Page 15 of Burn For Me

I’d killed the only person to pull out the best parts of me, I killed the last ray of hope I had in my life. My hands clenched, my nails digging into my palm as I pictured her sweet face. I’d always dreamed about Adalyn and my orange dancing flames, but I hadn’t meant for the dream to turn into this. I saw her as the one person that could twirl with them and not be burnt because she was with me. The knowledge left an emptiness in my soul, an emptiness that would only ever be filled by the monster that I’d just set loose.

Adam was right about me. I was like him.

A peacefulness washed over me at that realization. This was what I was, what I’d always been, and this was a fitting punishment for my actions. Those like me never found happiness or love and if they did then we always found a way to crush it and snuff it out.

The firefighters worked with a white chemical on the blaze, but it was too late. I knew that all those inside the building were already dancing with the devil and his flames.

One foot in front of the other I walked until the sun came up. There hadn’t been a larger plan after escaping. No grand place to disappear to, friend that could be called, or bag of hidden money to dig up. As the hours stretched on, there was only one place my mind could come up with to go until I figured out my next move. As I rounded the corner to the dusty road that led to my destination, everything felt the same, but the longer I stared, it felt like I was seeing it for the first time. The trees were taller. A couple more homes had been built while others had been torn down while I was locked up.

My feet hurt because the running shoes I stole from the orderly were just a bit too small, but it was a sweet pain. It was a pain that said I was free and alive, or as much alive as someone like me could be. Pausing, I looked up the long driveway toward the old farmhouse, which my brother and I had used to hide in for a few years. The farmer told me that he and his wife had taken pity on us when he found us curled up in the straw together and hadn’t called the authorities. So, I’d bargained with the farmer. I’d work in exchange for allowing us to sleep in the barn and have two meals a day to eat.

Getting on in age and not having any children, they took the opportunity to have us there. We happily carried on like that until I couldn’t take it anymore. The fire that burned in my gut grew into an inferno of uncontrollable rage despite their kindness. It had been a little too late for my soul to forgive and forget. Asher wanted us to take the opportunity and gain back the innocence stolen from us. I envied the hope I saw in his eyes—the keenness to wipe the memory slate clean and move on, but I just couldn’t do it.

As I neared the old farmhouse, I took in the peeling paint and unattended garden that had spread out of the decorative confines. Their old truck looked like it had years’ worth of dirt and grime on it and the front door banged in the breeze, but no one came out to stop it.The steps leading up to the front of the farmhouse groaned loudly under my foot, making it easy to tell that the wood was soft and rotting out. Reaching the top of the rickety porch, I peered through the dirty window to see if anyone was inside.

Taking a deep breath, my fist and knocked loudly on the door. I had no idea what I was going to say to them. What did one say after being dragged away by police in the middle of the night and then find yourself being sentenced to an asylum? I knocked again and put my ear to the door.

When no one answered, I tried one last time. Still, no one came. Wandering around the wrap-around porch to the back of the house, I noticed the barn was also in rough shape. Part of the roof had caved in from what looked like water damage, and the fencing surrounding the fields wasn’t much better.

There wasn’t an animal to be found, and this time I didn’t bother knocking as I tried the back door handle and found it unlocked. I stuck my head inside, and my nose crinkled at the stench of mold in the stale air.

“Hello, is anyone home?”

As I made my way inside, everything was too quiet, like the house was frozen in time. Nothing hummed or moved, not the fridge or the old radio that still sat on the counter. It was exactly as I’d remembered. A shiver raced down my back. I felt the side of the fridge as I passed, and it was warm. Continuing into the hallway, I flicked the light switch, and nothing happened, so there was definitely no power.

As I slowly made my way around the first floor of the two-story home, everything creaked and complained about the weight and movement like it wasn’t used to the abuse anymore. Reaching out, I pushed on the wall, and half expected it to fall down, but it seemed stable enough. It was a serious trip how everything was still an identical match to the last time that I’d been here. From the pillows on the couch to the curtains on the windows to where the pictures hung on the walls, the place was an ultimate time capsule. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I vividly remembered all the shit that was done to me at the asylum, I would have wondered if I’d ever left at all.

The hardwood stairs squeaked like an animal wailing in pain. If someone was still here, they couldn’t miss that noise. I grabbed the handrail, hoping it would hold if I fell through one of the stairs, but it pulled free of the wall in multiple locations, even with a light touch.

“Well, that’s fucking useless,” I muttered.

“Hello,” I called out as I reached the top. My eyes flicked to the three closed doors. Like this wasn’t already freaky as fuck, now I had to guess what was behind each door? Why close them?

“This has to be what it’s like in a zombie apocalypse,” I whispered and wished I had a weapon. There was a decorative canister in the corner with an assortment of umbrellas, and even though it was ridiculous, I grabbed the curved handle of one and spun it in my hand. It would do.

Cracking my neck, I opened the first door and found the little knitting room. Mrs. Giltbert loved to sew and knit and had made Asher and me more than our fair share of uncomfortable sweaters, but it was the sentiment behind it that we loved. We hadn’t received a birthday or Christmas gift for years before coming here. The sewing machine looked to still be intact, but like everything else in the house, it was coated in a layer of dust so thick you could write your name on it.

The next door would be the bathroom. In horror movie fashion the door squeaked as it opened inward, but it room was empty. The candy pink flower pattern on the tile had faded, but it was the same as I remembered. The sun shining in the small window showed off the number of spiders that had made decorative webs in the corners. I slowly walked to the last door, and my knuckle echoed loud against the wood as I knocked.

My hand paused before wrapping it around the tarnished brass knob. Taking a deep breath, I turned the noisy handle and pushed the door open. There were the Giltberts. They always said they didn’t want to live without the other, and I guess they’d gotten their wish. The Giltberts were laying under the covers, but they’d died so long ago that they’d fully decayed and been ravaged by maggots and other insects, leaving behind dried-out skin and bones. There was something about the way they held onto one another like they’d died at the same time that clogged my throat with emotion. They’d been willing to give me and Ash a new start, a new beginning. No matter how things ended, I’d always be thankful for the kindness they’d showed us.

Mrs. Giltbert had a warm smile and smelt like jasmine, while Mr. Giltbert always had the scent of diesel and fresh dirt on him no matter how much he washed. Taking a deep breath, I could almost smell the remnants of the jasmine in the air. For just a moment, they weren’t the dried-out husks on the bed—I could clearly see them laughing and smiling. She looked toward him at the door and lifted her hand in a wave. I returned the gesture as the image faded, and I was left with the old bones and the lonely memories of a time long passed. The door softly clicked as it shut behind me, leaving them to their peaceful rest once more.

First things first, if I was going to stay here, I needed water. Gingerly, I tiptoed down the stairs and made my way out the back door to the old handpump well. There was still a metal bucket hanging under the spout. Grabbing the long metal handle, I started to pull down and push up. One, two…ten pumps later, I could hear the subtle gurgle of water. Thirteen, fourteen…a splash of water hit the bottom of the bucket. Stopping momentarily, I quickly cleaned out the bucket with my bare hand to remove the age-old dirt before beginning to fill again. I was sweating by the time I managed to get the pump to pull up clear water from the well and couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face.

Some of the water splashed as I pulled the bucket out from under the spout and the cool wetness felt good against my heated skin. I had this sudden urge to laugh, and I did just that as I wiped the sweat from my brow and looked around at the wide-open space of possibility.

Putting the bucket to my lips, I drank and let the water pour over my shirt, soaking it all the way through. It was the sweetest water that had ever touched my tongue. Filling another bucket, I was making my way toward the house when I heard a noise and stopped looking over my shoulder to see a chicken wandering around on the far side of the barn. A sly grin spread across my face at the sight of the small feathered beast.

It didn’t take as long as I thought it would to clean the living room out so I could sleep on the couch. The oversized rodents were pretty pissed that I’d evicted them, but I was done with unwanted housemates. Humming as I moved through the house, my next task was to empty the fridge and then get the generator set up to run electricity.

The sun was setting by the time I got to the tractor. Giving it a look over, I quickly determined that it needed an oil change, and I had to drain the fuel and add some from the sealed jerry can, but the old girl still fired up with a sputtering roar.

“Ya!” I said and smacked my hand on the steering wheel of the rumbling old piece of equipment. “You always were a good old girl.”

It took a little rocking, but the tractor pulled out of the ruts it had sunk into, and I slowly pulled her around to the back of the house and under the only structure that still looked to be in decent condition. There was still work that needed to be done before I attacked the fields, and I needed to get my hands on more fuel, but this was a huge win.

A sense of real accomplishment washed over me by the time I flopped down with my plucked chicken. Putting my feet up on a stump, I watched my chicken cook on the open fire spit I’d created. It felt like camping, or at least what I figured camping would feel like if I’d ever gone.