Jack King pulled to the right on his way home from work that particular morning and waved to his cronies from "B" shift, Station #11 as they went screaming by him on their way to a call. He yelled something unintelligible to them out his window in jest, something about learning how to drive. Jack was a young, talented driver at the downtown station, number seventeen. The busiest ladder truck in Briny Point, Alabama, was housed there and Jack loved it. His myrth melted as he turned the corner onto his street and saw a rising plume of black smoke. The sinking lump in his throat mashed down the accelerator pedal as he flew into his worst nightmare. His fears became real as he screeched to a stop at his own residence ablaze, later to be ascribed to a burning Christmas candle left unattended as the cause for ignition. Knowing the layout of his own house and that his eight and one half month pregnant wife would still be in bed asleep, he sprinted through the side gate to the northwest corner of their house. He could see thick smoke oozing out through cracks in the eaves and from the windows. Orange flames shot out of the back sliding glass door area for upwards of twenty feet, licking the trees and power line service from the alley. Jack unhesitantly smashed the double-paned window to his bedroom with a flower pot from their back patio and cleaned the rest of the shards out quickly with his hand, disregarding the deep lacerations to his own flesh. He entered the black room and felt the acrid smoke sting his eyes. Why he had his eyes open, he didn't know, but they strained for anything. Holding his breath, he grabbed for the bed and searched the top of it to find nothing. Hands groping blindly in front of him he went towards the door and tripped over a crumpled mass of his wife's limp body against the door. He summoned super-human strength from his panic, shouldering the dead weight and reached the broken window, gasping for a breath of clean air. Upon seeing two firemen crossing his view, he passed his unconscious wife into their arms and into good care. Just as he exited his own house through the window, he bent over sputtering and coughing as his lungs burned for recovery. Suddenly, the power line gave way with a loud pop, sending sparks in all directions. The fiery red tipped end whipped viciously down, striking Jack across the neck before he could dodge the charged line. The current stopped Jacks' heart immediately and would never be revived after much effort. His wife would later that day recover in the hospital and give birth to a two week premature baby they had already named Davey Jay King. It was Christmas day.Eight years later:
Christmas morning would be full of joy as little girls and boys excitedly awoke to participate in that long-standing tradition of attacking the multi-colored wrappers that entombed their hidden treasures under the decorated tree. Surely this was the scene all over the sleepy, southern coastal town of Briny Point, Alabama, with the exception of one home - the King residence. Davey King slowly rolled his eighth red fire truck over the bumpy wood flooring in front of their Christmas tree. Seven other trucks lined a shelf in his bedroom - one for each year and received each Christmas Eve. They would never again open presents on Christmas morning, for the memories simply wouldn't allow it. He parked the latest Matchbox toy, a rear tiller tower ladder truck, under the empty tree and stared blankly at it, not understanding all of the thoughts going through his head. "That looks exactly like the one your dad used to drive," a raspy, old voice surprised him from behind."Grandpa!", Davey cried out, getting up to hug him in his brown robe. Davey's long sleep shirt, covered in red fire trucks hung limp to his knees as he reached around his grandpa's waist for comfort. Fuzzy dalmation slippers covered his down trodden feet. Davey and his mom had moved in with Grandpa after that dreadful day. There was plenty of room in his ranch style house, especially since Grandma had passed away, leaving the place to himself. Thus, Grandpa took the role of Davey's father and provided his best effort of raising yet another boy. Holding Davey at arms length, his grandpa said, "Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, Davey. I want you to know that I love you and I think it is time you have something I've been waiting to give you. Your dad would have wanted you to have it. Mom, bring it on in, would you?"Davey's mom entered the room with a folded, plump package. The now exuberant kid ripped off the paper, feeling the strange return of joy at the simple thought of something from his dad. "Wow! It's a firecoat! A real fire coat!", he shouted."It was your dad's and now it is yours, Davey," his mom explained with a tear streaming down her left cheek.His grandpa cleared his throat. "Go ahead and put it on, son. And now, look and see if there's anything in the pockets."Davey thrust his tiny hands into one pocket and then the next, as if he was on a treasure hunt or solving a great mystery. With his tongue hanging out one corner of his mouth, his eyes lit up as he finally clutched something smooth, flat, and round."A rock! With the word, 'Remember', on it? What is it, Grandpa? What does it mean?"Emitting an airy chuckle, his grandpa put his arm around him, smiling. "You'll see, son. I'll help you understand along the way. You'll see."Davey skipped up and down the hallway, the black coat tail whipping in the air behind him and dangling sleeves flopping to and fro. "I'm gonna be a fireman when I grow up!" Davey proudly exclaimed. "I'm gonna be a fireman! I'm gonna be a fireman, just like my dad!""Looks like it's in the blood, Mom," Grandpa torted. Mom shot a sharp glare at Grandpa only to be returned with a mischevious wink.