Arson (7 page)

It was then that Arson found a spider crawling amidst the dust, its spiny, intricate legs plotting a vile route with each measured move. Yet the creature appeared insignificant to him. Disgusting and meaningless. The more Arson stared, the more apprehensive the creature became. The spider ceased all movement suddenly. Its dead eyes were black glass. Arson wondered if it had a soul. The spider crawled along, tiptoeing against the back of Arson's wrist for a moment before making its way up unpainted sheetrock. He locked his gaze. The eight-legged acrobat drifted along the wall. Somewhere within this creature's ugliness, there was something painfully beautiful. The room paled in comparison. The boarded windows looked on, but Arson ignored them. A poster of his favorite novel, 
The Great Gatsby
, faded away as light skimmed across the filmy layer of web and dust. The web reminded him of Grandma's hair—white, the color of ghosts and winter.

Arson marveled. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes into an hour, and he watched the busy creature spin and twist, carefully unwinding each sticky thread. Jealousy swelled within him. “It's unfair,” he snarled.

The spider was done at last. Arson watched it crawl across the web trailing from the bedpost to the ceiling. It was perfect. The dead-eyed spider danced upon the final strand and awaited its prey, huddled in the darkness.

Arson's hand began to burn once more, and this time he let it seduce him. “I hate you,” he cried. Frustration and sadness and torment altogether. Arson reached out with one finger and burned the web, letting it fall like ashes at his feet.

 

Chapter 12

 

 

EMERY LIKED TO ANALYZE, even if she couldn't always understand. People were unpredictable. But trying to figure them out sort of came easy. Even as a child, Emery enjoyed analyzing how people worked, why they did certain things. But long before her thirteenth birthday, Emery had learned the hard way that her thinking needed to change. Her parents had warned her about what a messed-up place the world was, how trusting people always got their hearts broken. They were right. She hated that. Hated how people lied and gave false hope, false acceptance. Hypocrites. Like her family. Like their families. Like everyone else.

In the shower, her mind seemed the most lucid. Perhaps the hot steam or the little stabs of boiling water kept her calm. She let the water sink into her scars, scratching at the bumps and gross craters on her face. But she couldn't stop thinking about him. Emery wanted to know what thoughts found their way into Arson's head. After all, he couldn't possibly be feeling the way she was. Plus, even if he were, it was stupid to even consider because there was no way he could understand what she had gone through as a child, what she was still going through. Who would? She could picture her mother's response. “The two of you could never have a normal life together.” But that wasn't enough to ignore the sting of intrigue that found its way into her analytical brain. Maybe this was what girls always talked about. Just a crush.

As flashbacks of the day raced through her mind, Emery recalled coming home to an empty house. The only remnant was a sticky note on the fridge that read: 
Had to go out. Be home later. Love you, Dad
.

Cryptic, as usual.

Emery sucked in a deep breath of steam. She could feel her pores, what was left of them, expanding and contracting. The hot needles soothed her muscles and flesh, even the rough parts of her shoulder, which, to the best of her ability, she kept hidden. Those parts of her body would remain diseased, infected. Emery turned the handle and the shower head stopped spitting out warmth. She stepped out onto the cold tile floor, grabbed a towel, and wiped the mirror, where a lost girl stared back at her.

 

* * *

 

They were only memories; they weren't real. But they still had the power to rip Arson apart.

Danny visited him now and then, but every time Arson tried to talk to him, tell him how screwed up his life was, how he wished they could have remained in contact over the years, the image fled. It stung to be brought back, though. Lingering in the past seemed to constantly breathe new life into the same old misery. It hurt that Danny had never tried to find him. He just disappeared. The years hadn't changed Danny; he was still the way Arson remembered. Sometimes the only thing he talked to was the image of Danny come back to haunt him, come back to remind him of his guilt and regret. Danny always brought the cold.

Arson's teeth chattered. Chilled sweat bled across his forehead. He reached for a comic book to quiet his mind, but it only reminded him of how low he really was. “I'm no hero,” he said, grinding his teeth. He hated Grandma for locking him up, hated that key she turned every time she stuck him in here.

It would be so easy…

The more time he spent trapped, the less he believed in heroes. They never came to visit him, only Danny. Only the pain and hurt. Arson had had enough of the haunting spirit, enough of every hero's complacent and fearful silence. Grandma was merely a mortal, weak and vindictive, but beautiful. He knew her footsteps, knew her smile, even knew what her breath smelled like. His hate for her was only equaled by a love he could not explain in ordinary words, not even emotion. But he knew she was right about him. The punishment explained that clearly.

“I am a monster,” he whispered to himself, throwing one of his comic books across the room. “I am.”

Arson began burning the comic books under his mattress and in the closet. The fire turned it all to ash and dust in minutes. Heroes, like memories, weren't real. They only appeared to be. What was a hero anyway? Did it cry? Did it bleed? It was too hard to be good in such a vile world.

Arson banged his head against one of the walls, chips of sheetrock crashing down into his greasy hair. He seemed to find some sort of pleasure at burning away the heroes he used to idolize, mere casualties of an unfair war.

Arson closed his eyes, and when they opened again, Danny was gone.

“I don't fit,” he uttered in breaths not even he could hear.

 

Chapter 13

 

 

“ARSON, WAKE UP! GET up now!” Grandma screamed, banging on his bedroom door with all her might. The walls shook.

Suddenly the door flung open, and she stumbled toward the bed, frightened and disturbed. Deep, creepy breaths escaped dry lips. “Arson, wake up!” She smacked his cheeks until his eyes opened wide.

He got up, startled, and asked, “What's the matter, Grandma?”

She couldn't stop shaking. Grandma paced the room and stomped. “I can't find Henry.”

“What do you mean?”

“I woke up and he wasn't there. He wasn't there!” She stumbled around the bedroom, her stained and threadbare pajamas waving dust from the wooden floor into the light. Bare feet traced the broken floorboards, and a splinter stuck out at the end of her toe. She didn't notice.

Grandma's eyes lit up. “Has he left me for another woman? After so many years, am I not good enough for that selfish… What more does the man want? Oh, I'm not pretty, am I? He's found someone else.” She dropped her hands to her hips. “I went to bed with him and now he's gone. Gone!” Sobs disguised her normal, drawn-out voice. Her eyelids fought to keep back tears.

Arson wiped his face and sighed. “He didn't leave you for another woman, Grandma. Where would you get an idea like that?”

“Then tell me where he went, for heaven's sake. Tell me, you lying little demon. Tell me!” She reached for his neck and started to choke him until her fingernails penetrated the skin.

“Think about it. Grandpa loves you. He would never do anything like that.”

That answer didn't satisfy her. “I've been up since dawn, and he's nowhere in sight. Oh, my Henry, where did you go?”

Arson's eyes danced around hers; he couldn't stand to stare into them, not now. She was in pain, and he couldn't bear it.

“Maybe he's out by the dock. Grandpa needs to keep his head clear, right? Always says stress will kill a man.”

“Stop lying to me!” she screamed. “I checked the docks, I've checked the basement and the kitchen and the closets and our bedroom. Where is he? Where is my Henry?”

“Maybe he went out for some cigarettes,” Arson said, panting. “You know how he has to have a pack in his pocket at all times. Maybe you could give the Quick Mart a call. Yeah, you know how Grandpa gets without smokes. He goes…crazy.”

“Marlboro Lights, they're his favorite,” she replied quietly as peace slipped in.

“Yes, they are,” Arson gasped as he softly touched Grandma's arthritic hand. She was human still. She cried, she missed, and she loved. She wasn't dead like he'd imagined. She still needed someone to cherish, and she needed someone to cherish her. Without love, hearts died.

“Would you lie to me?” She turned again, gripping him tighter. “You wouldn't lie to me, would you?”

“He'll come back to you, I promise. He always comes back, doesn't he?” Arson answered pathetically.

Grandma released him. She turned soft all of a sudden. Her wiry gray hair hung over his shoulder. Arson held her in his arms.

“Grandma loves you,” she said over and over again.

 

* * *

 

Arson sat with his back nudged up against one of the rotted porch pillars, listening to the sound of the lake, when the masked girl from next door dropped by, eager to say hello. He noticed that an obscure band t-shirt covered her thin frame while ripped jeans and Converse classics completed whatever look she was aiming for. Once she got up close, Arson caught a glimpse of what the lower half of her face looked like.

“You look freaked out,” she said. “I swear, it's like no one's ever seen a mask before.” As if in defeat, she tilted her head, folded her arms, and sat down beside him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Hi.”

“You're not planning to drown yourself today, are you?” she said.

“Wasn't part of the plan, no.” Arson shrugged.

“You know, the weather guy says this is Connecticut's worst heat wave in years. Figures we'd pick now to move to this crummy town.”

They both sighed.

The lake drew his attention. He loved how it looked in the morning with streams of sunlight shining over every ripple.

“You know, you could take a dip without trying to drown yourself. Unless, of course, you can't swim.”

“I can swim. It's just…”

“What?”

“Grandma doesn't like it when I go into the lake.”

Arson watched her head jerk back, shocked by what he'd just said. “I thought 
my
 parents were strict,” she said.

“Grandma gets upset easy. She's from a different mindset, one that says if you disobey her it means you don't love her or something. I used to get it; now I'm just as confused as every other teenager.”

“Parents.” Emery sighed. “They should just let us live our lives. Not everything demands their oversight or their approval.”

Arson stared.

“Sorry. I just have a weird relationship with the 'rents. Slang, by the way, for parents.” Emery began playing with her hair. She looked nervous; he could tell. But Arson didn't know why. “Do you get along with your folks? Is your mom as much of a control freak as your grandmother?”

Arson blinked, silent for a while. “My mother's dead,” he slowly replied. “Never met my father. But Grandma told me the kind of person he was. He kind of took off after I was born.”

“Oh, that sucks. But you and your grandmother are pretty close, then?”

“She's cared for me ever since.”

“Right.” Emery shrugged half-heartedly. “I get it. I'm jealous.”

The wind blew their hair back and forth. The lake quickly became crowded by boats and jet skis. The stir was plenty loud to distract them from the awkward moment.

“How long have you lived here?”

Who was this girl? She asked so many questions, questions nobody had asked before, questions nobody cared enough to ask. Arson knew nothing about her other than her name, the fact that she wore a mask, and that she had been dead set on saving his life less than twenty-four hours earlier when he was sure he didn't need saving. She had just moved in next door and instantly wanted his ear for a conversation.

After a moment, he responded, “We've lived here seven years.”

“My family's never stayed in any spot longer than three. Something always happens, and we have to move. Never really had a home, you know? You're really lucky.”

Lucky? If there was ever a word to describe him, it wasn't that. Depressed, maybe, or discontented, but never lucky.

“Say, what do you do for fun around here? I mean, you guys have the usual: gas stations and a Mickey D's, but I've never been much for siphoning gas tanks, and I can't stand Big Macs.”

Arson stared blankly. He'd never been asked for advice on what was fun. It was always him asking someone else. And had she just asked him out, or was that crazy, masked-girl talk for excessive boredom?

“C'mon, it's July, and summer's already half over. You know, I always wanted to go back to public school ever since the 'rents forced homeschooling down my throat. Said it was better for me. I guess now I'll get my wish. They agreed to let me try it out this fall. I told them I was a senior, for crying out loud. But if I can be honest, the school schedule sucks. I mean, summer just started.”

A grin crawled across Arson's lips.

“Sorry, I'm just very opinionated.”

“Really?” he said.

Emery playfully shoved him. “I need to do something fun before I go out of my mind. All this unpacking and getting settled in blows. My mom thinks I'm wasting my summer months away. She wants me to start volunteering at the hospital. She's a nurse, by the way. But can you believe that? She's there for, like, a few days and already suggesting I volunteer. I've always wanted to do it but can't stand the fact that she's the one 
pushing
 me to do something I've wanted to do since I was six. She's probably got everything set up and has me committed.”

Arson quietly listened.

“She says it'll be good for me. They always say that, don't they? Whatever.”

“Maybe she's right.”

“Oh, don't tell me you're on her side,” Emery said with a grunt.

Arson raised his hands in defense. “I don't even know your mom, so how could I be on her side? I'm just saying it might be a good idea, that's all.”

Emery's mask shook, and he pictured her frustrated beneath its gruesome skin.

“She always thinks she knows what I'm thinking, but she doesn't.”

Arson simply nodded, still lost in the insanity of having a conversation with a complete stranger. Well, sort of.

Emery continued, “I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this. I just feel like a geyser, and I've been holding everything down for so long that I just want to pop. You're the closest thing I have to a shrink at the moment, so, sorry, but you're kinda stuck listening.”

Arson ran his fingers through his hair nervously. Awkward tension filled the moment.

“Any plans for the Fourth?” she asked, changing the subject. “I'm not keen on the idea of spending the day with Mom and Dad. The way they've been acting, I'd be surprised if they said hello to each other, much less have an enjoyable time. I gotta get out. But I don't even have a car. How lame is that?”

“Really lame,” Arson said. “But it seems we have something in common.”

“So quit being boring and make a suggestion.”

“Hey, you came over here, remember? I never invited you.”

“Fine.” Emery picked herself up, preparing to walk away. With a purposefully slow pace, she walked, giving him a shot at redemption.

“There's a bowling alley not too far from here,” he eventually offered. “We could walk, I guess.”

“Bowling? I just sat there for ten minutes and practically divulged my entire family history, and the best thing you can come up with is bowling?” Emery shifted her stance and used her sneakers to make shapes in the dirt. “'K,” she sighed. “It's a date. I'll expect to see you at my door at 7:29 sharp tomorrow night.”

“7:29?” he asked.

“Yup. Seven thirty is too…normal. Unfun. 7:29 assures me that you actually want to do this. It's inexact, imprecise, and perfect for our little experiment.”

“Experiment?”

“First contact's over; it's time for phase two. How does alien boy respond to strange settings? Or perhaps familiar ones? What deep, dark secrets can we uncover? Either way, the results should be interesting. Just promise me a good time, and I promise you won't be forced to endure my 
beloved
 parents.”

Arson stood up, and the porch creaked. He watched her shadow escape as the sunset lit up the sky.

“Pretty,” he whispered.