Salvation

By Chris Enness

Salvation is the story of how tragic, unforeseen circumstances can plunge ordinary people like us into a world of lost hope and despair. Could this be fate, destiny, or bad luck, playing their hands? Do the choices we make, and the actions we take, determine our future? Some people choose to run, others stand and fight. What will you do?
Jack, a New York firefighter, plunges into darkness and despair following a distressing fire with tragic consequences.
Olivia, a rising star in the sporting world, has everything at her feet. The fans love her, sports commentators adore her, the media adores her. Her success seems inevitable, but can she continue her meteoric rise?
Scott, a handsome, successful, and brilliant investigative journalist. Discovers a shocking truth about someone who doesn’t want to be found.
Ashleigh will do anything to protect her family. But at what personal cost?
An exciting new novel about how life can present people with unexpected challenges. Challenges that rock their very fabric.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Feb 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781684716951

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ENNESS

Copyright © 2020 Chris Enness.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1696-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1695-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020900429

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 01/24/2020

CHAPTER 1

JUST GIVE IT A CHANCE

"Ladies and gentlemen, are we witnessing history in the making?" Television commentator, Brad Shaw, for the Golf channel was rhetorically asking the millions of viewers worldwide watching this, the culmination of the final major Golf competition of the year. The millions of viewers that had tuned in to see if young golfing sensation, Olivia Mason, could indeed create history.

Olivia eyed up her putt; the ball had stopped thirty-one feet past the hole and was nestled up against the collar of the green. I’m going to have to hit down on the ball; she told herself, just give it a chance. She was forcing herself to concentrate, but her mind was racing. The adrenaline was coursing through her veins during this seventy-second and final hole of the competition, it was a battle to control it. Her approach shot should have hit the green closer to the front, on the same level as the hole, but the ball landed well past the hole and almost ran off. When she consulted her caddy about club selection, they agreed that hitting a natural eight iron would give them the right yardage. They were 150 yards from the pin, the pin was situated twenty paces on and five paces to the left of the green. The front of the green was uphill at first, and then it leveled towards the hole.

She was level in score with Brooke Hennesey at sixteen under par, and Brooke had landed her approach shot short of the green and chipped very close to the pin, a sure thing par. To win the hole, Olivia needed a birdy, a one-under-par score of three shots. The plan was to carry the ball with a little right to left curve in the air, to the front of the green and let it release up towards the pin, leaving an uphill putt of no more than ten feet, at least that was the plan anyhow.

An eight iron would have left her on the green and short of the pin. Olivia and her caddy had factored in the lie of the ball, yardage to the pin, wind conditions, air humidity, and the contours of the green. They had, however, missed the potential impact of the adrenaline. They had agreed an eight iron was the right club, Just swing easy, her caddy said just before she hit the approach shot. She tried to swing easy. The adrenaline made her swing faster, stronger, more powerfully than usual. She hit the eight iron as far as she would typically hit a six-iron, in fact, a further twenty yards than expected. The club and ball connection were pure; the ball set off on the intended path but seemed to hang in the air for an age as it carried past the pin. If it weren’t for the backspin and the fact that the green was soft, it would have bounced off the green and ended up by the hospitality stands, but it had held up, just. This was a break, and both Olivia and her caddy knew it.

Oh my goodness, she’s over hit it. Brad told the television viewers. There’s still an outside chance, but it’s looking unlikely now. Surely this dream is now over?

She had sunk these shots many times before. But this time it was different. She noticed that the Green was sloping away from her, and broke from left to right, before leveling out. She knew that the green was smooth, and this would make it fast. You can do this, she thought to herself, I’ve done this a dozen times. Olivia visualized the travel path of the ball. Have you got this? Can you see the line to take Liv? she heard her caddy’s calming reassuring voice. She finds his voice helpful; it calms her down and reminds her of marshmallows in hot chocolate. He was bending over, reading the green behind her. He whispered to her, Can you see the break? It’s downhill too, so it’ll just need a tap. Tom said, referring to the slope of the putting green. He was a good caddy, instinctively knowing when to offer advice, consolation, motivation, or those precious calming words. He knew her well, and he should do too, he was her father.

Tom, Olivia’s father, was her caddy and manager. He had worked with Olivia from the very first time she had shown an interest in golf. He adored his little girl, although, now a seasoned professional, Olivia felt too old to be referred to as his little girl. But it made him happy, so she didn’t let it bother her. Besides, Tom would often say to Olivia, you’ll always be my little girl. Dad’s eh, Olivia, would think to herself during these times.

Olivia practiced how hard she will hit the ball; she stared hard at the hole while practicing her putting stroke. She tried so hard to concentrate; her mind was acting as if she had powerful surges of electricity running through it—in pace with her heartbeat. Olivia visualized the ball going into the hole. Her heart was thumping, and she could hear it pounding—boom boom, boom boom, boom boom—it sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a tire. Olivia was momentarily distracted by that thought. She felt the blood coursing through her veins to the sound of the sledgehammer, her mouth became dry, and her palms sweaty. Time was passing too slowly.

Olivia stood over the ball and prepared herself for her shot. Still, her heart was deafening, and she was nervous, more nervous than she could ever remember being, she looked worried. Tom moved in close to her and whispered, Ten buck says you miss. Olivia could not believe what she had just heard and lost concentration again. Her experience told her to walk away, and she did, staring at Tom with the coldest of expressions. But within a microsecond, she knew why Tom had said what he had; she was about to hit the most crucial shot of her life and wasn’t ready.

She took a couple of deep calming breaths and ran through her mind the pre-shot routine one more time. I can do this; she told herself, just remember that it’s just technique, it’s all technique, she squatted down, and looked at the travel path she wanted the ball to follow. Are you okay, Liv? Tom asked, Blank out the rest of the world, see the line, relax and breathe. Her dad’s calming voice reassures her, comforts her. His voice is always calm. He shows no emotion; Olivia finds this helpful.

Olivia was used to feeling the pressure. She had won four major championships already this year. Olivia could soak up the pressure, but this time, her nervousness was palpable. This putt was for her to win—her fifth major championship this year, it was all on this, if the ball goes in, she wins, it was as simple as that. Only, it wasn’t that simple. No-one in the history of golf had won all five majors in a single calendar year. The potential of this moment was way beyond Olivia’s wildest dreams. Olivia always dreamt of becoming a major champion and had realized that dream last year. Now she was here, putting for a fifth consecutive major championship that year, and entry into the history of golf, immortalized, she felt an enormous amount of pressure.

Olivia wasn’t thinking of the enormous purse that came along with winning the major championship. Or the lifetime of sponsorship she would receive, this would never come around again, not for her and quite possibly, not for anyone. This victory was the stuff of outrageous fantasies. Still, she was so worried about failing herself, her father, her family, in fact, everyone. The pressure made her feel agitated, unable to focus, too unsettled.

Fighting for a sense of calm, Olivia addressed the ball once again. She took her time to enter into her well-rehearsed pre-shot routine. Lined herself up, looked at the hole, looked at the ball, and looked at the hole again. With a smooth, controlled shoulder movement, Olivia moved into a cocked position, ready to hit the ball with an almost caress like sensation. Then equally smoothly, Olivia executed the putt, hitting down slightly, caressing the face of the club against the ball, and sent it on its way towards the hole.

Olivia didn’t move, frozen in concentration. Her eyes fixed on the ball, trying to will it into the hole. She watched the ball follow her visualized line. It seemed as if the ball was traveling in slow motion, she liked the shot, but she had liked shots before.

Olivia had started playing golf at the age of five. She was given a plastic golf set by an uncle and had become addicted to playing around the house and the garden. She drove her parents to distraction in that she would not play with any other toy. After almost a year, her father took her to the local driving range and to see the local club professional. He saw instantly the grace of movement and the power her small frame could already generate, and she made swinging a club look effortless. She made striking the ball look easy. He could see that Olivia had a great gift for hitting a golf ball and set about styling a training program to suit her unique gift.

By the age of ten, she was seemingly unbeatable and knew that she wanted to be a professional golfer. By fourteen, she was the junior state champion. She already had a reputation for hitting the ball further than competitors much older than her. When Olivia was fifteen, she became the youngest-ever player in history to win a major championship on the LPGA Tour. She was ranked world number one woman amateur golfer before announcing she was to turn professional at sixteen years old. By the time her eighteenth birthday came, she had become the world’s top woman, professional golfer.

Winning her first major tournament at eighteen years old was a massive achievement. Thousands of professional golfers dream about winning one of the major championships in golf, at any age. Yet, relatively few achieve it. But this, this was something else, this was a world first and possibly a feat never to be repeated. Had her time now arrived? Was this to be Olivia’s destiny? Was this to be the event where Olivia announces to the world, I am here, I am the result of hard work, dedication, and determination. I am what you can be.

Here was a beautiful, kind, and talented, nineteen-year-old girl, taking a shot that could make history. The success of this shot would decide whether she won her fifth major championship this year. Conversely, she might miss, gain a second place and become an almost story, what might have been. Some parts of the media had already labeled her as possibly the greatest golfer ever. Most had been predicting that this was to be her year, but none had foretold just how successful she might be. She had always responded to the media in her sweet, modest style, Fingers crossed, she would smile and say, holding up her crossed fingers. She would always add how there are so many other worthy players and how good they were; she was genuine, authentic, and eminently lovable.

The ball moved slowly to the hole, maintaining its course, the course set up by Olivia. As it approached the hole, it hit a pitch mark. It deviated from its path ever so slightly, Olivia’s eyes widened. It was inches from the hole and was starting to go off course. It reached the edge of the hole and rolled around the cup, it spun around twice and then, almost hesitantly, disappeared into the hole. Momentary paralysis overcame Olivia. The world seemed to pause, and it was as if time itself had stopped. Olivia blinked and tried to clear her eyes. Had the ball gone in?

Look at this shot; it might go in, it might go in. No, wait, it’s gonna miss. Is it? The ball is… it is in, it’s in. The excitement was overcoming Brad Shaw as he started to scream his previously calm and measured voice into the microphone. Oh, wow, in your life have you seen anything like that. The shot of her life. Brad Shaw calmed down. Ladies and Gentlemen, the phenomenal talent that is Olivia Mason, a major champion. No, not just a major champion, the greatest champion in the game of golf, ever.

Suddenly with an explosive sound, the crowd erupted. Cheering, whistling, whooping, chanting: Olivia, Olivia. There was a hysteria amongst the attending fans. Cameras started to click, and flashes went off like a lightning storm. The camera shutters were opening and closing hundreds of times a second. Olivia jumped for joy, and her father raced over to her to embrace her. He spun her around, You’ve done it darling, you’ve done it! You’re amazing. I love you so much; I’m so proud of you. He hugged and spun her around, I’m sorry for the joke, he whispered. Don’t be, it was perfect, I would’ve missed. Anyway, you owe me ten bucks, Olivia replied playfully and repeatedly punching Tom in the arm.

Tom went to put Olivia down, No, not yet, Dad, I don’t think I can stand. She could finally let go now the pent up emotion of concentrating for what felt like an eternity, remaining in control for what was forever. Tears poured out like a waterfall in the springtime, and the excitement was starting to take over from adrenaline. Still, Olivia knew she needed to regain control.

Tom put Olivia down when she was ready, and as she turned, her eyes met with Brooke’s, her opponent. She could see the disappointment in Brooke Hennesey’s face, the resignation of defeat.

She went across and hugged Brooke tightly and congratulated her on her great golf. There was a part of Olivia that felt for Brooke. Still, Olivia had achieved something truly momentous, secured her position as the best player in the world ever, at the same time as securing her family’s financial future for the rest of their lives. Wow, thought Olivia, just wow, even her thoughts were speechless.

CHAPTER 2

UNEXPECTED FINALITY

Jack, you’re not listening to me, I’m not saying you’re selfish, I’m saying I need a little more from you at times. Jeez, at the moment, I just need you to love me a little louder, show me some affection Jack, at least tell me you love me sometimes. It was as if Amanda was almost pleading; she knew it and hated it. Jack was never one for arguing; he hated conflict and would avoid it whenever possible. You should look at my actions, not just listen to see if I say the right things when you want me to. For Christ’s sake, the right things to say change from day-to-day. I have no idea what has brought this stupid argument about, but I don’t have time for it. I’m going to work. With this, Jack stormed out of the house and walked, purposefully the 25 minutes to the firehouse where he worked, 755 East 233 Street in the Wakefield section of the Bronx. It had been a quiet shift and looked like tonight would be no different. I could do with a busy one tonight, thought Jack, take my mind off things. The trouble with quiet shifts is you have too much time to think.

It was a quiet shift, which made Jack reflect a lot on his conversation with Amanda. He made a mental note to be more agreeable to her needs. She’s an amazing wife and mother, we have a beautiful daughter, and if she wants me to say nice things, then I just say nice things. How hard can it be? Things were pretty settled in Jack’s mind as he walked home the following morning; that was Jack’s way. Jack saw everything as a form of problem-solving. Jack was good at solving problems, he enjoyed it, after all, that’s what made him such a good firefighter and popular with the rest of the company.

Jack had been with FDNY for twenty-five years, and he was an experienced company member. He had been on the rescue ladder for some time but was also trained as an emergency medical technician and would regularly rotate between the four leading roles of driving, firefighting, rescue crew, and EMT. Jack believed he had a great relationship with FDNY; he would work hard, train hard, perfect his role as far as it was possible to do so, and at times, even risk his life. In return, FDNY would teach and qualify him for various roles. Transferable life skills, he would often say when talking about his role as a firefighter. Besides, he secretly loved the adrenaline rush he would often get at a working fire. It always seemed a massive conflict within him that the jobs he got an enormous sense of satisfaction from, were someone else’s loss. He never became comfortable with death, despite attending many incidents when death became somebody’s unexpected finality. He always found death saddening, hard to take. The potential of death was always just a moment away from anyone, maybe a decision at the wrong time, or just an unanticipated moment. Despite all his training and experience, his cool, calm exterior and his confident demeanor. He had an incredibly soft, sensitive nature.

It was a lovely August morning, it had rained during the night but the morning was bright. The city seemed cleaner as if the rain had washed it. He loved the smell that filled the air just after it had been raining. It was lovely now, warm and sunny. It was going to be a beautiful day Jack had told Nathan, a fellow firefighter, and lifelong friend, I know, I’ll do a barbecue today. That will take some pressure off, Amanda and Charlie love barbecues, be sure to come over.

Jack made a detour to the butcher’s and bought some burgers, sausages, and ribs. He knew they had plenty of salad and bread already. I had better text Amanda to say I’m behind, thought Jack. He took his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. He had turned it off so he wouldn’t get drawn into an argument by text; that’s what kids do, Jack thought. Jack switching his phone off after an argument would infuriate Amanda. Still, she had grown used to it after twenty years of marriage to Jack. Amanda no longer carried arguments on. It just wasn’t worth it, she would think to herself, he’ll only avoid the whole damn thing. Although Amanda would have to regularly remind herself not to text him during their infrequent arguments. Yes, she had grown used to Jack, alright, just as Jack had become used to her. Theirs was a loving, understanding marriage; they were best friends, confidantes, partners in the most real sense of the word. They didn’t often argue, but when they did, it was usually over by the next day. He sent a text to Amanda and was soon on his way home. I’ll be the perfect husband today, he thought.

There’s a fire nearby; Jack registered this somewhere in his subconscious. A well-trained, experienced firefighter can smell burning. In fact, not only can they smell the fire, but they can tell by the smell, what is burning. Years of attending fires of all kinds give a firefighter this strange but unique skill. Ooh, that’s a house fire, thought Jack as the thought transferred from his sub-conscious to his consciousness. He hadn’t heard any sirens yet. I’ll call it in if I see where it is, he thought, but realistically he was thinking about his barbecue and dismissed the thought back to his sub-conscious. The smell of fire was getting stronger. It moved again to a point near the front of his mind; it was starting to occupy his thinking. Jack turned the corner to his road, and for a fraction of a second, couldn’t believe his eyes. He could see the blackened soot-covered glass of his upstairs bedroom windows. There was black staining on his white PVC soffit boards just underneath his guttering. That’s my house, he thought, and with an explosion of action, dropping his bags, he sprinted towards the house, his home for the last sixteen years.

Some of his neighbors were outside. Running around as if in some crazy ritual dance, not achieving anything except expending the energy that panic had given them. They did do something useful. They confirmed what Jack feared most, that Amanda and Charlie were still trapped inside. While he was in full flow, sprinting towards his home, he could hear shouting, something that pierced through any other sound, one of them was shouting: Call 911 Amanda and Charlie are trapped inside.

Firefighters undertake careful and detailed training on how to enter burning buildings, how to observe and analyze smoke exiting the building. The color and the energy of the smoke can give vital, lifesaving clues on if it is safe to enter the building on fire. These tell-tale signs give them valuable information about what is on fire, how long the fire has been burning, and what are the conditions inside the building. An experienced Firefighter learns that to be able to survive entering a fiercely burning building, it is essential to put three critical safety procedures in place. The right personal protective clothing. The correct firefighting media. And, most importantly, the proper procedures to enter the building safely. In the absence of these processes, and without them performed in the correct sequence, the chance of serious injury was inevitable, and the risk of death, probable.

Firefighters, with the right training and the help of experience, can control their emotions and attend the most dangerous fires and, for the most part, return unscathed, either physically or emotionally. They get used to controlling their feelings but, they are, after all, called to save people and places they don’t know. Even the hardiest of firefighters will tell you it’s impossible to think with clarity when you’re emotionally involved with a situation.

Jack’s usually cold, calm, and calculating manner had left him in an instant, deserted him, leaving him to react just like any other person would. His thoughts fuelled by panic. The power surge of a massive boost of adrenaline had filled his veins. Jack’s usual clarity of thinking of what to do in these kinds of situations was replaced instantaneously by a need to reach his wife, Amanda, and his daughter, Charlie. His mind was as emotional as the next person would have been in this situation. At this second, Jack wasn’t a