The smoke stuck to the humidity in the air as it trailed up toward the night sky. The clouds obscured the moon, but they slowly divorced each other, forced apart by the whims of the wind. The flames engulfing the dilapidated barn cut through the blue hue of the sun’s counterpart. The wood crackled and popped as the fire gnawed at the rafters, and the hollows of the building creaked as the wind blew, shaking the burning panels. Despite the humidity, the flames only grew, nourished by old wood and fresh air.
As the flames flourished, their light overpowered that of the moon and created shadows of the tall grass. The trees. A man.
Elijah stood in front of the barn, the fire reflected in his blue eyes. Blue like the moon. A weariness weighed down his bones, but still, something buzzed in his gut. The taste of stale cigarette smoke stuck to his tongue, but it was made fresh by the new smoke he had created. Burning wood tasted different from tobacco. Cigarettes were just a lousy imitation of the real thing.
Cigarette smoke or not, the smell of ash made him want a drink.
He reached into his pocket and procured a flask. Metal covered in hide. It had been his mother’s.
Bringing the drink to his lips with a trembling hand, he took a healthy sip. The burn reminded him of childhood. His mama had given him a sip of Bourbon on his tenth birthday. Double digits, she had said, were something worth celebrating. He sipped it until it was empty, thinking about what else the burn felt like. His mama’s backhand. Cigarette butt kisses. Matches burning down to his fingertips.
As he downed the liquor and watched the barn burn, he didn’t notice the second shadow of a man emerging from the forest.
“Firebug, huh?” A voice interjected, smooth like a fine wine. Elijah didn’t like wine. With the speed of quicksilver, Elijah pulled his revolver from the holster on his hip, the mouth of the flask still flush against his lips.
“Mind if I throw this in there?” The man, seemingly unbothered with a gun in his face, gestured to the bag slung over his shoulder. It was black, lumpy, and quite large. “I need to get rid of some old things.”
“You need to leave.” Elijah’s eyes flickered from the bag on the man’s shoulder to his eyes. He found two dark voids smiling back at him.
“I think we both need to leave before someone shows up for this fire you set,” the man reasoned. He shifted the bag from one shoulder to the other with a grunt. Elijah was surprised that his willowy frame could support something that massive. “Mind if I set this down? Preferably, in the fire?”
“Why d’you gotta ask me? I’m not your keeper,” Elijah grunted.
“It’s nice to ask before framing someone for a crime they didn’t commit.”
“But I set the fire. You saw me,” Elijah said as he promptly cocked the revolver.
“Right, but what they’ll find in the bag will frame you for something you didn’t do.” The man smiled coyly. “So I’d put that gun away. Unless you want two dead bodies on your hands.”
Elijah did not lower the revolver. The moon illuminated the man’s too-white smile and corn silk hair. Elijah watched as those grinning lips parted, somehow maintaining his smug look.
“You can’t afford to trust a single thing I say, can you?”
“I’m not afraid of a little debt,” Elijah chuffed.
“Here’s some insurance. Name’s Silas,” he revealed, “Not a common name around here, is it?”
“I don’t know no Silas, and I know everyone ’round these parts. Insurance is invalid.”
Silas’ smile didn’t waver. Elijah wondered if his cheeks hurt.
“Dr. Silas Young,” the man in question bit out through gritted teeth. It made Elijah laugh, the sound punctuated by the popping of burning wood.
“A doctor, huh? Medical malpractice?” He gestured with the barrel of the gun. The metal glinted in the firelight.
“Nobody’s died as a result of my therapy,” the doctor assured. “This was plain old homicide,” Silas tilted his head, and Elijah watched as his eyes flitted to the flames. The heat had only intensified while they spoke.
Elijah followed Silas’ line of sight, finding the barn engulfed in flame. Breathing through his mouth, Elijah shivered as gritty ash laced his tongue, gooseflesh rising on his arms despite his covered skin and the heat of the raging flame.
“Always been fascinated by fire, have you? Did you often set them when you were a kid?”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” Elijah snapped, yet he didn’t look away from the burning barn. His elbow of the arm that was holding the gun had buckled. His wrist, now relaxed, caused the gun to point towards the ground. Elijah watched in his peripheral as Silas stepped closer with a raised hand, the other supporting the body bag over his shoulder.
Elijah’s gaze returned, and his arm straightened out, which included his aim.
“Do you smoke?”
“I must admit, cigarettes aren’t my preferred poison.”
“But have you smoked one?”
Silas nodded so minutely that Elijah almost didn’t catch it.
“Remember what the taste is like? They have a particular tang to them, something you can’t describe. So you take another drag to figure it out. Then another. And another until you’ve smoked the whole pack, and you’re hackin’ up your lungs, and you think, ‘Hmm, maybe it’s tar?'” Elijah paused, then let his arm drop to his side. “Remember that, now breathe in. Deep,” he ordered. Silas complied, his nostrils flaring and his chest rising.
“Can you smell it?”
“It’s different. Natural,” Silas noted. The corner of Elijah’s lips curled up.
Silas opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by sirens echoing in the distance.
“Go on,” Elijah gestured with his gun. “Throw that in the fire.”
“They’ll think you’ve escalated and only search harder.”
Elijah shook his head.
“Don’t worry about me. If you need to know anything about me, it’s that I can handle myself.”
Silas nodded hesitantly but carried the bag over to the fire. Elijah watched as his slender figure approached the burning barn, getting as close as he could without giving the chance to lick him to the flames. Elijah tilted his head as Silas maneuvered the bag and threw it through the barn doors and onto the scorched floor. The barn would collapse, and the rubble would bury Silas’ victim in a heap of burning wood.
Elijah’s stomach flipped at the thought.
A New Jersey native, Silvana Corrales Cantelmi currently attends Case Western Reserve University and is a candidate for a B.A in Classics, World Literature, and the French language. Their hobbies include learning languages, reading, and of course, creative writing.