Final Breath

gazed up at the leaves--so vibrant with their autumn colors.

That was when she saw the smoke.

It came from a slightly dilapidated, beige brick apartment building a half-block away, close to a busy intersection. Yet she was the only one on the street who seemed to notice something wrong.

Black clouds billowed out of an open window on the fourth floor. Sydney thought she heard screams.

She ran across the street--almost smack into a moving car. The car's brakes screeched and its horn blared. The driver continued down the street, screaming out at her, 'Stupid idiot! Want to end up in the hospital?'

But Sydney was gazing up at the building. Smoke continued to belch from the open window. In one of the windows next to it she saw the curtains on fire and flames licking at the glass.

Sydney tried to wave down another car for help, but the driver sped past her. Panic-stricken, she raced back across the street to the building's entrance. She pressed random buttons on the intercom. 'Hello?' she said loudly. 'Is someone there?' Finally, two or three people answered at once. 'There's a fire on the fourth floor!' Sydney said, the words rushing out.

'What?' one person said.

'Who the hell is this?' another tenant replied.

'There's a fire on your fourth floor!' Sydney repeated. 'Call 9-1-1!'

They all seemed to reply at once: 'Is this a joke?'

'What?'

'Hello--'

But someone buzzed her in. Sydney pushed open the door. The tiny lobby was a bit seedy and neglected. She could smell the smoke even down here. She saw the fire alarm by the old-fashioned mailboxes. There was no glass to break; it was just a lever in a red box with the words, FIRE--PULL, on it. Sydney tugged down on the switch, and suddenly a shrill alarm rang out.

For a second, she wasn't sure she'd done the right thing. She'd never in her life pulled a fire alarm. Would she somehow get into trouble for this?

Past the alarm, she could hear doors opening in the first-floor hallway and people lumbering down the stairs. She found a rubber door-stopper on the floor near the front entrance and used it to prop the door open. Then Sydney hurried outside. She kept wondering if she'd overreacted. Maybe the smoke had subsided. She ran across the street for another look.

By now, two other pedestrians had stopped to see what was happening. A car had pulled over, too.

The smoke continued to pour out of that fourth-floor window. Sydney noticed a phone booth by a small parking lot on her side of the street. She frantically dug into her purse for some change. Did she have to deposit money to call 9-1-1? She didn't know. Her hands shaking, she pushed thirty-five cents into the slots and punched 9-1-1.

Across the street, people started to wander out of the old building. They appeared annoyed and confused. One of them, an old woman swaddled in a bathrobe, gazed up and then her mouth dropped open. She pointed to the smoke for one of her neighbors.

On the phone, the 9-1-1 operator answered on the second ring: 'Police Emergency.'

'Yes, hello,' Sydney said, trying to keep calm. She glanced up at that same window again. 'I need to report a fire on the--on the fourth floor of an apartment building on First Hill. I just went into their lobby and rang their alarm. It's--um, on the corner of Terry and--and--' Sydney fell silent as she noticed another window open up beside the one emitting smoke. A young boy started to climb out to the ledge.

'Oh, God, there's a kid...I think he's going to jump!' Sydney told the operator. 'Th-th-the building is two blocks north of Madison--on Terry. Please, hurry!'

'Your name?'

'Sydney Jordan,' she said. She meant to hang up the phone, but the receiver fell off the hook and just dangled there. Sydney didn't notice. She was already racing across the street.

More tenants had drifted out of the building, but they just milled around by the front entrance. A few wandered across the street to look at the fire. But no one seemed to know what to do about the poor boy trapped on the ledge.

Sydney ran up to a gaunt young woman who had a pierced nostril and short, spiked green hair. She stood near the front door, gnawing at her fingernail and looking up at the boy.

'Do you know what apartment he's in?' Sydney asked her, shouting over the fire alarm.

She shrugged. 'He's Aidan Somebody on the fourth floor someplace. I don't know for sure.'

Sydney started to brush past her toward the door.

'Shit, don't try to go up there,' the girl said. 'Are you nuts?'

Sydney hesitated, then looked up at the boy. Flames shot out of the window beside him. He recoiled in terror and almost fell off the ledge.

Pushing past the dazed tenants, Sydney made her way along the narrow lawn in front of the building until she was directly under the boy. He was thin with dark hair and a handsome, almost angelic face. He wore jeans and a long-sleeve denim shirt that looked too big for him. Soot covered the shirt, and smudge marks marred his forehead and cheek. Sydney guessed he was about ten years old. He precariously stood on the tiny ledge, his back pressed against the beige brick edifice. Sydney could only imagine how hot those bricks were. Just a foot away from him, flames lashed out of the window, along with thick, black clouds of smoke. Trembling, he stared down at her.

'Aidan?' she called to him, over the incessant alarm. She thought she heard a siren in the distance. 'Aidan, is there anyone else in the apartment with you?'

Frozen on the ledge, he just gazed down at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but it seemed he couldn't get any words out.

'Honey, hang on!' she called. 'I think the fire department's on the way! Do you have any brothers or sisters? Is anyone else in there?'

Finally, he shook his head.

The smoke started to obscure her view of him. But she heard him coughing--and then the shrieks.

'Aidan! Can you hear me, honey?' Sydney glanced over her shoulder. She didn't see the fire trucks yet. The building alarm nearly drowned out the sirens--still too far away.

The smoke cleared for a moment, and she saw him up there. His shirt was on fire. Choking and screaming, he tried to pat down the flames. He went to grab on to the side of the open window to keep his balance. But his hand went right into the flames.

'Let go!' Sydney called to him. She automatically put her arms out in front of her. 'I'll catch you, honey! I'll break your fall! Aidan, let go!'

His shirt was still on fire. He pushed himself from the ledge--away from her.

But Sydney ran under him, her arms outstretched. She didn't know what she was thinking--or doing. She acted on sheer gut instinct. She just needed to break his fall.

Sydney saw the boy's thin body as it plunged toward her.

Someone screamed. Sydney didn't see who it was. She was already blinded.

All of his weight came crashing down on her. Something snapped in her neck--or her spine--she wasn't sure which. But she heard it--a loud, horrible crack.

Then there was nothing.

For a very long time, there was nothing.

Later, they told Sydney that when she'd briefly regained consciousness in the hospital that night, the first thing she'd asked had been: 'Is the boy alive? Is he okay?' Sydney didn't remember; she'd been doped up on painkillers and medication that first week. For a while, she was on a respirator, and the doctors thought the injury to her spinal cord might leave her paralyzed. Emergency surgery helped save her punctured lung, and they inserted a rod and some screws for her shattered femur. The other leg was fractured. She'd also broken her left arm, sprained the right one, and dislocated her shoulder. It seemed no organ or appendage escaped injury--from spleen trauma to a sprained ankle.

The doctors still weren't sure she'd ever walk again. One thing for certain, her skating days were over. Sydney's dream of competing in the Olympics and all those years of sacrifice and hard work had been snuffed out in just a few moments. It was all gone.