When he came home that night, there was liquor on his breath.

     I could smell it as soon as he sat down at the bar.  It scared me; Gary's never been a big drinker, and whenever he did choose something alcoholic, he always had beer.  But this was hard liquor, the kind people use to try to drown their sorrows.

     He had a reason for it, I suppose.  Up until that apartment fire, he'd managed to save everyone; sometimes in the nick of time, sometimes when it seemed too late, but he always did it.  Jeremiah Mason was his first failure, and it hit him hard.

     Erica told me that he looked awful, even worse than the way he sounded--which was bad enough.  His voice was so cool and raspy, tired-sounding, and he was so curt with his words. . .when you can't see a person's moods, you become quite adept at reading their voices, and Gary's was. . .  He sounded switched off, somehow.  As if he was sleepwalking.

     The whole thing must have been a nightmare for him.  I don't think he slept after it happened; apparently he wore the same clothes three days in a row, and I know that he didn't shave because I felt the roughness of his face when he hugged me.

     Worrying about him was my nightmare.  He'd closed himself off so completely that when he told us about his obituary, I was certain that he would actually find a way to make it happen.  He seemed so sure that he couldn't prevent it--why else would he have written the note to the lawyer?  Why else did I have to try to reassure his parents when they called back after he had left, worried about the message their son had left?  Gary can inspire such great caring--he certainly does in me--and when he was practically falling apart, there was nothing I could do but try to help him.

     I shouldn't have.  It just made him close himself off further.  Oh, he frightened me. . .he seemed so alone, so separated from his grief.  I wanted him to deal with it and move on, quickly, but he just wasn't ready.  I guess the carpet store helped him, somehow.

     He hasn't told me about what happened during that horrible, terrifying time he was trapped.  All I know was that when he was rescued, when he hugged me, I could feel the tears on his cheeks and the acceptance in his soul, and he seemed truly glad to be alive.  That must mean something, right?

     Gary Hobson is a good person.  If he hasn't realized that through all this. . .no.  He has.  Gary knows that he helps people; if, for a time, he lost faith in himself. . .well, maybe that was a good thing.  Even good people can make mistakes.  Maybe it's better that Gary realizes that he's not infallible, that there's always an element of risk.

     Maybe that will help the next time.  Keep him from losing himself again.

End.

Don't forget to feed the author!   Jayne Leitch

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