempt to overcome the nightmarish visions that haunted his dreams. While therapy had provided some respite and a bit of help here and there, Tatum found that whenever he experienced excessive stress, the nightmare would return, its grip just as powerful and terrifying as before, sometimes more. As he jolted opened his eyes, he gasped for deep air into his lungs as if he had completely forgotten about how to breathe, abruptly sitting up from his bed, his chest heaving with each shuddering breath one after another. The recollection of the traumatic event still lingered in his mind, causing a profound sense of sadness and longing for her, the woman he had lost.

“f**k…” He muttered under his breath and reached for his bottle of medicine.

Tatum’s doctor had prescribed him a combination of medications to help him sleep better and alleviate his nightmares. He was taking a combination of trazodone which was a sedative-hypnotic medication used to treat his insomnia, and prazosin which was a blood pressure medication that has shown some great success in reducing his intense nightmares. Tatum had been taking these medications for a while now, and they had helped him to get a more restful sleep and reduce the frequency of his nightmares. However, he still struggled from time to time with vivid dreams and disturbing nightmares.

After taking his medication, Tatum let out a heavy sigh as he surveyed the small, cramped room that would now serve as his new abode. Despite his initial revulsion for the place, he was stuck with it for the time being. His thoughts drifted to his current financial situation, and he opened his wallet, only to find that he had about five dollars left. This realization hit him like a sobering blow, forcibly dragging him back to the harsh realities he now faced.

Tatum lay back down on the mattress, his gaze fixed on the ceiling above. “f*****g cheap ass hotel.” He muttered angrily under his breath. The medication began to take effect, lulling him closer and closer to sleep once again. As he waited for his body to fully surrender once again to the soothing embrace of slumber, his thoughts drifted to his initial arrival in the small town of Pine Ridge. He recalled how he had loathed it upon his arrival, its stark contrast to the bustling cities he was so accustomed to.

The memory of Santiago’s orders replayed in his mind, the task of earning his own salary to save up money to pay off his father for the damages he had caused still irritating him immensely. Tatum’s total frustration boiled over once again as he grabbed the pillow and shouted against it, “Why the hell, Dad?!” He let out a heavy sigh through his parted lips, as he pulled his face away from the pillow, his agitation evident in his sharp movements. Impulsively, he hurled the pillow across the room, channeling his anger and aggression into the action. The pillow hit the wall with a thud, and Tatum lay back on the bed, running his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration.

His mind then ran to a distant memory of a doctor who had said, “We have identified a mass or tumor in your brain that has been impacting your memory. It has caused some instances of temporary forgetfulness, which may occur sporadically. With treatment, we may be able to manage these symptoms and improve your memory function.”

Exhaustion finally began to take its toll, and Tatum closed his eyes, surrendering to the weight of his fatigue. He massaged his temples gently, trying to alleviate the lingering headache that plagued him. As he sank further into the depths of sleep, his worries and fears began to fade into the background, replaced by the peaceful realms of unconsciousness. With each passing moment, his body grew heavier and his thoughts grew fainter, until he finally slipped into the oblivion of rest.

With the sun starting to peek through the clouds of the five o’clock morning air, and the sounds of birds singing in the background, Tatum laced up his running shoes and pulled his hoodie over his head, as if he was trying to cover his face and his identity, even though people in town does not really know about him despite how famous he was in the bigger cities of the state. He had made it a habit to go for a morning jog before he would start his day, finding absolute solace and peace in the routine movement which has been what his doctor had told him to do.

The rhythmic pounding of his shoes against the pavement seemed to quiet the thoughts swirling in his mind, and the cool air helped clear his head before the day’s challenges arose. The faint sound of sirens in the distance was a reminder of the world outside his daily ritual, but for now, he focused on himself and the simple act of jogging.

On his second lap around the small park, a commotion caught Tatum’s attention. As he approached, he noticed a burning building and firemen rushing to manage the situation while the residents of the quaint apartment building were outside in horror and fright with tears bawling over their cheeks. But amid the chaos, he heard a faint cry from the fifth floor – a young boy clutching a barking dog in fear who were both crying for help but the building was burning bright against the cold morning. He was still panting from his jog, his mind running faster, calculating the whole scene in front of him, and he had seen worse before.

“My son is still inside! Please help him!! My eight year old son and our pet dog! Please!!” The hysterical mother was crying and begging to the firefighters.

The firefighters standing outside the burning building understood the dire situation that confronted them. Everyone was all in panic and fright. The firefighters were well aware of their primary responsibility to prevent the fire from spreading any further, and with that came the inherent risk of losing more lives. The building was absolutely weakening with each passing minute, and the firefighters could not risk sending in additional personnel to rescue the trapped boy and the dog. The danger of a total collapse and the consequences it would bring to both the rescuers and the survivors were too great to be ignored. The firefighters knew that to act carelessly would not only endanger their lives but also pose a greater threat to the entire community.

“f*****g pussies.” Tatum muttered under his breath while his instincts as a black belt in martial arts and former military personnel who served the army for five years kicked in. Without missing a beat, he raced towards the building, driven by a sense of duty and a desire to help the child and the dog in danger.

“Hey!! Who the f**k was that?!” The firefighter outside the burning building yelled angrily. “Get him out there!”

“Sir, the whole entrance would collapse soon! We can not have more men in. Three of our men are already injured!”

Tatum entered the burning building without absolute hesitation, his gaze darting around the place to assess the situation. Dire. It was absolutely dire and he knew that he was going to move as quickly as he could. Covering his mouth and nose with the back of his hand, he moved hastily, determined to reach the fifth floor where the trapped boy and the dog awaited rescue. As he sprinted up the stairs of the fire exit which was also burning, he carefully counted each floor, acutely aware of the number of steps separating him from the boy in danger. Every moment counted, and Tatum quickened his pace, propelled by a mix of urgency and caution, as he climbed higher and higher.

As soon as he reached the floor, he grabbed something metallic huge enough to barge into the burning room, as he was inhaling fumes. Yet, he was determined to save the little boy and the dog out of the building that was collapsing.

“I got you!!” Tatum yelled at the little boy who looked as if he was going to pass out soon. “Hold on tight to me, do you understand?! You have to trust me!” He yelled aloud through the burning and cracking sound while the little boy, though passing out soon, held tight onto Tatum as much as he could.

The entrance door of the room was now engulfed in flames, there was no way out to where he had entered the building from earlier. “Damn it.” Tatum muttered angrily under his breath as he carried the boy and the small dog in his arms. Tatum glanced down the balcony, his heart pounding as the firefighters below frantically prepared the massive inflatable crash mat. With no time to think twice, he gathered his courage and leapt from the burning building, desperately clutching the frightened boy and the small dog tightly in his arms. As he plummeted towards the ground, he focused all his attention on protecting the two precious lives in his care. The rush of air and the imminent impact awaited him as he free-fell towards the safety of the crash mat, praying for a safe landing.

As Tatum plummeted towards the mat below, holding tightly onto the little boy and the dog tightly, he braced himself for the impact while securing the two cargoes in his arms. After hitting the inflated mat, he felt the shock of the landing ripple through his body, but the cushioning provided by the mat absorbed much of the impact and helped break his fall. His vision swam for a moment as he struggled to catch his breath, and his arms instinctively tightened around the boy and the dog, ensuring they were safe.

The sight of the firefighters surrounding him and rushing to his aid gradually filtered into his awareness. “Get the medic!!” The firefighter screamed to the ambulance.

Tatum lay on the inflated crash mat, panting heavily as he stared up at the clear blue sky. The sound of blaring sirens and terrified screams flooded his ears, but all he could truly hear was the rapid drumbeat of his own heart, so loud that he could feel the pulse thrumming beneath his skin. The adrenaline rush was slowly beginning to subside, and a mix of exhaustion and shock washed over him. For a moment, he lay motionless, trying to process the intensity of the situation he had just endured.

He squeezed his eyes tightly, and then opened them as soon as another man told him, “Were you planning to die young man? Running towards a burning building like you are some kind of hero? What do you think of yourself? Fireproof?!”

“I used to serve in the army, sir.” Tatum answered firmly but proudly, as he accepted the helping hand from the firefighter who helped him stand now. “I had to do what I had to do to save that kid and the dog.”

After Tatum was led to a nurse, he noticed that the female nurse had a dark blond pixie cut and had some healing bruises on her arms, and noticed a black eye, though fading, was visible along with that cut on her lip. “Firefighters beat up nurses in here?” Tatum asked nonchalantly while his eyes glued on her almond shaped baby blue eyes.