I consider myself a pretty normal guy; 46 years old, long ago divorced, no kids, retired from the fire department after twenty years. I supplement my pension by selling equipment to fire departments and rescue squads. I enjoy softball with my buddies, watch movies, travel a bit with old friends, and date occasionally, but don't have a steady girlfriend; don't need or want one. Like any guy I have desires and fantasies, but none that anyone would consider too far out there. Once or twice I've acted on a few of them, but most remain locked away in my head. Yep, pretty much normal, like any other guy.
I am very passionate about animals, especially dogs. A good dog will never do you wrong, and all dogs are good as far as I'm concerned. When I retired I decided to use my experience in swift water rescue and founded a nonprofit agency called Four Paws First. We save pets caught in natural disasters, like hurricanes and floods. I don't work alone. Jessie is my partner and co-founder of Four Paws. She's a fire fighter, is also swift water trained, and feels the same way about dogs as me. Even though we've worked together for years, I didn't know much about her, except that she's five years younger than me, also single, and doesn't have any kids. What I did know was that she's an outstanding rescuer, and as passionate as I am about animals. She seemed normal like me. At least I thought so.
"Hey, don't go in there," Jessie shouted over the sound of the water that flowed past the ramshackle house before us. "You know better than that."
"I can hear him in there," I called back. "He sounds desperate."
Jessie rolled her eyes. "It's not safe and you know it. There's no telling what's going on inside." My partner was telling me what I already knew. A flooded house is a potential death trap, especially in waist-deep, rapidly moving water. The frantic yelping and whining increased as if the dog trapped inside could hear my partner warning me off, sentencing it to death. "I'll spot you," she said with resignation knowing that I was hooked. She clipped the lead rope to the harness around my waist. "Be careful and don't be an idiot."
I nodded, aware that I was about to do put her in as much danger as me. Jessie clipped her safety rope to a tree, then wrapped the one attached to me around her waist. While she paid out the rope I forged through the churning water toward the half-submerged house. I flicked on my headlamp in the growing darkness.
When I gripped the empty doorframe of the dilapidated house and prepared to enter, a chunk of wood broke off in my gloved hand. "This isn't good," I thought to myself. If the exterior was in such bad shape, the interior might be even worse. There was no telling how unstable the whole structure might be. The whining from inside pitched up a notch. I ignored my reservations and stepped inside.
Bits of furniture and old clothing floated about in the swirling water. Photographs, books, letters and papers glided by; ghosts of a life, or lives, washed away by the hurricane that had overwhelmed the region. More whining and yelping came from deep inside the house. "You shouldn't be doing this," I murmured out loud. "Not a good idea." I moved deeper inside pulling along the rope that connected me to my partner and entered a narrow hallway leading to the back of the house. The light from my headlamp played along the walls. Framed pictures of smiling kids, and proud adults came into view. What had happened to the occupants? Why had they abandoned their pet? Why had they left a family member behind? My boot struck an unseen object below the water. The floor beneath my feet felt boggy.
Whine, yelp, bark, "Save me, please," the sounds came from deeper into the house than I knew was safe to go. I pushed forward through the rising tide. My headlamp penetrated the darkness of the last room and there he was. The poor dog was balanced on top of a dresser, hooked to a taut leash that disappeared beneath the black water. He was frantic, panicked, terrified, and stunned that he was, alone without his humans. The look he gave me said, "Thank god you're here! Please help me!" I pulled out my knife and sliced his leash in half. He immediately jumped into my arms and licked my face. I hugged him tight, trying to calm him and communicate reassurance. He looked at me again as if saying, "Get me the hell out of here." I laughed and turned to exit the room. "Good idea," I said out loud. That was when my left foot dropped through the floor.
For an instant we both went under. Sputtering, I pulled myself and the dog, up above the water with my right leg. I yanked my left intending to continue with my exit, but my foot didn't budge. I pulled again harder, only to realize that I was stuck tight. Suppressing panic, I gave the line back to Jessie three sharp tugs, which was our signal for help. All I could do was hope that she got it and would reach us before we both drowned in the rising water. Three tugs came back down the rope in response, Jessie was on her way. "It's okay buddy," I said to the dog. He looked at me hopefully.
There was nothing that I could do except wait for my partner. If I let go of the dog and tried to free myself, there was a good chance he'd panic and drown, possibly both of us. If I continued to try and force my foot free, I might get even more stuck or fall through the floor. Training told me that our best chance for survival was to wait for my partner. I stood still and shone my headlight around the small room. What I saw there stunned me. In all the years I'd been a firefighter, I'd seen a lot of stuff that most never do; dead bodies burnt beyond recognition, trauma from car accidents and personal violence, and decadence that most consider beyond belief. I'd thought that nothing would surprise me anymore. That evening, in the glow of my light my jaw dropped. The walls of the room were plastered with photos of naked women. Every square inch was covered with picture after picture of bare flesh, thighs spread wide, naked breasts, shaved pubic mons up close, glistening, damp genitalia. After a moment I realized that it wasn't pictures of multiple women, but just one anonymous woman, in many different poses. "My god," I heard myself say. Jessie's voice called from the hallway, "Hang on. I'm coming."
"Umm, you might want to..." I shouted.
"I'm almost there. You idiot. I told you not to go in." It was both an admonishment and an expression of hope that I was okay.
The beam from the headlamp caught another photo and my jaw dropped farther. On the upper left hip of the woman was a distinctive tattoo that I'd seen only once before, when I qualified for my swift water rescue certification along with another trainee. It was on the hip of my partner who had come to save me. I stood frozen in place, my light motionless on the tattoo in the picture as Jessie entered the room. She looked first at me then the picture. Her eyes went wide. "Fuck!" She exclaimed quietly looking at me, then the picture. Panic then resignation washed across her face. "Let's get you out of here." She ducked under the water and pulled my foot free. When she rose up her headlamp burned into my eyes as she studied me. I didn't move. My own headlight remained fixed on the incriminating photograph. "Mike," she said quietly, but firmly. "We need to go ... now" There was urgency in her voice. I wasn't sure if it was about the rising flood waters or the display on the wall, but she sounded full of concern. It shook me from my reverie and I nodded. The dog in my arms whined, agreeing with my partner. I stepped forward and followed her out of the room and to safety.
We trudged back to our flat-bottomed skiff through chest high water. I placed the dog into the boat and steadied it while Jessies climbed in. She pulled me up next and fired up the outboard, while I wound up the ropes. In silence we motored back to our truck, safely parked on a high bank well away from the river and the now sunken house. After trailering the boat, drying off the thankful dog, and stowing our gear, we drove to the temporary animal shelter without saying a word. Thirty minutes later, in full darkness, we were finished with the rescue. It was the last day of our deployment and we were scheduled to head home the next day. She'd fly and I'd drive the truck and boat back, two states away to the hometown that we both shared. "Dinner's on me tomorrow," she said. I began to protest. "Please," she asked. "I'd really like to do that ... and we can talk then."
I nodded and headed toward the makeshift showers the Red Cross had set up.
"See you tomorrow night. You promise?"
"Of course Jess," I answered.
The five hour drive home went by in a blur. Thousands of unanswerable questions ran through my head: Were those really pictures of Jessie on the wall in that house? How did they get there? What did she know about them? Why didn't she seem shocked? Why would she do that? What else about her didn't I know? I pulled into the driveway of my small home not remembering much of the drive. It was well after four o-clock in the afternoon by the time that I finished storing the boat and our gear. A ding on my cell phone signaled a text message from Jessie. "Hope the drive was easy. Thanks for doing that. Got the stuff done that I needed to do this morning. Dinner at seven ok?" I had forgotten that we'd agreed to get together that night. "Sure. Where?" I replied. Her answer came back immediately, "My house. How about ribeyes on the grill, baked sweet potatoes, and something green for health?" My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten good food in a week. "Sounds terrific," I texted back. "You bring the wine. And bring a decent bourbon for after dinner. I'm all out. None of that Jack shit." Good alcohol was another passion that Jessie and I shared.
I pulled up to her house at exactly seven o'clock. I'd never been there before despite the years that we'd worked together. It was a modest sized house, with an impeccable front yard that someone put a lot of time and money into. On ringing the doorbell, I heard the low, loud barks of excitement from the pitbull that Jessie had rescued from the local animal shelter. As soon as the door opened I was assaulted by fifty pounds of tail wagging dog. "Hey Phoebe. How are ya girl?" I knelt down and gave the snow white dog a big hug. She immediately rolled over so that I could scratch her belly.
"Where's Bandit?" Jessie asked about my dog.
"Left him with the sitter. I didn't have time to get him this afternoon. I'm sure he's perfectly happy there, probably doesn't even miss me."
