Dangerous Savior

by Wulff, Carson

  A lighter.

  Fire.

  There are bright red gas cans full of gasoline stored in the basement.

  Ethan’s had to deal with the heady smell radiating off of them every time he’s been in the main part of the basement.

  A lighter. Gas cans.

  A fire in the house.

  That’s what he needs to drive Ma and Daisy out.

  That’s all he needs to distract them thoroughly.

  A fire in the house.

  Ethan unceremoniously drops the basket of clothes. It spills a dull rainbow of threadbare garments onto the floor.

  He needs to do this.

  Right now.

  As quietly as possible, Ethan flies back down the stairs, sneaking past the kitchen as mouse-like as possible. Ma is still fretting at the window, on her third cigarette now. The continued onslaught of rain against the house does well to mask Ethan’s footsteps.

  He hurries into the familiar basement, nearly slipping down the splintering stairs in his haste. He makes a beeline for the gas cans, ignoring Jed’s grunts, clearly meant to get his attention. The large red can is heavy but Ethan hoists it into his arms nonetheless, careful to move slowly now as he makes his way back up the basement stairs.

  Despite the thick gasoline smell radiating from the can, Ethan hugs it close to his body to keep it from sloshing around inside the can too much as he dashes past the kitchen again.

  His footsteps are louder, more frantic as he runs up the stairs to the second floor, flying past Daisy’s room and into Ma’s.

  His heart pounds, fingers shaking as he removes the bright yellow cap from the can and sloshes thick, stinking streams of gasoline onto the bed, letting it soak into the blankets and mattress. He spreads more of the translucent, rainbow fluid onto the floor until the can is empty. He’s sure his arms and clothes smell like gasoline, but it doesn’t matter. This needs to happen quickly, too quickly for Ma to realize what’s going on.

  He scrambles for the lighter on the nightstand, hesitating momentarily, not sure how to light the gasoline without burning himself. It feels like an eternity of enduring the frantic heartbeat choking his throat before Ethan spots Ma’s clothes spilled onto the floor where he dropped them. Ethan picks up a sock and flicks the lighter, holding the cloth in the flame until it ignites. Then he steels himself, takes a deep breath, and throws the sock onto the bed.

  The gasoline catches fire instantly, spreading along the trail of soaked sheets. It’s spreading so fast, traveling towards the puddles on the floor.

  Ethan runs out of the room, leaving the door open behind him. The flames can already be seen roaring within the room, their light dancing on the walls. Ethan leans against the wall in the hallway and waits.

  He needs to wait until the flames build.

  He needs to catch his breath. Try to calm his unwieldy heartbeat.

  It doesn’t take long for the flames to start spilling out into the hallway, thick smoke collecting against the ceiling.

  Ethan feels guilty for starting a fire with a child in the house. But. She’ll be okay. He rushes into Daisy’s room, bare feet slipping on the wooden floor.

  The child looks up, startled, and then glaring—she looks as if she’s about to open her mouth to scream for her mother or grandma, but Ethan doesn’t offer an explanation as he scoops the child off the floor from her circle of toys.

  The child wails in protest, but snaps her mouth shut momentarily as Ethan bursts into the smoke-filled hallway. From over Ethan’s shoulder, Daisy should have a clear view of the fire roaring in her mother’s room.

  That sends Daisy into a full-blown panic, she screams, “Let me go! Let me go! You’re too slow!”

  Tiny fists beat against Ethan’s chest in protest as the girl struggles, but Ethan tightens his grip around her small body and takes off down the stairs.

  Ma meets him at the base of the stairs, summoned by Daisy's cries. The look on her face is absolute fury. Her hand instinctively goes to the hilt of her gun—but she hesitates when Ethan shoves Daisy into her arms.

  “Fire,” Ethan breathes, lungs heaving from physical exertion, the smoke, the sheer terror of how risky what he’s doing is. “Fire spread to the house.”

  “Fire!” Daisy screams. “I saw it!”

  “You, you need to get somewhere safe,” Ethan pants.

  Ma pushes past him, nearly knocking him over as she rounds the foot of the stairs and peers up them, into the second-floor hallway.

  Flames roar into the hallway now, licking the peeling wallpaper until it curls and falls in clumps of ash.

  Ma gasps in alarm, and, paying Ethan no concern, shoves Ethan to the ground in her desperation to barrel out of the house. She hoists the front door open and runs outside with Daisy in her arms. She’s out and running, screaming, towards the barn so fast that she doesn’t bother to close the door behind her. The door swings on its hinges, pushed and pulled by the wind, which also hurls rain into the house.

  Ethan is left alone. Forgotten in the chaos.

  He did it.

  He did it!

  Now’s Ethan’s chance.

  He rushes into the doorway, a slew of rain pelting his face. It’s cool and wonderful and Ethan’s about to take off in the other direction from the family, towards the opposite tree line, when he remembers Jed.

  Jed.

  Trapped in the basement in a house Ethan set ablaze.

  He…

  He can’t be responsible for the death of another human being.

  Even if it is indirect.

  Even if Jed is cruel and violent and maybe even deserves a death like this, at the hands of his own victim.

  Ethan makes up his mind in an instant. He knows what he has to do.

  He turns on his heel and runs full speed towards the basement door, taking the stairs as fast as his feet will carry him. He does slip this time, calf scraping painfully on the wooden steps as he slides. He barely has time to catch himself before he hurls his body over to the table where Jed is bound.

  Ethan unhooks the chains clumsily, fingers pulling desperately at the knots of rope around Jed’s wrists next. They won’t come undone.

  The smell of smoke is reaching the basement now.

  After a long moment of panic, Ethan remembers Tom’s knife collection. He quickly retrieves a knife from the wall and hurries back to Jed, clumsily cutting him free. He doesn’t bother trying to cut the duct tape off of Jed’s mouth.

  It doesn’t matter, Jed’s already clawing at the silver tape, ripping it from his face.

  “The family’s distracted,” Ethan manages, struggling for breath, his lungs straining not from the smoke but from all the running. “There’s a fire. Lightning. It’s storming. We have to go.”

  Ethan takes off running again, then, not looking back to see if Jed is following. He’s done enough. He’s freed him.

  And besides, Ethan can hear the man limping behind him.

  Part of Ethan seizes in fear, knowing Jed is free. The man who pointed a gun at him. Who beat him into the road. Who may have very well ended up killing Ethan, if it wasn’t for Tom’s intervention.

  It’s okay.

  It’s okay.

  Ethan did the right thing.

  He still has Tom’s knife he used to cut Jed free.

  It feels more like a souvenir than a weapon.

  Could Ethan actually stab someone if he had to?

  He grips the hilt of the knife so hard his knuckles drain of color.

  Upstairs, there’s no sign of life. All clear.

  The door is still being whipped around by the gusts, rain pouring onto the floor. The fire hasn’t made it downstairs yet, but the house is quickly filling with thick smoke.

  Ethan peers out the doorway and doesn’t see anyone immediately outside.

  This is it.

  He takes off for the tree line opposite the barns. Runs like hell. His feet splash loudly in the drowning grass, flecks of mud flying to spray his bare legs. The white f
abric of the dress quickly turns translucent as it soaks up the rain, skirt whipping around his legs. Ethan has to hike the skirt up to run faster, the knife still held precariously in one hand along with the bunched up skirt.

  Jed is still splashing behind him—at least, he thinks it’s Jed.

  What if it’s not Jed? What if it’s the family—or worse, Tom?

  Oh, god, Tom.

  Ethan’s just leaving him without warning.

  They’ve never discussed Ethan’s desire to escape, though surely Tom must have known.

  Ethan doesn’t truly know if Tom even wants that, if he meant it when he said he wanted Ethan to be free. He doesn’t know if Tom would ever be content standing up to his family and getting breaking free of the abuse cycle himself.

  Paranoid, Ethan whips his head around to look behind him.

  It’s just Jed.

  Just Jed.

  Not Tom.

  Jed is keeping up pretty well for not being as well fed as Ethan the past few days. Jed’s wellbeing wasn’t cared for like Ethan’s was.

  Tom. Tom cared for him. Cared if he lived or died.

  Tom.

  Ethan may never see Tom again.

  Fuck.

  His pace doesn’t falter. He runs so hard his legs burn.

  They hit the tree line without the family seeming to notice.

  Ethan laughs out loud, giddy with the freedom. But he still has a long way ahead of him to make sure he’s not going to be tracked down by the family when they notice his absence. They have vehicles and means to catch up to him quickly.

  Ethan can survive the next few days in the forest until he reaches civilization. It’ll be easy compared to what he’s gone through.

  He knows he’s parallel with the road now, in the cover of the trees. He remembers from his map that the next town is far, but not too far.

  He’ll make it. He can. He has to.

  20

  Ethan makes it ten minutes into the trees before he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder. The grip yanks him backwards, his feet flying out from under him on the sopping grass. He hits the ground hard with a splash, the knife in his hand slipping from his grip.

  Ethan whips around on the ground like a fish flopping on land, expecting to see Beth or Sally or even Tom—but no, it’s Jed.

  “Think I’d let you live to tattle on what we done to you?” Jed yells over the patter of the rain striking through the treetops overhead.

  Ethan doesn’t spare a single moment for disappointment, for disheartened protest about how he saved Jed’s life. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Ethan knew he was saving a man who didn’t deserve it.

  In a flash, Ethan lunges for the knife discarded in the wet grass. Jed lurches towards the knife just as quickly, but Ethan gets hold of it first, gripping the handle so hard his knuckles turn white. He points it defensively at Jed.

  This gives Ethan the leverage to scuttle backwards on his hands and knees, getting some distance between himself and Jed. All the while he brandishes the knife.

  “Stay back!” Ethan warns through gritted teeth. His mind reels, hyper-focused on Jed’s every move as he stands over Ethan. He doesn’t want to stab someone. Not even Jed. Doesn’t want to hear the same squelch of human flesh penetrated by a blade that he heard in Tom’s basement when Ricky was disposed of.

  He can’t stab someone. Doesn’t want to. Can’t. Doesn’t want to.

  Jed sneers. He knows. He knows. He knows Ethan isn’t prepared for the kind of violence it would take to stop him.

  In one fluid movement, Jed kicks the knife out of Ethan’s hand. Ethan lunges for it again, but this time Jed doesn’t—instead, he throws his much heavier body weight onto Ethan, before he can reach the knife. Jed pins him down to the mud. Straddles him.

  Of course.

  Jed doesn’t need the knife. He can take Ethan’s life with his fists alone.

  Ethan flinches. Considers begging. Knows it won’t matter. No amount of bartering can save him from a man who would attempt to take his life after Ethan saved him.

  He didn’t have to save Jed.

  He could have just left him in the burning house.

  Why didn’t he just leave Jed?

  Maybe he should have, maybe he should have.

  Why did Tom save Ethan in the first place?

  For what?

  For nothing. Ethan’s just going to die here.

  Tom should have let Ethan die. Like Jed was going to let him die, bleeding out on the side of the road from the gang’s beating.

  Tom didn’t let him die. Tom went out of his way to make sure Ethan survived this whole ordeal.

  Why?

  Why?

  “I’m going to enjoy this,” Jed growls as his fist connects with Ethan’s jaw. Another punch follows. Again and again.

  Rainwater blurs Ethan’s vision, obscures Jed’s furious and delighted expression.

  It doesn’t matter. Ethan can’t even see Jed or the reality playing out before him. It’s like his brain numbs, retreats into itself.

  All he can see is a succession of memories of Tom from the past few days.

  Tom just saved Ethan because he was attracted to him, didn’t he? Because he didn’t know better?

  “You think I wasn’t gonna punish you for flouncing around like you’re so much better at surviving than me?” Jed’s berating penetrates Ethan’s haze better than the continued beating. “You disgusting fucking slut, giving him your body just to save your own skin. No fucking dignity.”

  That’s right, Tom didn’t know any better. Tom didn’t know that Ethan’s appearance is nothing special. That there are a thousand average looking guys like Ethan in the world, hell, in the state.

  Blood soaks into Ethan’s wet dress, diluted to translucency by the rainwater. Ethan doesn’t know where the blood’s coming from—him, he guesses. His nose, maybe? His split lip? Perhaps just the impact of Jed’s knuckles against his collarbone is enough to break skin.

  Tom was so angry in the beginning every time Ethan tried to talk to him. But Ethan never stopped trying, and that only seemed to frustrate Tom further.

  Did Tom actually like Ethan for who he was? The person who foolishly kept trying to get through to a dangerous man who might as well have been from a completely different world?

  Jed pauses in his beating. Ethan realizes too slowly that the man is reaching for the knife.

  Okay, Ethan thinks. Okay.

  He’s too weak from the beating at this point to put up a fight.

  He accepts his fate.

  Maybe that’s what he should have done all along.

  ...No—he doesn’t regret it. Doesn’t regret his experience with Tom.

  Doesn’t regret having met Tom.

  Doesn’t regret knowing him, as much as he got to in their short time together.

  So, he’ll choose to be optimistic again.

  Choose, in his last moments, to believe Tom wasn’t just kind to him solely because of a physical attraction.

  Maybe Tom was desperate for human connection, but so was Ethan. And Ethan gave that to Tom as best he could.

  And.

  In the end…

  It doesn’t feel wrong.

  Not anymore.

  21

  Ethan braces for a barrage of stabs that never come. His eyes are squeezed shut, but he can still hear the heavy patter of raindrops all around them. Anxiety swells in his chest when there’s no pain, no pop of the tip of a blade breaking through his skin and sinking into his chest.

  His eyes fly open, wide and terrified. Maybe Jed is waiting for this—waiting for Ethan to open his eyes and see the face of the man who kills him.

  Jed is wearing a dangerously contemplative expression. He’s staring at Ethan. At Ethan’s heaving chest, the only part of him that dares move under the threat of the blade.

  Dread sinks into the pit of Ethan’s stomach like poison.

  No.

  Jed holds the knife blade at Ethan’s throat, scaring him
to stillness as he lifts momentarily off of Ethan to yank up the dress until it’s bunched on Ethan’s chest.

  Exposing his stomach. The underwear Beth forced him into.

  Rain from the sky and from Jed’s dripping hair splash against Ethan’s pale skin, rolling in trails down his sides.

  Jed sneers, lip curling over his teeth in a wicked grin. “Bet that hick fucker wouldn’t like knowing someone else played with his toy.”

  The words are enough—fight spills into Ethan like something scrambling and animal. His body writhes beneath Jed, struggling to buck and flee—but it’s no use, Jed’s weight on him is too much. The knife at his neck is too much.

  Ethan wants to stay calm, wills himself to stay calm, to barter as he did with Tom. His instincts won’t allow it. Instead, he screams as loud as he can for only the trees to hear. The screams continue between gasps for breath, ripping painfully through his throat, depleting his lungs until they burn for more air.

  His voice is full of sob when he screams, “No! Fucking no!”

  Jed only laughs, seeming to enjoy Ethan’s struggling. “Careful boy, I don’t need you alive. Your body will stay warm long enough to do the deed.”

  That sends Ethan’s body into overdrive, his screams loud enough to send his own ears ringing. What the fuck—what the fuck!? Ethan struggles so hard that his own bucking sends the knife slicing shallowly into his collar bone, the hot blood that spills from the wound contrasts sickeningly with the cold rain.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” Ethan screams, his voice cracking, but he forces the sound out of himself like something ripped from him.

  It’s the screaming that saves him.

  Neither Ethan nor Jed hear the footsteps above the screaming.

  Not until Tom is looming over them.

  Jed yelps in shock when Tom pulls him off of Ethan like a cat hoisted into the air by its scruff. As if Jed, a full grown man, weighs nothing.

  Ethan squints through the rainwater, the blood, the hot tears dripping down his face. He hadn’t realized he was sobbing, hadn’t noticed the way the rims of his puffy eyes burned.

  Maybe the tears just started.

  Maybe it’s relief.

  Maybe the sight of Tom just does that to him—crumples him into a mess of thank god, thank god, thank god.