Hope lights another cigarette. I turn the key enough to roll her window down. I don’t look up.
“From where I’m sitting, I’d say you owe that bitch a taste of her own medicine. I may not be your wife’s best friend, but…”
I sit up and look at Hope. “You just want my money. I’m not an idiot.”
“No, but you are a sad, desperate man in need of a good lay. And that’s where I come in. I get paid, you get to blow off some steam, and stick it to your wife. It’s a win-win. I’ll even let you take a picture. But just one. Show her you got stones of your own.”
It won’t solve anything, and the thought of being with another woman sickens me, but I can’t stop my hand from reaching for my wallet. I open it, pause, and stare at Hope.
“It’s fine, honey, we can work out the price after. Lean your seat back.”
I fumble for the lever and fall backward against the rear seats. Hope smiles, tosses her cigarette out the open window, and climbs on top of me. She leans toward me, grinding her hips into mine as she does.
“Just tell me what you like,” she whispers, adopting a completely new tone.
I don’t answer.
Hope leans back, rakes her fingers down my chest, and moans. My heart stutters to a halt. I dig my fingers into the center console and my own leg.
Uhh. Mmm.
Hope reaches for my belt buckle, between her thighs. She’s grinning, eyes alive with power and energy. But as she releases my belt, I hear the sound of a naked body striking a motel room wall. The car shudders and the sound echoes.
Mmm. Oh. Oh!
“Shut up!” I scream. I try to burrow into the seat, but I’m held prisoner.
“I didn’t say anything,” Hope says. “And I won’t if you’re going to be rude about it.”
Something thrusts into the side of the car and it rocks violently. Joy is moaning and screaming. Ty is driving her against the driver’s side window. The glass is fogged, but I know he’s there. Flesh striking flesh.
I squirm against Hope.
“There we go, big guy,” Hope says. “I was beginning to think I’d have to do all the work.”
Oh! Uhh. Mmm.
The space inside the car is collapsing. Ty’s never-ending thrusts are crumpling the car down on top of me. Joy’s orgasmic shrieks grow louder. She’s enjoying crushing me. She’s getting off to my pain.
I struggle against Hope’s hold and the quickly imploding car. I can’t tell if I’m breathing. I could be dead already and just haven’t noticed. Hell is Hell whether dead or alive.
“Oh, you like playing the resistant type,” Hope says. It’s growing difficult to see her. “I can dig that. Behold, for I am Hope! None are beyond my reach. No one can hide from me!”
Tick. I know you. Tick. Tick.
I lunge up and punch Hope in the face. She falls back against the steering wheel. The horn sounds, fracturing the night and dismantling the sounds of Joy and Ty.
My pulse and breath return at once. “Out!” I bellow. “Get out! Out, out, out!”
Hope rolls into the passenger’s seat and practically leaps out of the car. She leans back in as I pull my seat upward. “You’re a real piece of work,” she says, wiping a thin trail of blood from her chin. “But at least you’re not sniveling like a little bitch now. I was beginning to think you were a dickless little pussy.”
“Don’t you fucking talk to me like that,” I shout, jabbing a finger at her. There was a new voice between the moans and taunts of that fucking clock, but I can’t remember it with Hope flapping her mouth. I should have hit her harder. It was so clear, but now it’s gone.
Hope doesn’t flinch. Instead, she smiles. “Well, go on, get the fuck outta here. Go home and give your wife a taste of that rage. Don’t waste it on me.”
Hope slams the door shut and takes a step back. I start the car and spin out of the parking lot, leaving Hope a distant smudge in the rearview mirror.
Something shifts deep inside me. I can’t say what, but I know it’s there. I know where I am going now but not what I’ll do when I arrive. All I know is that whatever is festering inside my soul needs to be released.
CHAPTER NINE
It’s nearly dawn when I arrive home. I leave my car on the street. I won’t be long.
I stand in the driveway for a few minutes, staring up at the house my wife and I bought together a number of years ago. It feels like a lifetime. It’s the only home Aza has known, but just like my life has been inexorably changed, so will hers.
I walk to the garage and peer through the window. Joy’s car is in its usual place. There’s a clean void in the dust on the trunk. I still see her and Ty wrapped up in each other’s arms against it. I still hear Joy moaning. The air quivers around me like a wall struck by her bare ass.
I make my way into the backyard and open the shed that sits in the back corner. Tree branches loom over it, filling the interior with shadows, but I know the contents by heart. The metal gas can is right where I left it. Full, just as I always leave it.
I unlock the back door and slide into the house like one of the shadows. The kitchen is a mess, dishes piled on the counter, crumbs covering the table. For a moment, I entertain the idea of cleaning up, but as I move for the sink, the gas can hits off a chair and I am reminded of why I’m here.
I wash the crumbs off the table with gasoline. The scent of it fills the air and ignites a fervor within me. I empty the can over the rest of the kitchen. By the end of it, I’m panting, sweating. I’m more animal than man, but I cannot stop. I no longer have the control to do so.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
My eyes dart toward the living room doorway. We don’t have a wall clock, but I hear something. I stand in the middle of my gas-drenched kitchen, inhaling vapors, and listening for the noise to continue. I worry I’ve woken Joy with my manic movements. But there’s nothing more.
I look down at the empty can in my hand. It’s not enough. I’m not finished.
I head back to the garage and cut a length of garden hose to feed into the gas tank of Joy’s car. I taste gas as I start a siphon. It’s a repulsive taste, but I swallow it down instead of spitting it out, embracing the fire that is, in hopes of the fire that will come. It’s said fire is cleansing, but I’ll never wash this away.
With a full can, I head back into the house. I douse the living room next, soaking the sofa, carpet, and curtains. I slosh gasoline all over the walls, drenching family portraits and decorative knick-knacks.
I come to a shadow profile done of Aza in kindergarten. At some point, I’ll have to come up with an explanation for her. She’s far too old for her age as is. I know Joy and I are to blame. Only eight and Aza has known more pain than any little girl should. I didn’t see it until now, standing in the middle of our living room, gasoline running from the can to drop on the carpet at my feet. Were we ever happy? I pick up a family portrait taken three years ago. We’re smiling, Joy, Aza, and I, but were we happy? There are flashes of fights, tantrums, and violence. I don’t know what to make of it. Everything is fuzzy, covered by the veil of time. Aza deserves more than what I’ve given her. Joy and I, as well. We all deserve more. I don’t know if that’s what I am offering to our fractured family tonight, but I know things will change.
I empty the can and return to the garage.
Pink rays of the sun appear over the trees as I finish my deadly chore. I’ve used a dozen gallons of gasoline on the first floor, leaving Joy’s car dry. I hope it’s enough. I return to the kitchen, set the can on the table, and fish out a long-necked lighter from a drawer. The red plastic feels ice-cold.
Returning to the back door, I stare out past the jungle gym, past the trees, and into the slowly warming sky. There’s a perfect stillness in the air, a calmness that nearly smothers me.
Echoes of Joy’s orgasm break the tranquility. I spin around. The house is quiet, dark, and still as a tomb. I hold the lighter in both hands and lower the tip toward the carpeted entryway. The peace o
f the morning persists and I hate it even more with each passing moment.
Uhh. Mmm.
There’s a tremor in the ground and I fall onto my knees. I steady myself on the door frame, looking into the house once more. There’s a flicker of movement, a blur of something I can’t make out. Gasoline vapors burn my eyes and make it look as if everything is dancing.
I squeeze the trigger.
Click.
It ignites on the first pull. So does the carpet.
I didn’t expect the fire to grow so quickly, but by the time I make it back to the front yard, the entire first floor has blossomed into an inferno. Angry orange tongues lick at the inside of my home, mindlessly destroying everything. A window breaks beneath the pressure of the flames. The glass falls to the dewy grass and the blaze surges. The heat is otherworldly, but I don’t retreat. I want to watch.
The flames are hungry, greedily snapping at the walls, licking the ceiling. It will only be a matter of time before the second floor crumbles. My mouth waters. I haven’t blinked since it began. I don’t smile, but something akin to pleasure makes the hair on my body stand up.
Light shines from the corner room on the second floor. I’m drawn to it immediately and whatever pleasure I was feeling evaporates.
“No,” I say to the burning house.
The corner room on the second floor is Aza’s.
A figures darts past the window. Large. It must be Joy. She knows the house is burning down around her, but she’s moving away from escape. Her silhouette moves back across the window, slower this time. Slower because she’s carrying someone. A small someone. A someone that shouldn’t be in the house.
“Aza!” I bellow, already running for the front door.
I imagine the gates of hell to be no less menacing, but even they could not restrain me. I slam into the front door. It crumbles into pieces and fire engulfs me. If I’m burning, I can’t feel it.
I see nothing but smoke and fire. Black smoke clouds the ceiling. Orange flames dance across the floor. I can’t see, but I know the way by heart. I know every inch of this place. I run for the stairs, covering my face and yelling at the fire.
The first step gives way beneath my foot. I skip it and throw myself upwards, blindly clawing. I roll across the upstairs carpet, coughing, sputtering, gagging. Squinting, I see the fire hasn’t reached the second floor, but the heat is oppressive and only a couple feet of air exist free of smoke. My fingers become claws and I crawl toward the end of the hallway like a creature climbing up from hell. Perhaps I am this creature, seeking a redemption I don’t deserve.
Joy and Aza are on the floor just outside Aza’s bedroom. Joy is coughing and squinting, sheltering our unconscious daughter in her arms.
“Aza!” I cough out.
Joy looks at me, but doesn’t speak. Tears have scarred lines down her cheeks. Her eyes plead with me, saying words her mouth cannot. I take her hand and nod.
Together, we drag Aza back toward the stairs, but they’ve been completely consumed. The landing is alive with fire and quickly advancing, challenging us to a game we can’t win.
“Back,” I say, spitting ash and coughing blood.
Joy doesn’t argue, but her movements are becoming more lethargic by the moment. The air is no longer breathable. We’re going to die here tonight.
A look down at Aza, lifeless in my arms, and squeeze tighter. I take a deep breath, hold it, and stand. Clutching Aza against my chest, I grab Joy by the arm and pull us away from the stairs. By the end of the hallway, I’m dragging Joy. I can’t tell if she’s conscious. I’m blind, taking each step by instinct, fueled by need.
I’m dying. I feel it. I sense Aza slipping away as well.
There’s no time for second-guessing, no time to analyze the situation. There is no perfect solution, no ideal ending to this game I’ve begun. But Aza doesn’t deserve this. She did nothing to earn such a cruel place in this broken world. No, this hell is for me, and I’ll be damned for eternity before I fail her.
With all the strength and speed I have left, I dive, twisting as I do to lead with my back. Glass shatters and I hold tightly to Aza, making sure she is safe. I don’t know if I’m still holding Joy. I’m falling. I hope I’ve jumped far enough. But I can’t feel anything. Not the raging inferno, not the chill breeze of a late summer’s dawn. I am numb. To everything I have been, and am, and will be, I am numb.
II
“We lie the loudest when we lie to ourselves.”
~ Eric Hoffer
CHAPTER TEN
I smell death again, hidden beneath a cloak of antiseptic and air freshener. I smell blood and metal, sweat and plastic. I taste these things as well, but I can’t swallow, so the foulness of it remains lodged in my throat.
Someone calls me. It sounds like it’s coming from the end of a long tunnel and all I’m hearing is a disoriented echo. A memory of what once was but is no longer. I don’t know whether to seek out the voice or flee from it.
Turning, I find my eyes are unexpectedly open. “Is this hell?” I ask the round nurse standing by my hospital bed.
She smiles sweetly, but it’s forced. Even through the haze of whatever I’ve just woken from, I can tell she’s lying to me. “Heavens, no. You’re still in the land of the living.”
I smack my lips, try to swallow, and gag.
“Oh, here, take a drink,” the nurse says, shoving a straw in my mouth.
I greedily drink until my stomach cramps from the influx of cold water. I lean back and sigh.
“How are you feeling today?”
Click.
“What was that?” I ask, lunging upright.
Pain twists around my spine and my vision darkens. I feel hands on my chest force me back down. I resist at first, but the pain is too much and I relent. Only when my back touches the bed again does the pain recede.
I blink and roll my head to face the nurse. Her cheeks are rosy, her gentle curls pulled back into a bun. She’s no longer wearing her fake smile. It appears genuine concern has reshaped her face. I think. I used to be so good at reading people.
“You’ve had quite a fall,” the nurse says.
“A fall?”
“Yes, a fall. The fire marshal said you must have—”
“Fire marshal?!” I try to sit up again, but can’t find the strength.
“Yes. There was a fire.”
Click. The sound of a long-necked lighter sparking to life.
“Aza!” I scream. “Aza!”
Hands press into my chest again. The nurse’s face fills my view. “You must settle down. Your daughter is just fine. She’s just fine. Please, sir.”
I release the rage that had seized me. I shouldn’t be alive. Did hell spit me back out?
“If you can stay calm, I’ll explain. Help set your memory straight. I know this is likely all very confusing to you. Again, as I said, you took quite a fall.”
“I jumped,” I said, remembering the sound of fracturing glass. I feel the shards in my back, in my arms. I smell my own blood. My burned flesh.
“Seems there was a fire at your home,” the nurse says, slowly taking a seat on the lone chair in the room. She slides close enough that I smell her sweat. “From what I’m told, you and your family escaped through a second-floor window. You landed on your back, sustaining fractures in two of your vertebrae, several lacerations to your back, neck, and arms, as well as a likely concussion. Then there is the matter of burns.”
Click.
I flinch and close my eyes. I know I can’t move. If I see only darkness, can I become it?
“Fortunately, the burns are not nearly as severe as they could have been. You suffered mild second-degree burns to both forearms and first-degree burns to portions of your face, neck, and hands. A little bed rest and you’ll be up again in no time. You’re one of the lucky ones. Not many people live through such a thing. In fact, I’d say someone up there was looking over you and your family.”
Click. Click.
“Shut up,” I growl.
“I’m sorry?”
Click. Click. Click.
“Shut up!” I bellow.
I don’t know if the nurse responds. I don’t know if she’s still sitting at my bedside, watching me with pursed lips and an unreadable expression. All I hear is the click and all I see is fire burning down my world.
But Aza’s alive. I need to hold on to this fact. It’s all that matters.
Later, a doctor arrives and increases the medication seeping into my veins. It dulls the pain along my back considerably, but more importantly, it dulls the sounds of my condemnation. It should leave me disoriented, but I’m granted more clarity than I’ve had since waking.
“Is… Can I see Aza?” I ask.
The doctor, a disheveled man, more hair than flesh, looks at the clipboard at the foot of my bed and sticks the end of a pen in his mouth.
“How are you feeling today?” he asks.
I hesitate, but nothing comes. No echo or impulse. “Is it a new day?”
The doctor cocks his head to the side.
“I’m fine,” I quickly add. “Much better. It was just a little confusing at first, waking up here and all.”
“Understandable. Yes, I’m sure your family would like very much to see you. They’ve been waiting here since being discharged themselves.”
“They?” I ask.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, nothing. Sorry. Yeah. Send them in.”
“Sure thing.” The doctor slides the pen behind an ear and leaves.
Aza enters first, face split in a huge grin. She breaks for the bed and nearly leaps atop me. I stave off her vault at the last moment.
“Whoa, careful with that thing,” I say, nodding at her casted arm. “I’m already in a hospital bed. Let’s not make it worse.”
“Oops. Sorry. I don’t know my own strength sometimes.” Aza growls for good measure.
“But you’re all right, Aza? Are you okay?” I ask, looking her over as much as she’ll allow.
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