Ignited

by Lily Cahill

  When she opened the front door, she heard stirrings down the hall. Ruth fought back her surprise. Her father usually didn’t emerge from his sermon-writing until nearly dinner time.

  “Dad?” she called out, walking down the hallway.

  There was a loud sound, like wood hitting wood, and she flinched. The sound came from down the short hallway, and Ruth followed, her steps careful.

  “Dad, where are you?”

  She peeked into his bedroom as she passed. The door was standing open, but the room itself was empty. She took in the neat hospital corners of his bed, the untouched look of every item. Edward was someone who genuinely believed that cleanliness was next to godliness.

  On soft feet, Ruth approached her open door. She was sure she’d closed it before leaving to see Henry. She was positive.

  She rounded the corner and looked inside, where her father was holding her scorched sheets in one hand and a ruined dress in another.

  “Ruthie,” he said, his voice raw with hurt or anger, she wasn’t sure which. “How on earth can you explain this?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ruth

  “How did this happen?”

  Edward sounded calm, but his shoulders were taut, and his knuckles were white where they clutched the fabric. She had thought she had been so careful. Her father hadn’t felt a cause to go through her room in years. Terror coursed through her veins.

  Ruth drew in a shaky breath. “Dad ….”

  “I heard voices outside my window, someone talking about powers. But surely, I thought, it couldn’t be my Ruthie. She was good.”

  “Dad,” Ruth tried again. He ignored her.

  “So I waited, I watched. And then your window was propped open last night, and you were gone. That’s when I knew ….”

  “If you’d only lis—”

  Edward shook the fabric with rage. “There’s a burn on here in the shape of a body,” he spat, the accusation slipping into his tone.

  Ruth couldn’t lie to him, not anymore. She hadn’t prayed in days, she realized, and wondered if it was too late to ask God for this favor: that Edward didn’t ask, that Edward didn’t know—

  “Are you one of them?”

  Ruth closed her eyes and crumpled forward, dropping her face into her hands. Tears stung her eyes, but she held them back. They wouldn’t do her any favors. Her father wouldn’t be any kinder to her for them.

  She looked up, shaking. Her body felt like it could fall apart, strung out on a cocktail of adrenaline and fear. “Dad,” she said. “Please ….”

  He threw the sheets and the dress to the floor and tore at his hair. “So this is what’s been happening to you lately? The hair? Your attitude? I saw you sneaking out again today, so don’t pretend you weren’t!”

  The lump in her throat grew bigger, and Ruth struggled to speak around it. She took a few steps back, pressing up against the wall behind her. Her body shrunk under the force of his anger. “Please, it’s not my fault. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I was so afraid. I have been trying so hard—”

  The tears she had been fighting against came slowly leaking from her eyes, and she scrubbed at them.

  Edward crossed the distance between them, grabbing at her arms. His touch was softer than she expected. She had been anticipating bruises and pain and punishment, the kind of punishment he believed would make her right in the eyes of God. Instead, his fingers were light. When she dared to look up at him, his eyes were glistening.

  “Ruthie,” he said, sounding so soft and heartbroken that she hiccuped out a sob despite herself. “Ruthie, what did you do? You were trying to be a good girl, I thought. What did you do to deserve this?”

  The night she had spent with Henry came flashing back to her, and she winced. What if this really was a punishment for her sins, what if everything that was happening was because she hadn’t been good enough, and this was all some divine retribution?

  No, a voice inside her whispered.

  Henry wasn’t a mistake. The powers—they were not easy, and they were not what she would have chosen for herself, but they were a part of her. No one else who had them was a demon, so neither was she.

  She couldn’t—wouldn’t—apologize for this part of herself. Not anymore.

  “It was the fog. It ….” She gritted out the words, even through her tears.

  The slap to her face made her head snap to the right. She did not reach up to touch the skin of her cheek, no matter how much she wanted to.

  Her father suddenly crushed her against his chest. She felt his hands stroke over her hair, but the gesture did not calm her. He smelled of stale sweat, and disgust curled in her stomach. This wasn’t love. Hitting her wasn’t love.

  “It’s okay, Ruthie. We’ll figure this out. We’ll cure you.”

  Terror turned her to stone in her father’s arms. She knew what her father’s cures entailed.

  Edward pulled back to look at her. His eyes moved over her face as he studied her silently, and he frowned at what he saw there. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll thank me when it’s over and you’re yourself again.”

  Ruth tried to step back through the open door. His hand clenched tighter on her forearm, and she winced. The pain made her struggle harder, but he was stronger than she was. At least in some ways.

  She could use her powers. Just make her skin hot, let it glow molten until he let her go—

  No. No, she couldn’t do it. She didn’t have enough control, and she couldn’t guarantee she’d be able to stop once she started. Even now, Ruth didn’t want to hurt him.

  “I’m not possessed!” Ruth wrenched at her arm, but his grip was like iron. Panic made her wild, and she flailed even harder. “Please, listen! You’re wrong. I’m still me, I’m still Ruth, I’m just—more.”

  He dropped his arms to her waist and hauled her away from the door. Ruth kicked out, but it did no good. He dumped her onto her bedroom’s ugly brown carpet.

  Her father stood in the doorway, straight-backed and grave. “No one ever thinks they’re possessed, at least not until it’s too late. That’s why I’m doing this. To save you.”

  “An exorcism?” She struggled to her feet. “You’re going to starve me to death?”

  Edward paled to see her on her feet. She had never stood up to him before. He ran from the room and slammed her door shut in her face. She heard the lock engage from the outside and fruitlessly tried to turn the handle and push the door open. Panic overtook her and she clawed at the door, sounding desperate even to her own ears as she called out, “Stop, stop! You have to listen to me!”

  “This is for your own good!” Edward yelled back. His voice was scratchy, as if he were fighting back emotion, and it only made her panic more. He never sounded like that, like he was overwhelmed. “I’m going to save you from this, Ruth!”

  “Please, no! Please, I’m not possessed, I’m not ….” She banged her fist against the door, again and again. Heat started to rise inside her, but she could not find it in herself to care. “Please, let me go. I haven’t hurt anyone, and I won’t, I would never, you know that—”

  Edward sounded farther away, as if he’d taken a few steps down the hallway. “It’s in your nature now. You won’t be able to help it. Just—I need to keep you in there until I figure out how to save your soul.”

  Ruth could feel her hands growing hotter, and she stepped away from the door a moment before they went up in flames. She took a deep breath in and out, and the fire dissipated quickly. Her skin had cooled to its normal temperature before she remembered her window. When she turned to it, however, she felt her hope fall. It was boarded shut, the nails fit in snugly.

  She dropped to her knees and fought back a sob. Her father would never sway on this, not until he got his way. But he wasn’t an exorcist, and she wasn’t possessed, and there was no way she could imagine escaping the ritual with her life intact.

  Her thoughts turned to Henry. He was bound to show up at the lake tonight. He would
be left waiting for her all night, not knowing why she hadn’t come. What if he thought she’d changed her mind? What if he was angry? She’d be dead before she ever had a chance to explain what had happened.

  She pressed her face into her knees and allowed herself the luxury of crying as much as she wanted.

  It was impossible for Ruth to know how much time had passed. She wasn’t wearing her watch, and there was no clock in her room. The window was boarded up so she couldn’t even guess from the position of the sun. She’d gone numb to her fear what felt like hours ago, sitting in silence on her floor, too shocked to do anything more.

  She’d known it would be bad—that was why she’d been so determined to get away. There’d still been a little part of her that hoped, however, that her father would find a way to love and forgive her, no matter what, for no reason more than she was his daughter.

  Her face was itchy and sore from her tears. Her stomach grumbled again and again, going from an annoyance to a physical pain. Desperate, she knocked on the door. “Dad?”

  There was silence, and then steps coming down the hallway. She could see the shadows cast by her father’s feet just under the doorway. “What do you want?”

  His sharp voice kindled the flame of her fear once more.

  Some tiny seed inside of her hoped that Henry would realize something was wrong and come to her aid, but it was just a silly dream. Even if he came, there was nothing he could do. Her father would deny she was there. She couldn’t allow herself to give in to such fantasies or she’d break. She was sure of it.

  “Please, I’m so hungry. Could I have something to eat?” She paused. “Or maybe be let out to use the bathroom?”

  He did not answer right away, and had she not been able to see his feet, she would have assumed he had already walked away.

  After a long moment, he said, “No eating. We have to starve that demon out of there. I’ll get you water and a bucket.”

  She wrinkled her nose at the thought. “But—”

  “If you talk back, you get nothing.”

  “Okay. All right. Thank you.”

  He padded away, and Ruth took a deep breath. Maybe if she was quick enough, she’d be able to get past him when he opened the door. A part of her felt frozen with fear. If she didn’t make it, everything would become that much worse.

  But no one was coming, and this would be her only real chance.

  She heard his foot falls coming back down the hall.

  As soon as the door was opened a crack, Ruth dove for it, getting her hands into the space and trying to make her body follow. She felt her father slap her, flailing blindly and trying to reach any part of her that he could. He got her forehead and then caught the corner of her eye, forcing her back with an audible cry.

  “Back, demon!” he cried out, pushing a glass of water through the opening. He waited a moment, testing her to make sure her rebellion had come to an end, before pushing in the bucket. Once the door was closed and locked again, he murmured, “You try anything like that again, I won’t even bother exorcising you. You’re too dangerous like this. I won’t let you do this to my girl.”

  “I am your girl!”

  The words fell on deaf ears.

  Her father left, and fear clutched her heart. How could he do this to her? If he loved her as he claimed to, why wouldn’t he listen to her? Why was he so sure everyone who had powers was evil, when they had never shown signs of being any different than they had always been?

  It was crushing. Ruth closed her eyes, grimacing. She wanted to be angry, she wanted to blame God, but she couldn’t find it within herself, and she wasn’t sure why. She knew God couldn’t be happy with her. She’d lied, she’d felt lustful.

  But she was human, and she wasn’t perfect. She never would be, no matter how hard her father pushed her. She’d lied because she’d been scared of what would happen if she told the truth, and now she saw how right she had been to be afraid. And how she felt for Henry—it was so much, and so fast, but it was also so right. He didn’t feel like an accident in her life. He felt like the one for her.

  Ruth frowned at the rusting bucket that was still sitting, abandoned, on the floor. Her father had given her a pot in which to do her business, like she was some kind of animal.

  That’s not godly, she thought to herself. She flinched automatically, but no lightning bolt came to strike her down, so she took a deep breath. She wasn’t a demon. She knew that. She had done what she could to be a good, pious girl her whole life. She’d tried so hard, and yet her father had never once acknowledged that. He only saw her faults, never her strengths.

  For the first time in a very long time, Ruth allowed herself to feel her anger. It manifested inside of her, a fire in her belly that grew and seeped throughout her veins, settling just below her skin.

  She hadn’t asked for these powers. She didn’t deserve to be locked in her room. This wasn’t Christian love—this wasn’t the God she had grown up loving, who watched over his children and loved them unconditionally. This was pain and torment. Ruth glared at the door. Her father wasn’t a man of God. He was insane.

  And if she stayed here, she would never escape him.

  Ruth pushed herself to her feet. Her knees felt like water, unsteady, but she forced herself to the window. She pried at the boards, but they were all nailed too securely. There would be no getting them separated from the pane. At least, not by using her strength.

  Fear made her body electric, and she hesitated. There was no way of telling if this would work—she had never practiced anything like this, and even if it all went according to the plan she was cooking up in her head, she couldn’t be sure she’d be able to stop.

  But there wasn’t another choice. She refused to die. She would live the life she wanted.

  Reaching out, Ruth let the fire seep from her veins into her hands. The flames burned hot, and she held them against the wood covering her window. They smoldered under her touch, catching fire and charring. The fire spread farther and farther over the boards, growing unwieldy, licking at her wallpaper. As the paper started to curl, Ruth rushed to the glass of water and threw it against the flames. They sputtered and disappeared.

  The charring weakened the boards—not totally, but enough. Ruth pulled the burned pieces, ripping them down as best she could, her nails tearing. Five minutes work gave her a space big enough that she could conceivably wriggle through it. The wood lay in a smoking pile on the carpet.

  The window itself was still movable. It looked like her father hadn’t planned on her being able to get through that particular obstacle. She slid it open as quietly as possible and maneuvered the screen out of the way, dropping it by the pile of wood. She hoisted herself up and tried to squeeze through.

  The wood proved harder to get by than she had imagined. As she forced her way through, her leg caught on a jagged edge. She gasped as she felt the gash open across her calf, but she had to keep going. Her father could come back at any minute, and if he caught her, she would never be able to do something like this again.

  As soon as her feet touched the grass below her window, she took off, flying away from her prison.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Henry

  Henry stalked into town after work, only pausing on his way out the door to say goodnight to Mrs. McClure and Patrice. His grandfather had headed to his apartment upstairs an hour earlier to rest before changing for dinner. He hadn’t said a word to Henry, and Henry hadn’t said a word in return. The silence between them was chilly, and the entire office had felt it all afternoon.

  He was not going to that damn dinner.

  Something was happening with his grandfather. He had been willfully blind to it as long as he possibly could, but it just wasn’t feasible anymore. Dr. Pinkerton had secrets, and he was willing to work himself near-to-death to keep Henry from finding out what they were. For a man who had never kept anything from Henry, his reluctance and lack of communication were worrisome. Just what was he up to that he
felt it was too much to risk Henry’s safety?

  Thinking about it too much made Henry’s stomach turn.

  He couldn’t look at his grandfather right now, couldn’t sit across from him at a table and play happy family. Couldn’t pretend to be the dutiful son to his cold mother. Not tonight, not when something very serious was happening and Dr. Pinkerton’s actions were starting to look less and less justified and more and more suspicious.

  He needed to distract himself from his family problems … and from the hours until he would meet up with Ruth.

  Only two hours more until he saw her again, helped her escape. Ruth was most important right now, what he should be focusing on.

  There wasn’t much in the way of food at home, he knew. He tended to time his grocery shopping so his food ran out on Wednesdays, that way he could have a big meal at his mother’s house without anything going bad at his own. Henry veered into the diner. It would be a good way to pass the time until seven o’clock. The summer sun was still high over Jubilation and Desolation, and though most places closed up early, the diner usually stayed open for most of the night. He could pop in, get something to eat, and kill time until he finally saw Ruth again.

  It didn’t matter that it had only been hours, or that he should be putting distance between them. Every time he tried, Ruth broke through all his defenses just by being herself: strong and quietly resilient, bravely fighting everything she’d ever known so that she could have the chance to live. No matter how many times he told himself he needed to maintain a professional relationship with her, the second she was in front of him, his brain went quiet and no objection seemed valid.

  The diner was a cheery place, most days. There were large windows and a counter with twirling stools, where people liked to share milkshakes with their sweethearts. The seating at the booths were covered in black vinyl. A jukebox in the corner played five songs for a dime.