FIRESTORM:

Grace came back the next day to visit the boy in the cage, as she had promised. He smiled at the sight of her, a glimmer of hope reinvigorating him.

“Good,” I heard Jackie mumble, satisfied for now.

As Grace approached the cage, the boy pointed at himself and said, “Happy.” He pointed at her to link the feeling to her return.

Her fair cheeks blushed. She was clearly happy to see him, too.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Grace asked.

He pointed at himself again and said, “Zayne.”

“Zayne is a super cool name.”

“Cool?” The slang was lost in translation.

Grace laughed. “It’s a compliment.”

Zayne didn’t want to let on that he didn’t understand, so he echoed her laugh.

“What do you do in here all day?” Grace asked.

The question puzzled Zayne. He looked around the grungy cage at his empty lunch tray and bathroom bucket in the corner.

“Strong and silent type, I see.”

Zayne flexed one of his bicep muscles in response. He certainly knew what strong meant.

Grace giggled.

Zayne smiled. He liked her laugh.

“What was your life like before you… got locked up?”

Zayne paused, reflecting. “Typic,” was all he said.

“Typic? Like typical? My life is anything but normal.” Grace let out a privileged sigh. “The constant expectations are ridiculous.”

Everything about Grace baffled Zayne. How she spoke, what she wore, how she smelled. They couldn’t be more different.

His silence intrigued her.

“So, for real, what did you do?” she asked.

“Do?” He didn’t know what she was talking about.

“To be put in here. You had to have done something wrong.”

The repeat question from the day before threw Zayne into a sudden rage. He ran up to the steel bars that separated them. He shook them and screamed.

Grace jumped back, shocked at his response. He paced the cage, kicked his bucket, threw his lunch tray. He pointed his finger at Grace through the bars to scold her.

“I was taken!” he shouted.

Grace saw the pain behind the rage and apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to understand. This whole situation is incredibly unorthodox.”

Zayne tried to relax. He shook his head, unsure what she was saying exactly. He pointed to the lock and asked, “Key?”

Grace hesitated. His rage gave way to her guilt.

“I… I tried to ask Father, but he’s been swamped lately. He didn’t even come down for dinner last night.”

Zayne huffed, mad more at himself than Grace because he allowed hope in. After everything he’d been through, indulging in optimism was dangerous.

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“Zayne,” Grace said as she moved closer to the cage again. “Listen. I promise I’ll figure this out, but I might need to be a little sneaky to do it.” She mimed a tip-toe to ensure he understood her plan.

“Keys,” she said as she pointed to the lock. “I can steal them. That’d be easier than talking to my father because… it’s complicated.”

“Comp… cated?” he asked, seeking clarification. He understood what she was saying overall, but Grace truly confused him.

“Things have been strange ever since we got here, okay? I thought this was going to be a fun summer, snorkeling or whatever. An island vacation. But Father has locked himself in his office. I rarely see him. My mother… well, she’s not exactly great conversation these days. Now I’ve found you… I need a little time to investigate. Okay?”

Grace looked at Zayne for a reaction. He softened and sat to hear more. She sat down across from him on the other side of the bars and continued.

“I know he wants to spend time with me,” Grace said with doubt in her quivering voice, “but Father’s work is important. He’s a self-made man, after all. No sleep for an innovator and all that.”

Zayne smiled, only understanding part of what Grace said, but seeing the whole heart behind it.

“Who are you?” he asked, repeating her question from the day before.

“I’m Grace. Nice to meet you officially, Zayne.”

Grace extended her hand to him, and he looked at it. She laughed, grabbed his hand, and showed him how to shake. His skin was coarse, but she welcomed the warmth of his hand.

Still holding hands, they locked eyes and smiled. Few people asked Grace about herself. Even fewer people knew he and his plight existed. They both felt seen for the first time in a long time.

“What is your life, Grace?” he asked in stilted English.

She gently pulled her hand back to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“I know a lot of girls at school are jealous, but… things have been tense ever since my mother fell ill. You should see how much Father loves her. He’s literally rebuilding the chapel where they got married here on the island, brick by brick. He says it’s an expensive and time-consuming project. Can you imagine? I’d like someone to love me that deeply someday.” Her own honesty surprised her.

“Love… is yours,” Zayne said softly. “Beautiful angels have love in all lives.”

Grace blushed and said, “You’re a great listener.” She leaned her head against the cage bars and wished them away.

Zayne leaned in as well, and their foreheads touched. They sat connected for several silent moments, taking each other in without the barrier of words.

The beeping of the door’s keypad broke their connection.

Grace gasped and looked at Zayne for direction.

“Go!” he whispered.

She jumped up and ran behind the nearest shelf to hide. She spied someone in a hazmat suit walking toward Zayne, who stood and struck a battle stance.

The man in the hazmat suit dropped a new tray of food on the ground near the cage. He opened a pelican case and moved toward Zayne.

Suddenly and with substantial force, Zayne pushed the man in the hazmat suit. He flew backward with such power; he knocked down a row of shelves.

The hazmat man picked up a shock stick and marched back to the cage. Grace struggled to see what the man was doing to Zayne. She could only hear the taser and Zayne’s resistance.

The man stepped back, and Grace saw him remove an empty syringe from Zayne’s arm.

She locked eyes with Zayne for a moment. Embarrassment filled him, ashamed that Grace saw even a part of what they do to him.

Trying to see more, Grace hit a chain on the shelf next to her. She ducked as the hazmat man turned in her direction.

Grace held her breath, praying he didn’t see her. She stayed hidden as Zayne wailed with agony. His screams lasted for what felt like an eternity.

Then he fell silent. The sound of footsteps was followed by the door slamming.

Grace sighed with relief that she had not been caught. She cautiously peeked around the shelf and saw Zayne crouched down in a fetal position. She ran to him.

“Who was that? What did they inject you with? Are you okay?”

Zayne looked up at Grace with bloodshot eyes.

“Go!” he screamed.

The veins in his arms swelled and glowed brightly under his skin like radioactive lava. Whatever they injected him with lit up his blood with intensity.

“Zayne? What’s going on with you?”

“Go!” he screamed again with a wild look in his eyes. His breathing was quick and shallow. “Go!”

Grace gasped and ran out of the warehouse, terrified and confused.

*

Days went by without a visit from Grace, but there were plenty of tours from Zayne’s captors, who seemed eager to test his resilience more than ever. The man in the hazmat suit brought his boss, a man wearing a polo shirt and boat shoes. He watched the torture from the boundaries of the shadows, a passive observer to the systematic breakdown of the boy in the cage.

They threw everything they had at him, but Zayne was determined not to break. These evil men wouldn’t get the best of him, not with Grace serving as a newfound beacon of hope.

He knew from experience the mutilations always stopped right before the brink of death. He realized they must need him alive. Armed with that knowledge and the memory of Grace’s beauty, he transcended his bodily limitations and somehow removed himself from his physical reality as much as humanly possible.

“Where’s Grace?” Jackie asked from the entrance of the stream. “She can’t leave him in there. Look at what they’re doing to him! She’s got to save him!”