Three More Wishes: Be Kind To Your Genie (21 page)

In Rhonda’s black-dark living room, a woman in a devil costume opened the front door and then pointed outside.

“THERE’S A HOUSE ON FIRE!”

I reached into the storage compartment in the back of my Captain America shield, and pulled out my cel phone. “No signal,” my phone declared. Shit.

I tapped Rhonda on the shoulder, tapped on my Captain America shield, and asked her, “Can you keep an eye on this?” When she nodded, I shoved the shield under the snacks/drinks table, and hurried through the dark living room toward the open front door. I could see the open door because its paint was reflecting orange light from outside.

Sure enough, the house to the left of the house across the street, was aflame.

It’s impossible to “rush” in near blackness, but my size helped. From the front door, I made my way through the living room to the Jedi guy, and had him (and his light-saber flashlight) escort me to Rhonda’s kitchen. I knew the kitchen phone would work.

It
would’ve
worked, if the kitchen phone had been there. The phone cradle was mounted on the wall, but it held no phone.

I stuck my head out of the kitchen and called out, “RHONDA? THERE’S A HOUSE ON FIRE. I NEED TO FIND YOUR LAND-LINE PHONE.”

She called back, “CANCELLED IT. TOO MANY TELEMARKETERS.”

I had the Jedi guy walk me back to the front door.

Oh jeez. Not only was the house very definitely on fire—but was I hearing screams?

****

I was sure that I was hearing high-pitched screams. Children’s, or a woman’s. But I couldn’t tell where they were coming from.

I ran out of Rhonda’s house and up to the burning house, to get a closer look. I was so intent on the house that I almost ran over a teenaged girl. She was standing near the closed front door, and my guess was that she was working up the nerve to go inside.

Her eyes widened when she saw me, only two feet away from her. Her face was easy to see, because part of the second story was orange with flame.

I had to yell, to be heard over the roar of the fire. “WHO’S INSIDE?”

She had to yell herself: “LARRY AND KATIE. HE’S FIVE, SHE’S FOUR. AND MAYBE THEIR DOG. I HAVEN’T SEEN THE DOG.”

“YOU THE BABYSITTER?”

“YES, I’M KIMBERLY.”

“I’M MARVIN,” I said. I didn’t even think it through: I put out my hand, and she shook it. And her eyes changed.

“I AM YOURS, MARVIN SIR,” she said.

“SHOW ME WHERE THE CHILDREN ARE, IF YOU CAN.”

She walked around to the left side of the house, and pointed up. I saw two little faces pressed against glass in a second-story window. For the moment, that part of the house was not on fire.

I pantomimed raising the window. When the children had raised it, I said, “I’M GOING TO TRY TO GET YOU OUT. STAY THERE.”

Then I turned to Kimberly. “DO YOU LIVE AROUND HERE?” I asked.

“NO, SIR. I LIVE CLOSE TO EWERT GRANT HIGH SCHOOL.”

Not good. Since she didn’t live in the neighborhood, I couldn’t tell her to run home and call 911, and I couldn’t send her to the nearest firehouse.

I ordered, “DON’T LEAVE THE FRONT YARD. I’M GOING TO NEED YOU IN A MINUTE.”

I looked around. Neighbors on either side were standing in their driveways, watching the fire. Several costumed partygoers stood on Rhonda’s front lawn, their faces toward the flames.

I ran next door, up to a man in his forties. His eyes widened when “Captain America” ran up to him. I asked him, “Do you have a regular phone in your house? One that works now?”

He replied, “Sure. Who do you need to call?”

I said, “I need
you
to call 911. Tell them about the fire.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’ve been called.”

“I don’t see the firemen. They’re not here. But Larry and Katie, trapped inside a burning house? They
are
here. Don’t argue, call 911.”

Maybe it was the magic pheromones, maybe it was my height and rippling muscles, or maybe it was the Captain American costume. Anyway, the guy clicked on his flashlight and hurried into his house. As soon as he was inside his house, I ran back to Kimberly.

She was standing at the burning house’s curb, by a faded-red, dented clunker car. Fortunately, this far away from the fire, I didn’t need to yell. I asked Kimberly, “Was it you who sounded S-O-S with a car horn?”

“Yes, Marvin sir.”

I said, “When the fire trucks come, stand in the middle of the street and play traffic cop. Make sure you’re the first person the firemen talk to.”

“I will, Marvin sir.”

“In a few minutes, if everything goes right, I’ll need you again. Be ready for my signal.”

She nodded, I nodded back, then I ran up to the front of the house and did something hugely stupid—

I opened the front door. Wide.

****

I wasn’t thinking fourth-dimensionally. A fire needs heat, fuel, and oxygen, right? This fire already had heat and fuel enough—and when I opened the door, I gave it fresh oxygen.

The house became a walk-in oven.

Needless to say, I quickly shut the door behind me.

“LARRY? KATIE? I’M HERE TO RESCUE YOU,” I called out.

No answer.
I hope it’s because they didn’t hear me,
I thought.

Off to the right, next to a formal dining table, was an open doorway. The room beyond that doorway (the kitchen?) was filled with flame. That flame had set the second-story room that was above it (the master bedroom?) also on fire.

That fire was spreading along the top of the second-story hallway, doing a reverse-gravity creep toward the room where the children were. During the three seconds that I spent looking around, flaming two-by-fours fell through the ceiling and landed on (and by) part of the staircase.

Things were not good.

Except for one thing. The living room and dining room had a common cathedral ceiling, which was actually higher than the bedroom-hallway ceiling on the second floor. So the smoke was collecting where nobody would breathe it right now. Which in turn meant that smoke inhalation wasn’t a danger. Yet.

I ran up the stairs, pressing myself against the left-side bannister to keep as far away from the flames as I could get. Still, for one second, the heat was painful. When I got to the top of the stairs, I had to bend down and duck-walk, in order to avoid the burning ceiling.

This was one of the few moments of this past week when I thought that it’d be nice to be 5′2″ again.

“LARRY? KATIE? I’M HERE TO RESCUE YOU,” I called out again.

“WE’RE HERE, WE’RE HERE! SAVE US!” voices cried, from behind a shut door at the end of the hall.

****

I stood just outside the bedroom door and said, “Step away from the door. I’m coming in.”

When I came in, I made sure to keep the door open no longer than I needed to. But in that split second, I saw that the bedroom was blue and decorated with boy-stuff.

My split-second glimpse also showed me that each child was clutching a teddy bear.

While my eyes were adjusting to the blackness of the bedroom, Katie asked me with a worried voice, “Did you see Blackie? Is she all right?”

“Blackie?”

“Our dog,” Larry explained.

“I haven’t seen her,” I said. Then imagining the children’s faces, I added, “But that could mean she’s already out.”

My back was feeling warm, and under the bedroom door was a line of bright orange light. Together, that meant: We were running out of time. I squatted down as low as I could get, saying, “I’m Marvin. Kimberly told me that you’re Larry and Katie.” I put out my hand for each child to shake.

Yes, Reader, I shook hands with each child,
knowing
what would happen.

Their eyes, and their words, told me that each of them was now my touch-slave. Which was what I wanted—I figured that I had a much better chance of getting the kids out alive if I could count on them doing what I told them.

“Take a deep breath,” I told them. When they and I had done that, I jerked open the door, grabbed a child in each arm, and stepped into the hallway.

I’d been in that bedroom less than a minute. And yet in that time, the fire had gotten noticeably worse.

But I wasn’t worried much, because I had a plan, and I had a back-up plan—

My simplest plan was that I was going to carry the kids down the stairs. If that was no longer a safe option, I was going to climb over the hallway railing and, while gripping the kids firmly, fall to the floor below. I had no doubt that I was strong enough that neither the children nor myself would be harmed if I jumped off a second-story railing with a child held in each arm.

I didn’t have a Plan C. It turned out that I needed one.

Because as soon as I got to the staircase (part of which was now on fire), Larry and Katie started squirming.

“
Let me go! Let me go!
” each child demanded.

“I won’t let the fire hurt you,” I said. “Everything’s fine, believe me. Be still.”

Anyplace else, such words to touch-slaves would have turned them into mannequins.

But Katie started crying. “I don’t wanna die! Let me go! Please, Mister Marvin, I don’t wanna die!” Meanwhile, neither she nor Larry had stopped squirming and twisting.

For one second, I considered climbing over the hallway railing and jumping. But as much as the kids were squirming, I could no longer be sure that I could keep them safe during the drop.

So I carried them back into Larry’s bedroom, and set them down.

Before I shut the bedroom door, thus making Larry’s bedroom dark again, the only thing I saw in the kids’ eyes was terror. They weren’t my touch-slaves anymore.

For ten seconds or so, I was silent. I was thinking hard. I heard Larry and Katie panting in fear.

Then I said, “I’m going to go around to the side of the house and bring a ladder to the window. Now, this is important: As soon as I go through this door, shut it. Make sure it’s shut, and also lock it, if you can. Got that? This door has to
stay shut.
Then go wait by the window.”

I went out the bedroom door, and quickly shut it behind me. Then I hurried to as close to the stairs as I could get.

I had tried not to scare the kids any more than they already had been, but I was worried.

A glance out that bedroom window had shown nothing but blackness. Meaning, the neighborhood was still without electricity. I needed to find a ladder, in order to rescue the children; but first I needed to find a flashlight, to have any hope of finding a ladder. All this seeking would take time, and the children didn’t have that much time.

Dammit, where are the fire trucks?

The clean air was running out. I was coughing a little.

In frustration, I pounded the bannister that wasn’t burning. I was very emotional, and I didn’t yet know my own strength, and so I broke something.

Then I thought,
what’s more fun for a kid than to slide down a bannister? It’s not scary, it’s fun.

With a bunch of well-placed kicks, and a few punches, I had the top of that bannister broken free. Then I jumped to the floor and freed the other end of the bannister from the bottom of the stairs. Then I used both my strength and my weight to rip the bannister completely free of the stairs.

Less than five minutes after I started, I had a piece of carved wood that was roughly two-by-three in thickness, and about sixteen feet long.

By now, burning ceiling stuff was raining onto the dining room and living room. The living-room couch was on fire.

I yanked open the front door, and jerked the bannister onto the front grass. Before I could shut the door again, there was a yelp, and I was knocked off-balance by a black blur rushing out of the living room.

Well, at least now I can assure the kids that their dog is okay.

When I came outside, by firelight I saw Kimberly talking to a fireman, while other firemen ran away from the fire truck with empty hoses. Behind the fire truck was a white van with something atop it; but I was too fire-blind to see what the “something” was.

When I stepped out the door, both Kimberly and the fireman turned and stared at me. I guess it isn’t every day that you see a muscular man in a superhero costume, who is as tall as the doorframe, step out of a burning house.

I picked up the bannister, called to Kimberly to join me, and I hurried to outside Larry’s bedroom. I didn’t need to tell the kids to open the window—as soon as I came in sight, up shot the window.

Larry and Katie were coughing and rubbing their eyes.

I stuck one end of the bannister through the open window, and planted the other end of the bannister against my chest. To the kids I yelled, “CLIMB ON AND SLIDE DOWN! KATIE, YOU FIRST.” To Kimberly I said, “When one of them slams into me, peel him off the bannister and put him on the ground.”

“Yes, Marvin sir,” Kimberly said.

But there was a problem: Nothing was happening up there. Katie looked down at me and said worriedly, “Mommy told me never to slide down the bannister. She says good girls don’t do that.”

I said, “Your mom won’t mind tonight. This is a special case.”

Kimberly said, “It’s okay, Katie. Get on the bannister.”

Katie said, “I won’t get in trouble?”

Kimberly said, “If anyone’s in trouble with your mom, it’ll be me. Please, Katie sweetie, the bannister?”

Just before Katie let gravity work, Kimberly and I got hit with a bright light, hitting us sideways. I was too busy to look around, but I figured that the electricity had come back on, and someone’s halogen light was making up for lost time.

In seconds, Katie and Larry were on the ground and safe—while the bright light continued to shine. Three fireman ran up then, and picked up (or dragged) the children and Kimberly away. A fourth fireman walked up to me and said, “That’s a damned fine thing you did for those kids.”

I shrugged.

****

As soon as I knew the kids were out of danger, I started to feel horny.
Really
horny. I wanted to claim women and fuck them—

Starting with Kimberly, the babysitter. But opposing that desire was the desire not to offend my parents. And having sex with a girl who might not yet be sixteen, was certainly not eighteen, and who was tonight in charge of two frightened children? My parents wouldn’t like that
at all.