Page 27 of Burn For Me

The echo of my boots ran along the floor as I stomped to the door, but I hesitated when the chairs on the deck began rocking in synchronization. They stayed in perfect rhythm, although no one sat in them and goosebumps rose along my arms. A cool breeze brushed against my skin as a flick of movement in the glass had me whipping around. All I caught was the shadow of someone running along the back hallway and my lip curled up in a snarl.

I ran after whoever was in my house and found the cellar door open. The only glow was that of the phone still gripped in my other hand. Quickly, I hit the flashlight button, and the bright light illuminated the rickety old staircase.

“Show yourself. If I come down there, I will rip your fucking throat out through your asshole.”

The screen banged, and a breeze snaked around my neck like it was trying to choke me. I didn’t bother with some fucking stupid tippy-toeing down the stairs. I stomped down the wood, each step bending and groaning under my weight. Rounding the corner at the bottom, I was prepared and ready for an attack, but no one jumped out at me.

“What the fuck,” I said under my breath as my eyes scanned every nook and cranny of the small space.

Using the phone, I shined the light around the room one more time and paused as it landed on a large skid with a canvas tarp over the top. Two large strides across the room I was ripping the tarp away, I raised the knife, but my hand stilled as I stared down at a pile of C4.

My arm slowly dropped as my eyes scanned over the old blocks stacked up like beautiful gold bricks.

“What the hell were you doing with this, you crazy old coot?” I picked up one of the bricks of C4 and held it out to examine it with the light of the phone.

My lips curled up, a maniacal giggle ripping from my mouth as I sat down on the large stack of my favorite version of Play-doh. Laying back, I laid my arms out to the side like I was making a clay angel.

“I fucking love you, Mr. Giltbert, you crazy old fuck!” I put the brick against my lips and kissed the thing like it was my lover. “I have big plans for you, very big plans indeed.”

Fuck, I hated bright fluorescent lights. The asylum was filled with the glaring things that hurt your eyes and made you want to slit your own throat. The fake glare and the hum that no one else noticed made me want to burn the convenience store down.

Hum, hum, hum.

My fists clenched, yet I didn’t dare lift my head to keep my face adverted from the cameras.

I hated that everywhere I went, there were cameras staring me in the face. So much had changed in the nine years that I’d been locked up. The feeling of being trapped in a time capsule smacked me in the face with each passing day. The President was new, the technology was more advanced, and people talked using slang I could barely understand.

Case in point, there was the girl in the line behind me. She was on the phone, smacking on her fucking gum, saying, “I know” and “oh my god” at the end of each sentence, which made no fucking sense to me. And yes, I was seriously contemplating ripping her tongue out of her damn mouth.

“She was so salty. Did you see her face, like OMG.” She laughed hard. “Yeah, I know she is so basic and cray. Right? Yup, of course, don’t be so pushy bitch. I’ll be there soon. I need all the deets, see ya bestie.”

She hung up the phone and sighed loudly, her high-heeled toe incessantly tapping on the floor.

“This guy is so incompetent. Yo bro, can you hurry up? Some of us have a life and places to be,” she yelled.

The kid behind the counter, who looked like he was ready to shit a brick, gave her a nervous smile before he smacked the side of the temperamental piece of equipment.

I looked over my shoulder at her, and she shrunk back as her eyes took in the scar on my cheek. The action immediately brought to the surface all the usual anger that accompanied being stared at like I was a freak. My jaw twitched as I pictured stringing her up and teaching her a lesson about manners.

The kid at the counter yelled, “next.”

I moved up a step, glancing over everything the small store had to offer. It had a meager fruit selection and a ton of alcohol that took up half of the fridge area. There was even a variety of burner phones and cigarettes behind the counter, but what caught my eye was the newspaper. The headline read, “Manor Hill Asylum Fire.”

A flush crept across my body as I stared at the image of the massive blaze and the numerous fire trucks that were lined up. My eyes flicked to the next newspaper stand, “Gas Leak Burns Down Apartment Building.” A curl lifted the corner of my mouth as the kid yelled, “next,” again. Stepping forward, I placed the few things I was purchasing on the counter.

“I’ll take one of each of your newspapers as well,” I said and pulled out the wad of cash from my pocket.

“Yeah, the cops think it was arson that burned down that asylum. Terrifying that someone could do that to another person,” the kid said and shivered as he scanned the loaf of bread and container of milk.

“Definitely scary,” I said, but the demon that lived in my mind smiled and loved the idea of being recognized for our hard work.

“Have a good night, Mister.” The kid handed over the plastic bag, and I grabbed one of each of the different newspapers on my way out. Hopping on the bicycle, I peddled fast toward the farm, excited to get back and read my new treasure.

I could hear the roar of a motor coming up behind me before the headlights bathed me in a bright light, casting a long shadow along the road. Even though I was on the far edge of the shoulder, a horn sounded. The person made a dramatic swerve as if I’d been riding in the middle of the lane. The car’s tires sent rocks flying in all directions, and the stones made little tinkling noises as they hit the bike.

The driver yelled, “asshole,” from the open window.

Trying to ruin my nightly routine, I thought and had the urge to snarl at the back of the BMW.