The Burning Man

by Christa Faust

  All he could think about was Olivia.

  He didn’t want to go to class or to lunch or really anywhere on campus, because he didn’t want Olivia to see his bruises and know how weak he was. He’d really tried to help that girl, tried to do the right thing like he knew Olivia would have wanted. But in the end it was all for nothing.

  He was a failure.

  A weak, useless loser who can’t even protect himself.

  “Oh, hey.” A male voice came from the doorway. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

  Kieran looked up and saw Mr. Bennett, the geometry teacher. He was short and chunky with thinning, light-brown hair and glasses. He didn’t have a pocket protector in the breast pocket of his white button-down shirt, but he may as well have.

  “Man,” he said when he saw Kieran’s face. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” Kieran said, setting the geometry model down on the table. “Same old same old, you know.”

  “I do,” Mr. Bennett said, coming forward and sitting down beside him. “Believe me I do. You know, this may come as a shock, but I wasn’t always the studly chick magnet you see before you today. In fact, I used to get my butt kicked all the time, back in high school.”

  Kieran laughed and shook his head.

  “Hey, look,” Mr. Bennett said. “You can report this if you want to. I’ll back you up on it.”

  Kieran frowned and was surprised by how much that expression hurt.

  “I can’t,” Kieran said, raising his hand to touch his burning eyebrow. “That will only make it worse. You oughta know that. Guys like them, they can do whatever they want and never have to pick up the check.”

  “Okay,” Mr. Bennett said. “But trust me, it does get better. Maybe not perfect, but better.”

  “Thanks,” Kieran said. “I’m just gonna stay here by myself for a while, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure,” Mr. Bennett said. “Take as much time as you need.”

  15

  Olivia sat in the library with a neatly organized stack of books on the long wooden table in front of her. It was a warm, cozy sanctuary from the bitter New England winter, all rich, polished wood and worn leather and the musty perfume of foxed paper.

  She was restless, and eagerly looking forward to the spring and summer, when her favorite outdoor activities— like mountain biking, track, and skeet shooting—would start up again. But for a displaced Florida girl still unused to the cold, spending the evening in the warm library suited her just fine.

  The books were all about Allan Pinkerton and the Pinkerton National Detective Agency. She was supposed to be doing research for a social studies paper, but her mind kept wandering back to Kieran.

  She hadn’t seen him at lunch or dinner, which seemed odd since they always sat together. And if you missed meals at Deerborn, you were stuck eating out of the rec hall snack machine. It wasn’t like you just popped out for a burger. It was a twenty-minute drive into town, and even though Kieran had a car, one his mother had bought him, seniors were normally only allowed off-campus on the weekends.

  They usually saw each other briefly between sixth and seventh periods, too, as she was leaving her chemistry class and he was heading up to the biology lab for his senior science project. He hadn’t been there, and Olivia had to leave to make seventh period english lit.

  She was starting to worry about him. She’d even stopped by the school nurse to see if he might have been sick, or having problems with his heart.

  No one had seen him.

  Then, as if summoned by her thoughts, Kieran appeared from behind a tall bookcase. He wore a black knit cap and was slouching in his oversized black parka, looking like a turtle trying to pull its head into its shell. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and the narrow strip of face that was showing between the coat’s turned-up collar and the rim of the cap was a lurid rainbow in every shade of bruise.

  One eye was swollen completely shut. The eyebrow above it was crusted with a scab, and so was the bridge of his nose.

  Olivia got to her feet in an instant, thorny, complicated emotions surging through her body.

  “Kieran,” she said. “What the hell happened?”

  “You smoking in the library, Liv?” he asked, with a shaky and unconvincing laugh.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, frowning.

  He gestured to the narrow burn scarring the maple syrup finish of the antique table where her hand had been seconds before. Funny, she hadn’t noticed a cigarette burn when she sat down, and from the smell, it had to be recent.

  But she shook her head, and turned back. She was way more worried about Kieran.

  “Don’t change the subject,” she said, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Who did this to you?”

  He pulled away from her, his one good eye shiny with stifled tears.

  “I didn’t even save her,” he said, tears spilling over. “I wanted to, but...”

  He turned and slammed a fist into the impassive wooden flank of the nearest bookshelf. A book on the classification and evolution of the phylum Cnidaria tumbled to the floor and landed open to a weirdly beautiful illustration—jellyfish reproductive organs.

  “Whoa, hey,” Olivia said. “Take it easy.” She grabbed his hand to stop it from hitting the shelf again, and led him over to one of the chairs. He sank into it, and she took a seat beside him. “There’s no point in putting any more stress on your heart.”

  With that she put her hand in the center of his chest. She could feel his heart thumping like a wounded bird trying to get off the ground. She wanted to pull him close and promise him she would never let anyone hurt him again, but she hesitated, unnerved by the sudden strength of that desire.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what happened,” she said instead.

  As the distraught Kieran told his story about the drugged girl who had been with his dorm-mates, Olivia could feel a terrible cold fury brewing inside her. That girl could have been Rachel. Or anyone. Privileged scumbags like those two needed to be made to answer for their actions, and face the consequences.

  “According to Mr. H,” Kieran said. “They told him that she was a friend from town who had too much to drink, and they were letting her sleep it off in their room so she wouldn’t have to drive. But I know them. There’s no way those guys just let her sleep.” He pushed shaking fingers through his hair. “The worst part about it is that I have no idea who she was or if she’s okay. When I woke up the next morning, she was just gone. Like she’d never existed, and I got the crap kicked out of me for nothing.” He looked away. “I couldn’t save her.”

  “You tried,” Olivia said, gripping his chin and turning his face back to her. “It took a lot of courage to stand up to those guys. You did the right thing.”

  “But they got away with it!” Kieran shook his head, frowning. “What’s the point of doing the right thing if the bad guys win anyway?”

  “Look,” Olivia said. “This isn’t the first I’ve heard of something like this going on with those two. Chelsea is always telling me these awful stories, but none of the girls are ever willing to press charges, because they don’t want their parents to find out they were drinking.” Olivia stood and turned away, the bare bones of a plan forming inside her head. “Maybe we couldn’t do anything to help that one girl, but I have an idea for how to put those losers out of business, and for good.”

  She reached into her backpack, took out the tiny tape recorder she used to record lectures and make notes to herself. She set it on the table in front of Kieran.

  “There’s a welcome-back party in the recreation hall tonight. Chelsea and Stacia are organizing it, so you know there’ll be drinking going on. I’m sure Brent and Tyler will be there sniffing out drunk chicks for their own private parties.

  “I’ll make sure they pick me,” she added.

  “What?” Kieran asked. “Are you crazy?”

  “I’m not really going to get obliterated,” Olivia said. “I’ll fake it. I’ll hide this tap
e recorder in my boot and while I’m with them, I’ll try to get them to say something I can take to the police. And even if I can’t, if they try anything with me, I’ll be happy to report them. I don’t have parents to disappoint, so I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “If they try to do anything to you,” Kieran said. “You’ll be visiting me in jail, because I’ll kill them.”

  “That’s very chivalrous of you,” Olivia said with a grim smile, “but I can handle myself. Besides, you can’t just go around killing people, no matter how badly they deserve it. You have to go through proper channels.”

  “Okay,” Kieran said. “Maybe that came out wrong. I just meant... well...”

  He looked up at her, tears gone now and replaced by something hot and painfully earnest.

  “Be my girlfriend,” he said.

  “Wait... what?” Olivia frowned, uncertain she had heard him right.

  “I mean...” He shrugged with a little self-deprecating smile. “This probably isn’t the best time to ask, but I’m already beat up, so I figure I have nothing to lose. Still, don’t punch me or anything, okay?”

  “I’m not going to punch you,” she said. “I just...”

  She looked away, a deep flush creeping up from under the neck of her sweater.

  “You don’t have to... do anything,” he said. “You know, if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s not that,” she said, reaching up to touch the side of his jaw that was the least bruised. “I do want to.” She couldn’t believe she was actually saying those words out loud. “It’s just... complicated.”

  “I really want to kiss you,” he said. “But my lip’s all busted open and gross.”

  She burst out laughing, the relief of it like a weight lifted.

  “You’re so romantic,” she said.

  He slid his arms around her waist.

  “That’s nothing,” he said. “Wait till you hear my a capella rendition of ‘Mandy’ outside your window at midnight.”

  “If I do,” she said, leaning into him. “I really will punch you.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, brushing her hair back from her face. “I should have known you’re more of a Neil Diamond fan.”

  She laughed softly, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. For a long minute neither of them said anything, and the reality started to sink in. Kieran’s embrace felt warm and safe in this cold, wintery world where so few things did. But it also felt like a gateway to a strange new world with its own mysterious language and unfamiliar customs.

  “I tell you what,” she said, breaking the silence. “We can talk about this whole ‘girlfriend’ thing later, okay? Right now we need to concentrate on Brent.”

  “Okay,” he said, although she could feel how reluctant he was to let go. “Just be careful, Olivia.”

  “I was born careful,” she replied. “Trust me.”

  16

  Chelsea was totally behind Olivia’s idea to set up Brent and Tyler, but it had nothing to do with morality or a sense of justice. It was all about the fact that—for the first time—Olivia had finally agreed to allow her roommate to dress her up.

  “You’re letting me do your makeup, too,” Chelsea said. “It’s already decided, so don’t argue.”

  Olivia, whose concept of makeup was usually limited to mascara and chapstick, had no choice but to go along with this undercover makeover.

  “Your feet are bigger than mine,” Chelsea said, giving Olivia a critical once-over. “So you’ll have to wear your own Docs.”

  She rummaged through an open drawer and flung something plaid in Olivia’s general direction. Olivia caught it out of the air and discovered it was a pleated skirt so short it looked more like a belt.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, holding the little red piece of tartan up to her waist.

  “You have killer legs,” Chelsea said. “I’ve seen them. Why not share your secret with the rest of the world.” She tossed Olivia a pair of black socks that were folded together. “Try it with these.”

  Olivia pulled down her old comfortable jeans and shimmied into the skirt. She’d worn bathing suits that were more modest. The socks turned out to be extra long, reaching well above her knees, and had little bows with silver skulls.

  “What am I supposed to be?” she asked. “A goth schoolgirl stripper?”

  “You said you wanted to look slutty,” Chelsea said. “Your wish is my command.”

  Olivia laced up her Doc Martens boots over the socks, already feeling like someone else.

  “I’m gonna freeze my ass off,” she said.

  “It’s a short walk,” Chelsea responded. “Here, try this sweater.” She passed Olivia a handful of black fluff. “But first, get rid of that dreary, Soviet Olympian sports bra you’re wearing. That thing is like a crime against humanity. You’ll just have to go without for now, but we are so going lingerie shopping this weekend. It’s time for you to experience the miracle of the push-up.”

  Olivia removed her bra, and then pulled the black sweater on over her bare chest.

  “It’s too small for me,” she said, yanking at the hem. It stubbornly remained several inches above the waistband of the skirt.

  “It’s perfect,” Chelsea said without even looking. “Now, let me do your makeup.”

  She held Olivia’s chin in between her thumb and forefinger, turning her face one way and then the other, then pulled a large plastic tub of cosmetics out from under her bed and went to work.

  “Look up,” she said, running a black pencil along the inner rim of Olivia’s lower eyelid.

  Olivia did as she was told. It felt weird, and it was a struggle not to blink defensively. Chelsea dusted her lids with charcoal shadow and slicked her lips with something sticky and vanilla scented. She did Olivia’s hair, too, shielding her eyes with a cupped hand while dousing her head in bubblegum-scented hairspray.

  After several long minutes of fuss and fluffy brushes, Chelsea finally seemed to be satisfied with the beautiful monster she had created.

  “Check you out,” she said, gesturing toward the full-length mirror.

  Olivia almost didn’t recognize the girl she saw there. Smoky eyes, black-cherry lips, and mile-high legs. Chelsea had pinned Olivia’s long blond locks into twin buns like mouse ears, each with a little fan of stiffly sprayed hair poking out of the center. The only familiar things in the mirror were Olivia’s trusty Docs, so her gaze kept going back to them, like that would ground her somehow. Make her feel less like a stranger.

  Tearing her gaze away, she walked over to the bed, took the little tape recorder out of her bag, and slipped it down the side of her right boot.

  “What about you?” she asked Chelsea. “What are you going to wear?”

  Chelsea picked up Olivia’s discarded jeans and wriggled into them.

  “Me?” She smiled and buttoned the jeans. “I’m dressing down. This is your show, Han.”

  She pulled her favorite leopard print faux-fur jacket out of the closet and handed it to Olivia. Olivia slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled it tight at her waist. It smelled like Chelsea, like jasmine oil and cigarettes. Like a bad girl.

  It made her feel like she could do this.

  * * *

  Outside, the cold wind on Olivia’s bare thighs made her gasp.

  “Come on,” she said to Chelsea. “Hurry.” Her roommate didn’t even seem to notice the chill.

  Olivia held out a little flashlight to show the way as they took a shortcut. It illuminated the snow along the path. They were about halfway through a little spur of woods and over to the back of the rec hall when Chelsea stopped short.

  “Dammit,” she said. “I forgot the camera.”

  “I told you you’d forget it if you didn’t put it in your purse,” Olivia said. “We need that camera, so you can get some photos of me with Brent and Tyler!”

  “Chill, will you?” Chelsea said. “I’ll go get it.”

  “Well, I’m not going back,” Olivia said. “
It’s too damn cold. I’ll just see you there.”

  “Fine,” Chelsea replied. “God!” She turned around and headed back toward the dorm, while Olivia continued on to the party.

  Chelsea was such a bubblehead. Honestly, Olivia had probably made a mistake relying on her to be part of such an important mission. Knowing her roomie, she’d probably meet some cute guy on the way back to the dorm, and decide to go do tequila shots out of his navel. Then drive down to New York for bagels. She was always pulling stunts like that, and skating by without any consequences.

  It’d probably be better to figure out a way to make this work without the photos.

  Still, Chelsea had done such a great job on the hair and makeup, and Olivia couldn’t really stay mad at her.

  17

  When Tony saw the girls split up, he knew this was his chance.

  He should have been scared, standing there in the darkness, so close to the demoness who had destroyed his life, but he felt unnaturally calm. The night was bitter cold, but he felt warm all over. He could feel his brain humming from Olivia’s closeness, with a phantom burning that was pulsing through the hand and arm he no longer possessed.

  He raised what he had instead, the seven-inch hunting knife he’d carefully modified and bolted to the business end of his prosthetic. The blade was matte black and nearly invisible—a deadly shadow, like the vengeful ghost of a fist.

  Olivia’s trampy roommate held a tiny flashlight, and Tony watched its delicate fairy ring of illumination drift away through the naked winter trees for a few seconds. Then he was alone with Olivia.

  He had to act quickly. In just a few more feet, she’d be out of the dark woods and out into the open. Reaching out to grab her felt inevitable, like falling.

  He stepped onto the narrow trail behind her and clamped his good gloved hand over her mouth. She let out a surprised squeak, muffled down to nothing against his palm. He could feel her hot breath through the leather.

  She was so tall now. Almost as tall as he was, he mused as he cranked her chin up and back. She felt like a woman as she struggled against him. He had clearly caught her just in time. The devil child was well on her way to becoming a full-grown monster.