Spark a Story

by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

  I smile at them as I watch my family come to a conclusion. And I sit down, grab a pen and a paper, and begin to write a letter.

  GRACE TWOMEY

  Sunday

  SUNDAYS ARE SUPPOSED to be warm. You’re supposed to wake up to sun drifting through the shades and birds chirping outside. You’re supposed to lazily shuffle to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Sundays are not supposed to be like this. The spinning red-and-blue light does not remind me of the sun. The sirens piercing through the cold air are much shriller than the birds. This water I’m supposed to be drinking is not coffee. It’s not warming my hands. Why can’t I have something to warm my hands? A stiff blanket has been wrapped around my shoulders but it doesn’t make me any warmer. There is a fire in front of me burning bright and filling my vision with orange. I start to head toward it, seeking any form of warmth, but someone pulls me back. A man in a mask sits me back down and tells me they’ll be out soon. Who are “they”? Who is he? He looks at the plastic cup of water in my hands and tells me to drink it. I don’t want to but I do it to make him happy; I thought then he would tell me who they were. He doesn’t.

  When I wake up I can tell that I’m moving. The sirens are still there and they aren’t getting farther away even though I know I’m moving. I open my eyes wider to look around and now I know why the sirens aren’t quieting. I’m in an ambulance. I’m not hurt or sick, just sitting there, watching. I feel as if I’m watching someone’s else’s life. There’s a girl here. Her skin red and peeling, melting almost. The skin of her arm is missing. I can see the bone and I know that I should be repulsed but I’m not. Because this can’t be real. There are a few people gathered around her trying to patch things up but I don’t think it’s working.

  “Who is she?” I ask one of them.

  No response.

  “Who is she?” I repeat it a little louder, willing someone to look at me, to assure me this is real, but no one does.

  The sirens stop abruptly and the doors of the ambulance swing open as everyone rushes to get the girl inside the hospital. After everyone has left the ambulance a nurse grabs my hand and helps me down from the vehicle. She guides me to a waiting room where the chairs are stiff and uncomfortable but I sit down anyway, waiting for someone to please just tell me what’s going on.

  It must be hours later when I wake up to a man in a lab coat putting his hand on my shoulder. I jump back and notice how sore I am from falling asleep on that chair.

  “Christine.” He keeps his voice even and calm; I feel like he is too calm for the situation at hand.

  “Who was she?” I don’t see the realization I thought would possess his face. “Who was the girl in the ambulance?”

  He sighs and again the realization is missing from his eyes. He looks upset, still calm, but in his eyes I can see that something is wrong.

  “It was Ally, your sister. We did all we could but she was too far gone when the ambulance arrived.”

  The room is spinning and for the first time since I’ve gotten here I begin to appreciate the wooden chair I am sitting on for it is the only thing keeping me stable.

  “I know this is a lot to hear but I have some more bad news. Your mother did not survive.”

  I can’t think straight. If she’s gone there’s no one to care for Gavin and me. I’m only sixteen, this is too much. I can’t take care of him by myself. At that moment I become aware I haven’t seen him since Ally and I arrived here.

  “Where’s Gavin?”

  “He’s in your mother’s room, and your father is on his way.”

  I think of how Ally looked in the ambulance. At the time I may not have processed how badly she was hurt but I hope Mom doesn’t look the same. I don’t want Gavin to be in her room, to see her like that. It would be too much for him to have to look at.

  I get up even though the room has yet to stop spinning and try to find him despite not even knowing where Mom’s room would be but the man grabs my arm again. I think he says something but I’m too busy worrying to listen. He begins to walk me down a hallway and stops as we get to a door with one window on it that has the shades pulled shut.

  “You don’t have to do this.” His voice is still too calm. “You don’t need to see her like this, you can remember her as she is.”

  I want to tell him what Ally looked like in the ambulance, how I didn’t even care, she was unrecognizable, and I was numb to the sight of her wounds but I just push past him and walk into the room.

  I had prepared myself for the worst but she looks the same, almost more peaceful. Gavin is curled up next to her on the edge of the bed, looking just as peaceful as her, but there is one difference between the two of them that reminds me this is real: his chest rises and falls as he breathes while hers is still.

  I don’t want to wake him so I sit at a chair by the end of the bed. There’s a clipboard hanging off the end of the bed, I pick it up and try to decipher the medical jargon scratched hastily but I can only make out two words—smoke inhalation.

  Gavin moves around a bit and opens his eyes. He looks at me and smiles. Gavin is nine years old but he never seems to act his age, not in the sense that his behavior is out of place but just that he doesn’t understand social cues or figurative language. He likes things to be very literal and that’s okay.

  “Christine!” He says it a little too loud and for a moment I’m afraid he will wake Mom but I soon remember that won’t ever happen.

  “Hey, bud, how are you doing?”

  “The doctors said I’m very lucky. I came to sleep in your room late last night and they said if I had been in my room I wouldn’t have survived the fire.” He winks at me, a weird gesture but one that probably seems perfectly appropriate to him.

  There’s a knock at the door and Dad comes in.

  “Sorry it took so long to get here. They said I can take you two back to my apartment when you’re ready.” He glances at Mom and I can see he will not be taking it as well as Gavin.

  After some paperwork we get into his truck and start driving. The sun starts to rise as Gavin falls asleep again in the backseat. Dad stares out at the road, his eyes glossed over. After driving for a while Gavin wakes up.

  “Daddy? Will you and Mommy get back together now?”

  He doesn’t answer and I don’t either but I can see that he’s started to cry and soon I am doing the same. Gavin thinks he upset us and starts to cry as well but not for the same reason as Dad and I.

  When we arrive at Dad’s apartment he removes the clutter off his couch so we can sit down. He goes into his room and suddenly I’m aware of the fact that the world seems more silent than it should be.

  Gavin taps me on the shoulder. “Can we play a game?”

  His favorite thing about Dad’s house is that he has video games, so we slip in a disk and start to play. Gavin seems unfazed by yesterday’s events, but I can’t even focus enough to know what game we’re playing. After Gavin gets mad at me for dying too much in the game, we switch it to one-player mode and I let him play by himself. I don’t even know how to play the game; Ally always played with him. She should have lived; I’m no use to him now. My room is on the first floor of our house. A few years ago I had fractured my knee and all my stuff was moved down so I didn’t have to go upstairs. We never bothered to move it back up. That may be the only reason I’m here instead of her.

  I watch Gavin play for hours until Dad finally emerges out of his room. His face is red and blotchy but all he does is throw me his car keys.

  “I don’t have anything to give you for breakfast; go to the grocery store.”

  His words are harsh, but I don’t have another option so I get up to go buy some cereal.

  When I get back Gavin is still playing that game, and Dad is sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. I make the three of us bowls of cereal and call Gavin to come eat. We eat in silence.

  Gavin goes back to his game but soon turns to me to ask why we’re not at school.

  “Don
’t worry about it. You can go back soon.”

  The rest of the day as well as the next morning is uneventful until Dad’s cell phone rings.

  “What do you mean? No, that can’t be possible, you’re wrong!” He’s silent for a few minutes, his face getting redder and redder with each passing second. “Okay, thank you.”

  I look at him, too scared to ask for an explanation.

  After a few minutes he quietly says, “They think the cause of the fire was A-R-S-O-N.”

  Gavin interrupts loudly. “I can spell; what’s arson?”

  I look at the game he’s playing and actually get a chance to focus on it; there’s blood on the screen and the game seems more violent than I remember. I don’t know anyone who would set our house on fire. Gavin’s only nine, and Ally was even younger. Who would do that to children? Dad looks furious; I know that if he ever finds out who did it he’ll set them on fire. His dark-brown eyes are filled with hatred and they’re staring right at me.

  “You did this,” he sputters, pointing his finger in my face. “You did this! You set the fire! You killed her!”

  At this point he’s standing in front of me, leaning over me, and I can feel his spit land on my face as he rants on and on. Gavin has started to cry; he doesn’t understand and to be honest neither do I. Dad reaches out his hand as if preparing to hit me across the face, but he seems to see Gavin out of the corner of his eye, and he puts his hand down. He stands there breathing heavily for a few moments before locking himself in his room again.

  Gavin collapses on top of me, sobbing loudly.

  “It’s okay, bud; he’s just mad. I didn’t set the fire, I would never do something like that, you know that.”

  “How did he know?”

  “Know what, bud? I told you, I didn’t set the fire.”

  “He was yelling at me.”

  Gavin misinterprets a lot of stuff, so I give him time to think, hoping he’ll realize Dad was yelling at me and he did nothing wrong but he just sobs even louder.

  “I did it, I set the fire. Why did he say I killed her? Who’s dead?”

  I don’t think he understands what arson means, or what it means to start a fire.

  “Buddy, Mommy and Ally went somewhere better last night. They can’t come back, but they’re happy and they miss us.” I start to cry but I wipe away my tears because seeing them will only make Gavin more upset. “Do you know what it means to start a fire?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I did last night. Dad taught me how when we went camping over the summer.”

  “You set a fire last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  It’s becoming too much to process. Why would he even do that? What happens if the police find out? Can they send a nine-year-old to jail? Will they take him away from me? Will they be able to understand him? Will they know that he didn’t mean it? I decide to take it one question at a time.

  “Why did you set a fire in our house, Gavin?”

  “I wanted Mommy and Daddy to live together again. Ms. B said tragedy brings people closer together.”

  What?!

  “I just wanted them to be together again, Christine, please understand.”

  I want to tell him that I can’t, I can’t and I won’t ever understand but that’s not what I tell him.

  “Of course, buddy, don’t worry, we can fix this.”

  Dad left his cell phone so I grab it and step outside to redial the last number that called him.

  “Hello? This is Christine, Tom’s daughter. I was just wondering what you told him about the house fire on Beechwood Street earlier yesterday morning.”

  “Ma’am, we can’t just give out that information.”

  “Please, I’ve just lost my sister and my mom; I’m more of a parent to my younger brother than my dad has ever been and I need this information to make an informed decision of what my brother and I need to do next.”

  There is a sigh that comes from the other side of the phone. “How old are you?”

  I know it’s wrong but I need answers so I lie and tell him I’m eighteen.

  “If it comes down to it are you willing to act as the legal guardian for your brother?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “The Beechwood Street fire seems to have been caused by arson of a crude nature. Not very professional, probably done by someone with little experience. So far the prime suspects are people who were inside the house at the time of the fire or have access to the house, because there were no signs of forced entry.”

  “No one has keys to our house if they don’t live in it and if Ally and my mom are dead, your prime suspects are . . .”

  “You and your brother. Sorry, ma’am, I’m only the messenger, but if anyone calls to ask, you’ve never heard of me. Good luck, ma’am.”

  Just like that, he’s gone. I slide down against the wall, clutching the phone. I have two options, turn myself in or let them take Gavin away. They can’t take him, but if I turn myself in there will be no one to look after him. Dad wasn’t a good parent before and now he barely leaves his room. We have no family he could go to, no grandparents or aunts or uncles. I sit there staring blankly for a few minutes and decide that I’ll have to choose. Gavin may be literal but I’m rational and I can make this choice. I have to weigh the pros and cons of each option, because no one else is going to do it for me.

  If Gavin gets taken away he might end up in juvie. He wouldn’t even understand what was going on or why he was there. He also might be admitted to a psychiatric hospital for the criminally insane. With the thought process that led him to do this how could he not be insane? Would they even put him in there, considering he’s only nine years old? So far this option only has cons and no pros. I guess if somehow he wasn’t charged at least he could still have someone to care for him.

  If I turn myself in Gavin could be taken away by Child Protective Services, or even worse he could remain in the care of our dad. There would be no one responsible enough to take care of him and I would be in jail. He wouldn’t even understand what had happened. The only possible pro for this yet again would require a miracle. If I wasn’t charged for some reason, things might turn out okay.

  My list of pros and cons races around my head all night, practically driving me insane. Gavin and I sleep on the couch again.

  I spend all of the next two days trying to make a decision. Dad only comes out of his room to eat. He doesn’t say a word and refuses to look at me. What would he do if Gavin told him what he had done? I don’t even want to imagine it. Late Thursday night I make my decision. I’ll have to turn myself in. Maybe Gavin will be adopted by a nice family who understands him. I know that’s almost impossible but it’s the one thing that keeps me going as I drive all the way to the police station.

  I swing open the heavy glass doors and step inside. There’s a man in uniform sitting at a desk in front of me. There are plenty of chairs but they’re all empty. I clear my throat.

  “Hi.”

  He holds up his finger, asking me to wait a minute. He seems to be scribbling something down on some paperwork. A minute or so later he looks up at me.

  “What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

  “On Sunday morning there was a fire on Beechwood Street.”

  He stares at me.

  “I did it.”

  “You did what, honey?”

  “I set the fire. It was my house. My name is Christine and I set the fire on Beechwood Street.”

  He peers over the rims of his glasses at me and gets up with a sigh. He mutters under his breath as he handcuffs me.

  “Someone will question you shortly, Miss Christine,” he says while guiding me to a room with a table, two chairs, and a mirror. I’ve watched enough crime TV shows to know that’s not really a mirror.

  After what seems like hours a woman comes into the room with a file in her hands.

  “How old are you, honey?”

  I just admitted to setting a fire that killed two people. Why is she calli
ng me “honey”?

  “Sixteen.”

  “You know what I think? I don’t think you set the fire, I think you’re covering for someone.”

  My heart starts to race. How could she know? I literally just walked in here. They had two main suspects and one of them just walked in the door and turned themselves in. What could possibly tell her that I didn’t do it?

  “Umm . . . what?” My voice cracks.

  “Only like ten percent of arsonists are female and usually they’re setting fires for revenge. Also, nothing about you says arsonist, you’re just a normal girl caught in the crossfire as far as we can tell.”

  Oh, she has no idea.

  “Listen, since you turned yourself in we’ve got to keep you for twenty-four hours. Make yourself comfortable and feel free to use your one phone call.”

  Defeated, I pick up the phone and dial Dad’s cell.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Christine, can I talk to Gavin please?”

  There’s a click as he hangs up. Wow, great.

  For the second time this week I spend the night sleeping on an uncomfortable chair in a place I don’t belong. This time it’s made of metal and I wake up even sorer than the last time. I’m brought some food but that’s the only outside contact I have until long after the dinner plate has been brought. The woman comes in again.

  “Good news and bad news.”

  “What time is it?”

  “About midnight. Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” She tries to say this tauntingly but it comes out more sympathetic than I think she meant it to be.

  “Uhh . . . good news?”

  “You get to go back home. Bad news is we know who did it and I don’t think you’re going to like the answer. You called someone here at the station on Tuesday.”

  Oh no.

  “We’re not going to talk about the fact that you lied about your age, we’re just going to talk about some information that was exchanged over that phone call. You were told that you and your brother were the main suspects in the investigation, correct?” I don’t answer her but she continues anyway. “You informed the officer that you wanted to protect your brother, not in those words but more or less, right?” Again I say nothing. “That really only leaves us with one solution.”