Fire is chaos-intense heat converting wood, coal, or a beloved home into a useless pile of ash.
Daniel learned to love fire as a boy. He lived in a log cabin in the Rocky Mountains near St. Mary's Glacier. His father taught him to chop wood, stack it into tidy rectangles, and then place it in the cast iron stove in the proper geometry for maximum burning. Orange, glowing embers were the last things Daniel saw as he drifted to sleep most nights.
But on October 7th, 1893, those orange embers turned into fickle fiends that engulfed his family's cabin in fire. Some friends in Idaho Springs were kind enough to take them in. Then Daniel's dad found work in Denver and the family left the Rocky Mountains for the big city.
Daniel desperately missed St. Mary's Glacier. And the home his family lived in now had modern gas heating, so he lost his connection with the glowing embers—until the 4th of July parade in downtown Denver in 1894.
"Wow! What's that!" he asked his dad.
"That's a fire engine son," replied his father.
"What does it do?" asked Daniel.
"It pumps water to spray on burning buildings."
Daniel imagined Pegasus attached to the shiny red carriage flying over the Rockies to save their burning home. He looked at the horses drawing the carriage and the men sitting on the buck seat waving to the crowd. The iconic Dalmatian-white with black spots—sat next to the firefighters. Daniel had never seen a polka dotted dog before. One day I want to sit in that seat Daniel thought to himself.
If fire is chaos, the key to fighting it is order. When Daniel joined the fire department that's the first thing he learned in his training. The hoses are folded a certain way so they can be deployed quickly; and axes are stored just right, so the firemen could whisk them out to remove the fuel and starve the feeding fire. Each man on his team had an assigned cot and locker; and pants and boots were lined up for maximum speed in dressing, sliding down the pole and pulling out of the garage. Order is life. Chaos is death.
That's why he got scared when he saw the light. He was living in the newest firehouse in the city and it was built with electric lights installed; but this light had no source. It just floated up the stairs.
"Hey Marty, what's that?" asked Daniel.
Marty had been napping and rolled over, his eyes only half-open, "What?"
"That light, by the stairs. What is it?" asked Daniel.
Marty flopped back on his pillow, "I don't see anything Danny Boy."
"Marty!" Daniel was irritated. "Sit up and look at the stairs."
Now Marty was irritated too, "What! . . . Holy Toledo!"
It was Halloween and the museum was planning its annual ghost tour. Nicole never advertised her ghost-talking abilities, but her friend Janice talked her into being a ghost tour guide. Now she wasn't so sure. This was the most active building she'd ever been in. And what was that horrible mess of evil in the basement? Luckily, that would be closed for the tour. The main floor felt fine, but she felt a distinctive energy shift on the landing. Janice passed Nicole on the stairs, "They said they were going to set up tables and chairs up here and we'll do a presentation before the tour."
"What tables and chairs!" screamed Marty. "They can't do that, we have work to do. What if we get a call . . ."
Daniel patted Marty on the arm. "It's okay. Let's keep watching."
Patrick came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. "What's that light doing there?" he stammered.
The light morphed from a cylindrical shape into the form of a man dressed in a Roman soldier's uniform and carrying a white flag emblazoned with St. Florian's cross, symbol of firefighters. "Good evening gentlemen."
Marty screamed. Daniel stammered. Patrick dropped his towel.
"I've come to get you out of here," said the Roman soldier.
Daniel was frozen, but managed to stammer, "We can't leave, we're on duty."
The Roman soldier leaned his flag against a wall. He walked to Daniel, clapped his hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes, "My friend, you haven't been on duty since May 30, 1910.
"NO!" screamed Marty, "No!" He grabbed the flag and thrust it back at the soldier. "I don't know who you are, but you take your stupid flag and ride that light beam to hell!"
Marty stormed out of the bunkroom towards the lockers. "Patrick, cover yourself up!"
Patrick picked up his towel and wrapped it around his waist. "Who are you?" he asked.
The Roman soldier saluted and said, "Florian, patron saint of firefighters. That's my cross on your shirt there," he pointed to the badge sewn to Daniel's breast pocket, then unfurled his flag to make his point.
"Hey Janice," said Nicole, "Check out this locker room."
Marty saw the women wander into the locker room, so he ducked into the bathroom.
Janice joined her friend Nicole. "Kinda thick in here."
"No kidding," said Nicole, "But not as bad as the basement. That's a mess! I don't even want to know what's down there. Let's check out the captain's office."
The women wandered out of the locker room and Marty peaked out of the bathroom. He could see that weird Roman soldier talking to Daniel and Patrick. He couldn't hear the words, but he knew what they were saying.
"There's an alignment coming, and if we can get you to the right place at the right time . . ." Florian stopped talking and let Daniel absorb the implications.
"I can't leave Marty," Daniel said. He looked at Patrick, "You go."
"Go where!" Marty walked toward Daniel and Patrick and glared at Florian.
"Nowhere Marty," said Daniel. "We can't leave, we're on duty. We could get a call any minute now."
"Like the call for the fire at Spratlen-Anderson?" said Marty.
"Yeah Marty," said Daniel. "That was a doozie, wasn't it!"
"What was it they were storing on the second floor?" asked Marty, "Hemp rope wasn't it? Boy that stuff burns hot! And having to climb those stairs to the second floor. That's where you collapsed."
"Yeah, Marty," said Daniel. "I own you my life for getting me outta there."
"Danny-Boy-you don't have a life to owe me," Marty stared hard at his best friend and brother-in-law."
"You know," said Daniel.
Marty sunk onto his cot and put his head in his hands. "The best day of my life was June 12, 1908, the day I married your sister Beverly. How could an ugly miner's son end up with such a beautiful, sweet woman?"
Daniel sat next to Marty on the cot and put his arm around his shoulders, "She was nuts about you Marty."
"What broke my heart in that stairwell . . ." the lump in Marty's throat made him pause for a moment, ". . . as my lungs were filling with smoke, I knew I would never again step foot in our cottage and say 'Honey, I'm home!' and have her run up to me and throw her arms around me and kiss me."
Tears rolled down Daniel's cheeks, "I thought you didn't know we were dead."
"Oh I knew," said Marty. "I just didn't want to know. I just wanted to come back to this firehouse day after day, and go through my routine, and curl up on my cot at night so I could pretend I was asleep and dreaming. And in my dreams I would walk up the stairs to our cottage . . ."
Patrick sat down on the cot across from Marty and Daniel and wiped his tears with his towel.
"Oh for pity sake Patrick!" cried Marty, "put some clothes on. We're leaving."
Nicole and Janice leaned against the counter talking with the museum director. "I think we're all ready for the Halloween Ghost Tour on Saturday," said Janice.
The museum director had some more questions, but Nicole left Janice to answer them. She was drawn to the fire engine. She walked over and looked in its general direction, but was really staring into space. A strange feeling had been building around her all evening. She was certain the place was full of ghosts, but it didn't feel like other haunted places she had been. Energies were gathering around her and weighing her down.
"Janice, we need to go," Nicole said.
"We can't go now," said Janice. "Charles is setting up his detection gear in the basement. He wants to record what's down there."
Nicole grabbed Janice's arm and looked her hard in the eyes, "No really, we need to go."
Janice saw the strange look in Nicole's eyes. "Yes," she said, "I think we do."
"So this is how it works," said Florian. "The woman with the short hair is a portal."
"A portal?" said Patrick, who was now looking quite dapper in his firefighter's uniform.
"Yes," said Florian, "She's like a canal that connects rivers of energy in the spirit world. That's how I was able to get here." Florian reached into his uniform and pulled out a drawstring bag filled with tokens emblazoned with St. Florian's Cross. He handed one to Daniel, "This is your token into the vortex . . ."
"Vortex?" asked Daniel.
"Yes," replied Florian as he continued to pass out tokens, "Do not loose it or you will not make it to the afterlife and you'll be stuck between worlds again."
Patrick and Marty examined their tokens, then looked up to see a crowd gathering around them. The fallen firefighters of Denver Fire Department, Station No. 1 were not the only spirits who were going to be leaving the Near Earth Realms that night. Clearly, Florian had been a busy saint, gathering up firefighters from all over the country who had died in the line of duty, but hadn't found their way to the Afterlife.
Janice climbed behind the wheel of her SUV. Nicole climbed into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt, "Oh my God get us out of here!" she exclaimed.
"Where to?" said Janice.
Oh yeah, thought Nicole, I hadn't considered that. Then a heron appeared in her mind's eye. "Belmar Lake!" she exclaimed.
Florian jumped on the roof of the car holding his flag and looped a rope of energy around the luggage rack. He was riding the SUV like a circus horse. "Remember men! Hang onto your tokens!" And as the car turned onto Colfax, a crew of firefighters was pulled along behind through the magnetism of the magical disks.
When Daniel died in 1910, horses and automobiles jostled for dominion over Denver's streets. But Daniel didn't see a horse in sight until he saw a picture of a sleek, orange and blue horse head on a curvy building. "Marty, what do you suppose that is?" he asked.
"I have no idea!" said Marty awestruck.
"It's a gladiator coliseum," screamed Florian, "they play something there called football."
"Look at that enormous road!" exclaimed Patrick as they drove across the bridge over I-25. "I'll bet fire trucks have no problem getting around this place!"
As the car drove through the suburb of Lakewood, Daniel marveled at the cars and houses and people and businesses they past.
When he and Marty died in that stairwell at Spratlen-Anderson, the first thing he saw was Marty's spirit standing over his lifeless body weeping and moaning, "I can't be dead. What about Beverly? What about the baby?"
Baby! Daniel didn't know Beverly was pregnant. He guessed she would have told the family soon.
All Daniel could think to do was embrace his brother-in-law's spirit and take him back to Fire House No. 1 where Marty continued to deny he was dead. Daniel sensed it was wrong, sensed there was somewhere else he was suppose to be; but he couldn't leave Marty alone like this. So he stayed with his beloved friend.
"Turn here," Nicole said to Janice. The SUV turned into the parking lot of the Belmar Library, next to the lake. Nicole jumped out almost before the car had come to a complete stop and marched to the edge of the water.
Florian turned to face the rear of the car and address his trailing audience, "Gentlemen, our guide should open the portal soon. It will stay open for a while, so no need to rush."
But the gang of firemen would have none of that. They crowded behind Nicole like hungry men pressed against the door of a closed restaurant; all of them, except Marty. He felt compelled to explore a small plaza to the north of the library where he found the Fallen Firefighters Memorial. Carved in marble were the names of men who had died fighting fires, imposing order on chaos with water and axes. And there it was – Michael Martin Morris and Daniel J. Fox, died May 30, 1910. His thoughts turned to his beloved wife Beverly. Had she given birth? Had she remarried? Had she or his children lived to see his name carved in marble?
Nicole felt the crowd of spirits building up behind her. She looked out over the dark water to the island in the middle of the lake. In the spring, the dead trees would serve as nests for cormorants and herons. On this chilly October night only mallards and geese fed at the edge of the shore. She set her intention that all should reach their highest good; and it happened just like it always did when she served in this capacity. A swirl of light filled the sky and a stampede of spirits hurled themselves through the opening. Nicole marveled at the light show and was amazed that the waterfowl were unperturbed by the tornado of energy.
Florian walked up behind Nicole and whispered in her ear in a voice that she would never hear, "Thank you old friend". He turned to look at Marty and Daniel, the last two spirits left on the lakeshore. "Well?"
Out of the vortex walked a lovely young woman in a waist shirt and ankle length skirt with her hair straggling out of a bun. She walked up and kissed Marty hard on the lips, "Oh honey, I'm so glad you're finally home." She linked arms with Daniel, "Mom and Dad are coming for dinner. You coming?"
Nicole could not see the trio disappear into the vortex, but she did see it close. She slumped back into the SUV and looked at Janice. "What the heck was THAT all about?"
Janice patted her hand and said, "I just hope you left a few spooks for the Halloween Ghost Tour."