Burn, Baby, Burn by Michael Seale (Chapter 22)

 Chapter 22

If you can’t stand the heat…

 My infatuation with Trish started because first she was beautiful, and second, she flirted with me. We hooked up a few times and although at the time I wanted more, now I realize it was nothing more than just an affair. A few weeks ago, I could have never admitted that. Now granted I knew she was with Bill and I also had other girls. But then I had thought that I might be falling in love. 

I don’t know if I have ever been in love before. All I know now that Kimber has become so much a fixture in my life, I don’t want it to stop. Every time I see her, I get those butterflies that the romantic movies always talk about. It’s like the birds are singing and the sun is shining for the first time. 

 Kimber differed from anyone I had ever met; she didn’t care what other people thought. If she wanted to dance and sing, then she danced and sang. That’s how it was. It was as if she didn’t need anyone else. Totally the opposite of me. I need the approval of everyone. I hate that about myself, knowing that your self-confidence level is so low that you need approval from complete strangers.

 Only I don’t think that she wants me like I do her. She said she only wanted to be friends ever since I hooked up with the bar girl. I guess I blew my chance. I know now that I am falling in love with her; if she never loves me back, it will be ok as long as I have her in my life. Somehow, she completes me. 

***

Saturday night and the restaurant fully booked again. Bill had taken the night off. He did that sometimes. He would just randomly call up and say that he’s not coming in. It threw everyone off. It was like a ship without its captain. But Tom did a pretty good job taking over for him. Tom put me on the grill. 

 Not that the grill was a hard station, but you got slammed. That and the heat was the worst thing about the station. The wood-burning grill sat next to the wood burning pizza oven, it was hot, hellish hot. 

 The orders rolled in and we cooked our asses off. Steaks, pizzas, pasta, gnocchi, the new menu was great. Streamlined and easier than the old. The responses we got were also phenomenal. 

 My timing was off on the Ribeye. It came back twice. Tom griped at me. We all hated when the food got sent back. Especially if it was our fault, tonight it was my fault. I couldn’t stand it. 

 Kimber worked the service with Yves and two others. They worked great together, better than any other night in a long time. The only setbacks the entire night were mine. 

 The fire on the grill was slowly dying; I had to replenish the wood every so often. It would create a cold spot on the grill; a wood fired grill always had cold and hot spots. We try not to grill directly over the flame; we grill over the red-hot coals that glow white. 

 I threw another log onto the fire. It caught almost instantly. The flames licked the sides of the wood in a dance known only to gods of fire. The flames flicked and flared, licked at the wood. Blues, yellows and oranges danced a dance that is as old as time. The embers sang to me, they smoldered, devouring everything. A nearly silent hiss and crackle of wood emitted from the grill. 

 I couldn’t take my eyes away. The fire flower dance enchanted me. It had a hold of me. Unable to break the spell. I could hear the commotion in the kitchen, but it didn’t matter. For me was only the fire, for the heat. I wanted it. It called to me. The flames were a part of me, this burning, illuminated, torrid nightmare; it held onto me. I knew it now.

 My hand reached for the flames, but to me, they were mere flowers flowing in an unfelt wind, the hairs on my hand singed. I reach down to pluck the flame-colored flowers and my fingers gently entered the embers, blisters automatically appeared. The instant pain, I screamed in a revelation of horror. I had had no control; my fist full of smoldering slag. 

 Tom grabbed me and pulled me back. My hand was nearly black. Ollie was screaming and Gustavo had grabbed wet towels for my hand.

 Tom screamed for Kimber to call 911. I was in shock. 

 “What the fuck was that?” Tom yelled at me.

 I stuttered. I couldn’t answer him. The words wouldn’t come. I could only laugh. 

***

 The other’s pain is his power. He becomes stronger as the other becomes weaker. Never could he control him before unless the other wasn’t present, but now he had. He had forced the hand into the fire. The other had felt the pain and the fear, he did not, and he felt only the control and power. 

 Perhaps now the other will let go and allow him to lead, perhaps now he will realize that is the way it has to be. He has waited so long, alone in the shadows. Watching and waiting for his time. 

 He will take the control; vanquishing the old man and forcing the other will cower in the darkness as he had done for so long. He will cleanse them all. As he had taken care of the man that the other had called father. 

 The other only screamed in horror as he watched their mother burn. He did nothing to help. The other was weak, whereas he was strong. That was the first time that he took control. 

 The phone rang over and over. Smoke billowed outside of the window. His father stared into the raging blaze. His feet decided for him, he knew he shouldn’t go look. He knew in his heart what had happened. But he had no control. He walked to the back door and slowly opened it. He wanted to stop. His hands shook uncontrollably. 

 The fire raged, sparks flew into the heavens. As sunset casting pinks and oranges across the clouds. The thick black smoke choked his lungs even before he was close to it. The smell of kerosene and burnt hair filled his nose. He could taste the smoke, like a steak sizzling on the grill. He saw her hand.

 The black, white, gray skin, crackling and melting away, her skin blistering and popping, sores instantly appearing and then being swallowed by the flames. He screamed, his father was laughing. 

 “I defiled her. I made her dirty. But she is clean now.” He had said. His face was burnt red from the heat. He stood too close to the flames; they reached out to him and licked at his pants. 

 The other cowered in the dark. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He was weak, but I was strong then. I took control. The other screamed into the abyss and opened the gate for me. 

 Our father drunk again. Teary-eyed from the smoke and weak from the battle with the mother, now was my chance. Now I could be free from the other to do the things that he only wished in the darkness that he could. His secrets, his pain, the years I have held them all. At this moment, I was in control.

 I walked us back to the house. The other had no idea what I was doing. He couldn’t see. I locked it away for him, blocked it all. I knew he could not handle what I had planned. For I had planned this since the first time he had burnt us. All I had was time, all I could do was watch, as long as the other was in control, I could only bide my time and wait. But now I was in control and he would pay.

 The fire was slowly dying. The ash white hot, only the bones of our mother remained. She had been a slow woman, unable to protect us from him. Although she had loved the other, I had no love for her. I had no feelings for either of them. Her skull, crusted with burnt flesh and skin, smiled at me, knowing what was to come. 

 Our father sat in his chair now. His beer warm in his hand, his face sunburned by the fire that had raged before. He coughed. I walked to him and put my hand on his.

 “I’ve saved her,” he whispered.

 I didn’t say a word; only stared forward into the dying embers. I slid the blade I had retrieved over his wrist, pushing and cutting as deep as I could. He didn’t resist. He only smiled.

 “That’s a good boy,” he said to me.

 The blood gushed over us both. I held his hand slick with the sticky blood. I enjoyed the feeling of his blood flowing over me. It gave me strength, power that I had never had before. It was the most wonderful feeling; I had drained the lifeblood from our father. His smile forever etched onto his face. I pushed his chair over; his body slumped to the ground. His face fell into the slag, blistering instantly.

 The other still screamed in the darkness and cried like a whimpering child. I wanted to choke the life out of him; wanted him to be gone, this weak, pathetic person. I had no pity for him. I had no love for him, but I had to hide until the time was right, then I could take control again. 

 My time is now, he thought. I will be in the light, no more hiding in the dark shadows and corners. No more. The old man is wrong, the other isn’t powerful enough. I will have my way.