Flame Guardian

by Kristin D. Van Risseghem

  The flame sputters out with a poof of smoke.

  When I first called up the fire, I was thinking maybe I’m a super-hero with a super-power. Now I realize I’m the villain. I’ve been ruining our lives and other people’s lives ever since I was four years old.

  I killed my parents.

  I’m a murderer and an arsonist.

  ***

  Ash, I know what you want to tell me. I’ve been guessing it for a while now, but I didn’t know how to talk to you about it.

  It’s too unreal. But I’ve watched you our whole lives. I’ve seen it.

  Ash, I found something strange. I googled the old newspaper stories of our house that burned down, and our parents’ deaths. I’ve read all the news reports and police statements I could find.

  The fire in our house started in dad’s office. Both our parents were in there. For some reason they stayed in there and died.

  You and I were found, together in the play pen, upstairs in our bedroom. They said it was a miracle we were unharmed. The fire burned down the house, but they rescued us in time. One of the firemen was badly hurt getting us out.

  I remember you used to get so mad, even when we were four. But you weren’t angry that day. We’d been playing with our toys, then we both fell asleep in the play pen. It wasn’t your fault.

  -Smoke

  Chapter Eleven

  I reread the letter. Can this be right? If it’s true, then I didn’t start that fire. I didn’t kill my parents. Relief washes through me.

  Not that this helps much. They’re still dead. And yet it does help. It wasn’t my fault.

  How did the fire start in the office? Why did they stay in there? I write back, asking Smoke if he knows any more details.

  ***

  “Have you written your brother about the idea of joining the military?” Mara asks.

  I’d forgotten all about that shitty plan. “No, we’re not signing our lives away to the army. We’ve been in prisons long enough.”

  “Okay, well, let’s make a different plan, then.” Mara goes over numbers with me. The cheapest one-bedroom apartments to rent in Chicago are around five-hundred dollars a month. But those are all in ghetto areas. “So, at minimum wage, if you both work full time, you could maybe find a one-bedroom in a safer neighborhood. Or maybe rent a room in someone’s house.”

  I clam up. I don’t want to talk about this. I control fire, for fuck sake. I’m not going to flip burgers at a dead-end job forty hours a week, just to barely get by. And how are we going to share a one-bedroom apartment? He’s a guy, I’m a girl. We need our own rooms.

  Does Smoke still have his job, after being stuck in the hospital? I’ve tried working a couple of jobs, myself, but the managers were awful and always fired me for nothing.

  Okay, not nothing. I kept losing my temper. An oil fire started in the tiny kitchen at Tastee Freez. We were lucky they let Smoke keep his job there.

  Smoke, are you able to do any classwork in the hospital? Will you still have your job when you get out? We have to figure out what we’re going to do. Mara says we both age out when we turn 18. She said they’ll house you in a transition center until then. When we age out, we’ll finally be free, on our own. But we’ll have to find a place to live. We’ll have to work or something. Maybe we can apply for assistance. Or go to a community college with student housing?

  Did you find out anything else about the fire?

  -Ash

  P.S. I got an unintentional haircut the other day. I hate it.

  ***

  I put my mind to my classes, getting my grades back up. We do all our homework right there during class time. It’s so easy it’s a joke. I’m back on track to graduate, at least.

  Maybe the transition center will keep Smoke long enough for him to catch up and graduate, too. Except if we emancipate on our birthday, June 21, there may not be time.

  I don’t want to think about this. It’s too much. We were abused in several of our foster homes, and now we’ll just be thrown onto the street? Better on our own than under someone else’s control again, while they get money from the government and barely feed us in return.

  I try to conjure the flame again, but I can’t.

  Everything sucks.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ash, I can’t find anything more about the fire. They couldn’t determine what started it, just that it began in the office around 8pm. No one knows why our parents stayed in there and didn’t escape.

  I did find where they are buried. After we get out, we should visit their graves.

  We had excitement here. Did you get the blizzard where you are? The temperatures dropped so low pipes burst all over the city, and for some reason the power went out. They got it back up pretty quickly here in the hospital, but the city was dark for two days. Did the power go out at juvie?

  Do you get the news? A major tsunami hit the Philippines. They’re not sure if some of the islands will still exist after the storm.

  How goes your new studies? Do you like your new skills? Are you learning to control your temper? Do you think you got your smarts from our parents? I’m not talented like you are.

  -Smoke

  I can read my brother’s code. It helps being twins, it’s like we can read each other’s minds. “Smarts from our parents,” that’s funny. He’s the smart one. At least, he’s the one who studies.

  Maybe he’s on to something. Did I get this ability from my parents? Could they have been responsible for the fire that killed them?

  It doesn’t make sense. No one would let themselves die like that with two four-year-olds upstairs.

  I try calling up my ability again, but nothing, not even smoke.

  ***

  We don’t get the news in here, just the same old movies every night. I see the blizzard out the wire-reinforced windows, didn’t think much of it. It snows a lot in winter, big deal.

  I’ve been ignoring Alicia and her bitches, but they haven’t stopped trying to rile me. They’ve short sheeted my bed, stolen my toilet paper, and the most recent is squeezed out all of the toothpaste and smeared it onto the walls.

  In class I keep my nose in the books. It’s easy work. Today is a particularly boring day at school. I hate geometry. I finish early and stare at my desk.

  What good is an ability if I can’t control it?

  Who am I, anyway? What am I?

  “Hey, freak,” Alicia whispers to me, her BFFs giggling near her. The teacher is tutoring a student at the moment, and everyone else is doing their homework. “How did you set the studio on fire? Can you do it here, too? Do you have a lighter or something?”

  I ignore her. My hair is still a ratchet mess after that day in art.

  “Freak, I’m talking to you.” A sharp pain pierces my forearm above my right wrist – the bitch has jammed her pencil right into my skin. Blood oozes where the point sticks up from my arm.

  I see red.

  “Leave me alone,” I shout, jumping up. Flames shoot from my hands and light my homework and the papers in front of Alicia.

  Guards are standing near and they go for me, pulling my arms painfully behind my back, knocking out the pencil, before ushering me back to my cell. The bitches are screaming, pointing fingers at me. While other girls cheer for the fight. The fire alarm blares, again.

  They keep me in my room after this, of course after they toss it again and don’t find anything to start a fire with. They bring my daily classwork with instructions, and I work alone at the small metal desk in the corner or sitting on my bed. My door is kept locked, and my food is brought in. I’m alone. The solitude is fine with me. Sure, I’ve made friends here, but that’s only to bide my time until I can get out of this shit hole.

  They don’t let me write to my brother anymore, and I no longer get extra paper. He’s probably still writing to me, but I don’t know. No one will tell me anything. Even my counseling sessions with Mara are few and far between. Mara now seems scared of me, and we don’t talk much, excep
t about my parents. I don’t remember them.

  She keeps bringing up the idea of joining the army. She even called my brother, telling him her recommendation. The bitch gets to use the phone to call my family, but they won’t let me.

  I stop talking to her after that.

  I thought it was bad in here before, but now it’s worse.

  I can’t call up the flames, though I try over and over. I even try to get mad, to bring up my temper, but it doesn’t work. I feel silly throwing my mattress and blankets all over, when the fury doesn’t run through me.

  I give up. I try to go back to sleeping all the time. That doesn’t work either. I just lie there, like in a coma or something.

  Doing my schoolwork is the only interesting part of my day. But it’s so easy, I get it done too quickly. Before I know it, the weeks wear on and I finish high school. They tell me I’ve earned my diploma, but I never see it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sun blinds me as I’m let outside the front doors of juvie. I’m finally free. It’s late May and grass has already turned bright green, and yellow flowers dot along the fence line of the prison.

  I originally thought that I’d have my sentence extended and be transferred to jail or prison for the rest of the term, but Mara told the release board I made excellent progress during my time there. Plus, besides Chad, there were no other witnesses to the incident at the school library, and some of the cameras in juvie didn’t actually show anything substantial of any wrong doings by me.

  So, I’m back in my original clothes from six months ago. Looks like they washed them. The faded jeans and off-the-shoulder dusty red top smell nice.

  The back of my hair has grown back in, but the rest of my hair is still longer, so I look cray. After the butcher’s cut, no one was allowed to touch my hair.

  A van drives me back to the city, to New Steps. It’s an old brick building, the sign faded.

  I rush in but am stopped at the front desk intake.

  “Is my brother here? His name is Smoke Warfield. Where is he?”

  “Have a seat and calm down. I have to look up your file. I’ll check.” The female worker is sour and pert, her gray hair in a short bob, making her round, worn face look even wider.

  I sit there forever. What’s taking her so long? My body fills with heat. I jump up. “Look, I really have to see my brother. I don’t even know if he’s doing okay after he got out of the hospital. He got out, right?”

  “Just a moment. Yes, I see here. He’s doing fine. You can see him in a minute.”

  I take a step back, afraid of setting her papers on fire. I breathe in, counting one, then out … two. Just as Smoke coached me. The heat subsides.

  Why do they always make me wait so long?

  Finally, they let me in, show me to my room. I’m handed a schedule.

  “Where’s Smoke? Where’s his room?”

  “He’s in the boy’s wing. I’ll have to get him: girls aren’t allowed there. You two can meet in the cafeteria.”

  She walks slowly, and my frustration mounts. The heat is creeping back.

  She drops me at the cafeteria, then calls on her hip radio for a male to fetch Smoke. I sit there, drumming my fingers on the thick plastic tabletop.

  I jump up when my brother comes in.

  A long, close hug, to make up for the time we’ve been apart. The heat subsides, the room disappears. I’m with Smoke again. I’m home.

  We pull back and look at each other.

  “What the?” Smoke laughs at my hair while twirling a lock. He looks different, himself. His once-perfect, olive skin has darker clouds, swirls and blotches, flowing all over his face, neck and arms. They are wine-colored, turning into grayish-brown.

  “Meet the new me. Fits my name,” Smoke smiles. Sometimes he is so opposite me.

  “You’re not mad?” I look at the ground.

  “I don’t have time to be mad. I have to get my diploma before we age out in two weeks. Did you get yours?”

  I nod. “Yeah, it was easy there.”

  “Good. I’m doing online classes all day, doubling up with a special program they have here.” Smoke motions for me to join him at a table. “Ash, the last letter I got was from your counselor, Mara. What happened after that? I wrote, but never heard from you again. Did they give you my letters?”

  “You can guess what happened.” I speak quietly, conscious of staff walking in and out of the room. “The bitch who cut my hair riled me in class. I lost control. They locked me in my cell after that. They wouldn’t give me any paper or let me contact you.” The heat is rising again, my face flushing.

  “It’s okay, Ash, it’s over now. Breathe. We’re good.” Smoke holds my hand, his fingers cool. “Ash, we need to talk. About when we age out. We have to leave here in two weeks.”

  “I know. You keep studying, I’ll find a job right away. I’ll look for a place.” My brother frowns.

  “Ash, in the letter from Mara … I think we should consider her advice. We can join the army together.”

  “She’s full of shit, Smoke. You’re ready to sign away four more years of your life, after all of this?” I wave at the sterile room. “No way. We’re finally free. Just us. I’ll hold down a job, I promise. I’m learning to control it,” I lie. Smoke looks away.

  “I get it, Ash. We should think about it, though.”

  “You can think about it. I’ll get a job.”

  Teens file in as supper time approaches. Smoke and I wait in line and sit next to each other to eat. But we chew in awkward silence.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I apply for jobs, both online and in person, walking and taking the L-train to fast-food joints, the shops in the mall, every place I can think of. The center lets me use their computers.

  But it’s two weeks later, and I have zilch. I don’t have any actual work history. Can they tell I was in juvie? Is it my hair? Smoke tried his best to even it out, but we don’t have money for me to go to a salon.

  Will anyone hire Smoke, with his ruined skin?

  Mara makes it clear on our birthday we must leave the halfway houses. Two days from now.

  Smoke isn’t quite done with high school. But he’s such a good student, he’s arranged with them to keep taking the online classes. He needs another few weeks, he’s so close. He’s acing all his classes, for the most part, even with doubling up. I only see him at supper, he’s too tired to talk most of the time.

  “Have you heard from Tage or Torrent?” I ask him one evening. It’s meatloaf night again.

  “Yes, they both visited me in the hospital several times.”

  I snort. “Lucky bastard.” I didn’t get visitors.

  “You were too far out, so they couldn’t get there.” Smoke pulls out his cell. “I text them. Want to use the phone?” I eagerly take it. I’ve missed Tage so much it aches. Soon we are catching up by text.

  Me: Tage, it’s Ash, can we stay with you at your house for a little while?

  I get no response. Her mom is raising her and her brothers. Their dad left them when Tage was two.

  Finally, she texts back.

  Tage: That won’t work, I’m sorry. We have no room, and mom would have a heart attack. She can barely feed us.

  I guessed as much, but thought I’d try.

  Me: I’m finally out of juvie! Smoke and I are together at New Steps. He’s finishing school. I got my GED. What are you doing? I haven’t seen you since they took me away. I’m not mad or anything. I get it. Smoke said that it was too far out for you and Tor to come visit me. Even if you did come, they’d probably wouldn’t have let me have visitors anyway.

  How was graduation? I bet you looked great in your cap and gown. Were the parties awesome? Wish I could have been to a few.

  You still oogling over Smoke????

  I’m still fending off boys, but maybe I need some affection, and not from my brother, since it’s been 6 long months with only the male guards. Not that I did anything with them. I wasn’t jailbait.<
br />
  You see Tor often? Maybe he’s forgotten about me. I know I would and wouldn’t want to deal with my bull shit.

  Anyway. Thinking of you. Text back soon.

  Loves.

  I go back out to look for a job.

  I’ve tried so many places, I’ve given up. Smoke thinks I’m still looking for work, but I’m wandering the streets, from uptown to downtown, from north side to west side. I won’t go to the south side. A train passenger riding through the south side got killed by a stray bullet.

  The center has given me a transit pass so I can use the L and the city bus. It expires at the end of June.

  On hot days I walk by the beach, but it’s so crowded, filled to the brim with families and sunbathers, I don’t stick around.

  I’m looking for where we can live. Downtown Chicago has been slowly sinking for a long time. At some point they built the city on top of the old original streets. You can still get to the underground tunnels. Wacker Drive is the longest one. If you know where to look, there are stairs that don’t lead to the subway.

  Can we live down here? At least we’d be in some shelter.

  Going down the stairs to the lower level, I leave the bright energy of the city. Down here is gloomy, dark and gray, a ghost town. Empty streets and sidewalks stretch up and down, in front of the old, gray storefronts. They’re all sealed up, no shelter here. It’s creepy, and I wonder if the gangs roam here at night.

  Smoke has been leaving it up to me to secure our plans. But he’s not stupid.

  “Any progress?” he asks at supper.

  One night before we must leave.

  I stir the mushy, canned peas on my plate, separating them from the mashed potatoes. “No. No one will hire me. I’ve tried a million places. I think we’re going to be homeless, Smoke.”