Arson (21 page)

Arson blinked again. Nothing. Where was it? That dormant flame. Arson bit down hard and fought to call it out again. He stared down at his palms, but they were still cold.

“You didn't burn them with matches, did you?”

Arson panted, afraid once more for what might happen. He avoided the agent's eyes and stale breath and focused on the window. Down below, Emery was walking toward a black car.

Lamont's lapel radio suddenly chirped. “The girl's in sight,” he heard it buzz.

Arson's head jerked frantically, his eyes flashing. “Wh… What's going on?” He continued staring out the window, but in seconds Emery was out of sight.

The static from Lamont's radio chirped again. “We've got her.”

The agent walked toward the window and twisted the blinds shut. “Good,” he responded, careful to drag out the word.

“Where are you taking her? Help!” Arson yelled toward the room's camera. “Help! Nurse! Someone's taking—”

“Shhh. Keep your voice down. Wouldn't want to hurt her…more than we need to.”

Arson lunged out and grabbed Lamont's tie, trying to choke the life from his heartless veins. “Where are you taking her!” he spat.

“Do you really want to be responsible for her death? Let go of me, or we will give this story a very unhappy ending.”

With an angry grunt, Arson obeyed.

Lamont loomed over the boy. A broken smile split his jaw. Two glass eyes shot into him.

Arson struggled to create fire, his face dripping with cold sweat and fear. He bent his fingers, spread his palm, and chewed the lower half of his lip. All the concentration in the world wouldn't bring it back.

Lamont noticed what he was trying to do. “The fire's gone, hmm? Don't worry, we'll get it back. You know, you've been somewhat of a mystery to us for some time now,” Lamont said with a creepy slur.

“If this is about an accident seven years ago, I'm sorry. It was a mistake. Emery had nothing to do with it, with anything.”

The man clapped, and his face read a sick kind of delight. “I like you, kid. You're so unbelievably predictable, weak. I guess there's a part of you that's still human.”

Lamont reached for two pairs of handcuffs and attached one to Arson's wrist and to the hospital bed's metal frame and the other pair of handcuffs to the opposite end. With wide eyes, the agent gripped around his skull. Arson tried to resist but couldn't. He wasn't strong enough. A sharp prick pierced the back of his neck.

“Now that I know we're playing fair, we can figure out what makes you what you are and what exactly you're capable of.”

Arson was powerless. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. The left side of his face became paralyzed. 
Get her back
, he heard his conscience scream. 
Whatever you have to do, get her back
!

Lamont breathed out through crunched nostrils, spreading his tongue across scabbing lips. He slipped a stick of gum into his mouth and began to chew it methodically, angrily.

Arson forced one word out as he stared, defenseless, through the window. “Emery.”

Lamont shut his notepad and smacked his jaw. “You're no savior, kid. You're just a freak.”

The room began to spin, his world warping and distorting with each blink.

Agent Lamont was grinning. He picked up the boy's head and toyed with it, breathing his hot breath onto him. His fingers slid across Arson's face. “It's over.”

Arson felt his eyes grow heavy, the white room dizzy and fading fast. A thudded heartbeat became a slow, dull hum. “It's over.” The words kept replaying in the back of his mind. This filthy FBI agent in front of him—if that was even what he really was—was right. It was over. He couldn't be Stephen Gable anymore, not ever again. That boy was too weak, powerless. That boy had died on the beach hours ago.

He was Arson now; he'd have to be. But where was the fire when he needed it? What was happening to his body? A tear streamed down his cheek. He felt like he was hanging on a cross, the handcuffs clenching down upon his wrists like nails and this hospital bed his wooden spine.

One last time, he tried to start a fire, a spark, something. The drug Lamont stuck him with was working, faster than he might have guessed. How much longer could he stay awake? With each groan and movement, there was Emery's face, and Grandma's, slipping farther and farther away.

Blink.

“Sooner or later…”

A deep breath. Panic spilling over his bones. The fire had forsaken him. All he had to do was…

Blink.

Quickly, he began to fade.

“We all pay.”

A hollow gasp drew itself out from Arson's throat. From above him, he heard the faint vibrations of dark laughter slithering down the dents in his spine. The black was closing in.

It was cold.

It was quiet.

Arson

Copyright © 2009 by Estevan Vega. All rights reserved.

 

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

 

StoneHouse Ink 2011

www.StoneHouseInk.net

Nampa Idaho, 83686

 

First Paperback Edition 2009

First eBook Edition 2011

 

Book design copyright © 2012 by Damon @ Damonza.com

 

Published in the United States of America

 

StoneHouse Ink