image [https://i.imgur.com/I6bedom.png]

It was hard not to take this call personally.

The sight of this small Catholic church being eaten up by flames was gut wrenching. Not that every call wasn’t a tragedy in its own right, but often we’d arrive at a fire in time to save at least parts of the structure. This church, however, was doomed to total collapse, as fire enclosed it from the ground up.

Even though my faith had been shattered a long time ago, I still held a soft spot for churches, so I was more invested in this than I should’ve been. It also didn’t help that this church was in the heart of a neighborhood just like the kind I grew up in, the kind with small, weathered houses studded along streets that lacked sidewalks. It was oddly familiar to me, but beside that, I couldn’t quite place why.

Collected together on the sidewalk were churchgoers weeping and praying loudly in Spanish. In a nearby ambulance, the EMTs were caring for who I assumed was the priest, whose leathery face crumbled as he watched the smoke ascend into the sky.

As we piled out of the truck, DeShawn let out a groan of frustration. “God, we’re out in this neighborhood all the time! I’m starting to feel like I live around here!”

“I thought you were looking for a new place to buy!” Liam replied with a laugh. “At least with all these fires, property taxes outta be pretty low, right?”

Morbid humor was a staple across all branches of the emergency services, but I couldn’t help but glare at them in contempt. “Would you two just shut the fuck up?”

They quieted down immediately. Then, they traded a look I couldn’t describe, but neither were bold enough to continue the conversation, turning to focus on the task at hand.

Moving in a silent unison, we made our way into the fire that bloomed forth from the doors of the church.

Upon entering, I was glad that the smoke heavily obscured my vision; I wasn’t sure if I was in a position to watch a place like this go down. Memories of sermons and communions flooded my mind as we beat back the flames. How many babies had been baptized under this roof? How many couples had their weddings here? It had even crossed my mind that the death of the church was likely the final funeral to take place where I stood.

Since it was such a little building, barely bigger than your average trailer, it didn’t take long for us to finish putting out the fire. It was so easily subdued that a solid thunderstorm could’ve put it out if we hadn’t been there. When everything had settled, I took the time to investigate just on the off chance this had been the work of the arsonist.

All that the fire hadn’t consumed was charred beyond salvation. The pews were dusted with a thick layer of soot, and the parts of the structure that had managed to survive looked ready to disintegrate at the slightest touch. From above, the setting sun bled through the remnants of the roof that had yet to fall, illuminating the ashes I walked through.

As I scanned through the remains of the church, I came across what must’ve been the main altar piece, judging by where I found it.

It was a statue of the Virgin Mary, warped from the fire, yet I still knew it was her, even though much of her body had become twisted and deformed. The way that the metal had melted made it appear as if she were crying tears of gold, and in her arms, baby Jesus was all but liquefied.

From behind me, Rob let out a whistle. “I can’t believe that survived!” He said, gesturing to it. “Really shows you el poder de Dios, doesn’t it?”

“Or the power of whatever this thing is made up of,” I replied, trying to lighten my own apprehension. “That it survived in such good condition means it can’t possibly be good for the environment.”

Uncharacteristically, Rob didn’t laugh. Instead, he stood with me as we both stared at the figurine. I wasn’t sure what his reasons for his fascination were, but I knew that they couldn’t possibly be anything like mine.

･ ･ ･

“My money’s on wiring problems,” said DeShawn between scoops of mashed potatoes. “We have a lot of buildings on the older side around here, and nobody gives a shit about maintenance. And for some old-ass church? In the poor part of Dallas?”

“Consider this: insurance fraud.” Liam drank his sweet tea in gross, rapid gulps. “Doubt they’re making enough money through the collection plate, so why not get it somewhere else? Then you could make a new church that isn’t as much of a shithole.”

Heather leaned back in her chair, gazing at the ceiling in thought. “From what I saw, it looked like it could’ve just been an accident with ceremonial candles. People don’t realize just how dangerous those little things can be…”

We were nearly done with dinner, and for the most part, I’d been checked out of the conversation. Something about the statue from earlier had left me more unsettled than usual; every time I closed my eyes, I would see the Virgin Mary’s face like she was staring right through me.

“… messed up … church …”

As uneasy as the call had made me, I’d finally hit on something.

I’d had a familiar feeling going to this church, and thinking back to what DeShawn said earlier, I realized why: these fires seemed to be concentrated roughly within the same part of Dallas, and that sense of déjà vu was because we’d been in that same area only a few days before. I hadn’t noticed it because I hadn’t considered that an arsonist might target a particular area, but once I put it together, I felt like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner.

The more I thought of it, the more sense it made. If the arsonist had his sights on a particular area, he might have some kind of connection to it, which made picking him out from a population of over a million easier. There was always the chance that he was picking an area far away from home to throw off his trail, but it was something, and something was better than nothing.

“… excitement in years …”

But now that there was a more solid lead, I was starting to worry that I was wading too far into the deep end. My mother had always warned me about how curiosity killed the cat, and these days, I couldn’t help but wonder when I’d finally cashed in the last of my nine lives.

“… do you think, Ma…”

Lost in my own head, I scratched idly at the bandage on my arm before I’d realized what I was doing. It was just so itchy lately, I didn’t think I was doing damage until I saw that I’d nearly peeled it off with my nails. Quickly, I flattened it back over my arm, hoping nobody had noticed.

“Manny!”

Broken from my focus, I looked up.

Everyone was staring at me, waiting for me to reply. At that point, I wasn’t even in the mood to pretend that I’d been paying any attention. “Um… I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Honestly, guys, I wasn’t really listening.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed. “Of course you weren’t.”

Around the table, Garrett - as was his duty as a probie - collected the dishes so that he could wash them. Now that he’d been at the station for nearly six months, he’d taken to his chores with much less frustration, which I considered a sign that he’d finally, truly acclimated to the culture of the firehouse. When Garrett eventually reached my part of the table, he lifted up my plate and laughed.

“Woah, Manny, look at all the blood on here!” He tilted the plate until the blood formed a little half-moon in the lip of the ceramic. “Do you even like your steaks cooked anymore? Should we just toss them out for you straight from the package?”

I laughed uneasily. “Quit playing, man. You know ‘well done’ meat ain’t worth eating.”

“Oh, when Jazmin was pregnant, she ate nothing but well done! It was nasty!” said DeShawn. “Thank God she came to her senses once Cameron was born!”

“Shit, Lindsey always made the most overcooked burgers I’d ever seen. So burnt, you could use them as a hockey puck,” Liam added. “One more reason she was basically the Devil…”

Once the conversation had switched, I breathed a sigh of relief. Something about having my appetite so closely monitored made me anxious, so I appreciated anything that led them away from talking about me. Now that I faded to the background, I let my gaze travel across the faces of everyone at the table as they engaged with one another.

I looked at Liam, Rob, Heather, DeShawn… then when I finally glanced over at Garrett, I saw that he’d already been looking at me.

The second that we locked eyes, he looked away right after.

･ ･ ･

Now that everyone had gone their separate ways around the firehouse, I carved out a space for myself alone in my dorm.

The church struck me as a fire worth recording, so I took the notebook out from under my mattress and flipped it open to an empty page to start writing. I recorded everything: the time of day, the cross street it took place on, who went with me…

I thought back to the Virgin Mary, and how against all odds, it’d survived the fire. Though it had no relevance to the case, I couldn’t help but mention it, and - though I was hardly an artist - I did my best to render what it looked like, based on my memory. The drawing was so crudely done, I knew Dahlia would probably laugh. That didn’t seem like such a bad thing, though.

The longer I spent drawing, the itchier the lump under my bandage became. I scratched at it, then scratched some more, until it was all I could think about. Frustrated, I drew back the sleeve of my shirt, revealing the little bandage that had practically become a part of me since April. By now, I’d become accustomed to keeping the lump covered, and if anyone noticed that it was ever-present, they didn’t say anything. Whatever had caused it, it had persisted, but lately it ached like a tooth that really needed pulling.

To satisfy the itch, I ripped the bandage off, revealing the little lump that had grown to around twelve millimeters. Just staring at it filled my head with a frenetic buzzing, but I’d accepted that my tinnitus had likely worsened due to the chemical fire. If anything, the itching drove me crazier than the tinnitus.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Shutting my eyes, I let out a sigh of relief as I scratched myself nearly to the point of bleeding. When I was finally satisfied, I opened them, and I froze immediately.

The lump had changed shape.

I swallowed thickly, and an anxious sweat began to form on my forehead. As I angled the desk lamp for a better look, I could’ve sworn that the lump was moving around, but that couldn’t possibly be true.

As an experiment, I scratched it again. Under the pressure of my nails, it shifted.

Only one thought ran through my mind: something was under there. And whatever it was, it was yearning to be free.

Breathing slowly, I stared directly at the lump as I dug around for my pocket knife from my jacket, which hung over the back of my chair. In one quick motion, I flicked it open, bracing my arm against the desk to hold it steady. At the sight of the blade in such close proximity to my flesh, my arm populated with goosebumps, and the lump itself shifted once again like it knew what was coming.

I knew something was wrong with me. I knew it. But I couldn’t even feel proud or smug at having been right all along - not when there was clearly something lurking just beneath my skin.

It’s a shame

you’ve turned out

just like him.

She wasn’t even wrong.

Clenching my jaw shut, I drew the knife across the lump, and a thin, red line formed. Blood oozed from the cut, running down my arm and pooling onto the hard wood of the desk. When the skin split apart even further, the world around me stood still.

Out of my flesh emerged a wasp, its black and yellow pattern becoming clearer as it crawled its way out.

When the wasp had broken free of my arm completely, its little wings fluttered the blood away, and it turned its face upward as if it recognized me.

Speechless, I dropped the knife and scrambled to my feet. Nausea, disgust, horror - I was trapped in a nightmare, except that everything was horribly, horribly real. Every cell in my body hit the panic button all at once; I couldn’t stop myself from hyperventilating, and the world around me darkened around the edges like the closing of an aperture.

Without realizing it, my ragged breathing attracted attention. From the hallway, I heard someone approach.

“Manny? Is that you?” said Garrett. “Is everything okay in there?”

I slammed my hand over the insect, but as my palm closed around it, it wiggled its way through my fingers and flew out the open window. In that moment, I thought my heart might jump straight out of my chest and follow it out.

Pushing open the door, Garrett found me standing there, clutching my bleeding arm. His mouth dropped open, and he gasped. “Oh shit! Manny—”

“I’m fine!” I snapped. “Just— just an accident! I’m fine!”

Garrett’s eyes darted from my face to my arm to the floor where the knife had fallen. Suddenly, he raced away, the thudding of his boots announcing his every step. Please don’t come back, I repeated in my mind, over and over and over.

While he was gone, I took my hand away from my arm for just a moment, as if the wasp would still be lurking underneath. All I saw was blood, and judging from how quickly it flowed, I must’ve nicked a particularly good vein by accident. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Only a minute or two later, Garrett returned with some bandages and antiseptic. Without saying anything, he closed the door behind him, then guided me to sit at my desk while he sat on my bed. I was still in too much shock to speak, so all I did was stare, watching us both in third person like we were in a movie.

Once he’d set the supplies down on the desk, Garrett looked at me with such tenderness that I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Just having him here made the shame overwhelming, even when he clearly held no judgment.

“I—I know it looks bad, but— you don’t have to do this,” I stammered. “I got it from here, so…”

“Manny,” he said softly. “Let me help.”

Rather than give in to the impulse to lash out and drive him off, I took a deep breath, letting Garrett move my bloodied hand away from my arm. I couldn’t bear to see the damage, so I stared at him instead, as if his face would keep me grounded in reality.

With gentle dedication, Garrett pressed the wet cotton to my arm like he was wiping tears away from my cheek, careful to inspect the damage as thoroughly as he could. The cut wasn’t big enough to merit a stitch, so once he’d cleaned all of the blood off, he wound a bandage tightly around my arm. Satisfied that he’d secured it properly, Garrett smiled up at me without a hint of judgment.

“Thanks,” I said weakly.

“No problem,” he replied. “So… what happened?”

The blood drained from my face. How would I even begin to describe it? Even though it’d all happened only minutes before, the idea of trying to explain it brought bile to the back of my throat. I glanced away from him, trying to think of what I could even say, but at my silence, he raised his hand.

“You know what? You don’t have to tell me.” His expression shifted from curiosity to something softer. “What matters is we fixed you up, right?”

I sighed in relief, and I could only hope that he saw just how much I appreciated it. Once everything had calmed down, Garrett’s gaze flickered from my face to the papers on my desk. “What’s that you’re working on?”

In my panic, I hadn’t even realized my papers were still out in the open. It was too late to hide them now, so instead of trying to pretend it was nothing, maybe it was time to let him in on it. It couldn’t hurt to have another firefighter check my evidence… besides, it was better than dwelling on whatever the fuck was happening to me.

“Um… shit, I don’t know. I guess it’s… uh…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Alright, remember when that reporter came around a while back? Asking about the fires?”

Garrett nodded, but looked confused. “Yeah…? What about her?”

“Well… after she stopped by, I got to thinking, right?” Now that I wasn’t afraid of bleeding all over the place, I pulled the papers closer. “I thought maybe she was onto something. And now, I really think she might be.”

While scanning the papers on my desk, Garrett’s expression became strangely still. His gaze, which had been so kind, cooled off into something a little icier, a little sharper. Then, he laughed in disbelief. “Wait, are you complaining about having… more fires to go to?” He raised an eyebrow. “What, do you prefer lifting fat people off the floor? Safety lessons for kids, that kind of stuff?”

“What?” I stared at him. “Garrett, I think something serious might be going on here.”

He rolled his eyes. “God forbid we have more interesting things to do than visit nursing homes…”

“What the— what the fuck is wrong with you?” I raised my voice and gestured broadly to the desk. “This isn’t about having shit to do or, or making the job more exciting— this is…”

I turned away from Garrett so that I wouldn’t have to see the skepticism written all over him. I clenched my teeth so tightly, the pain in my jaw radiated all the way up to my temples. Underneath the bandage, my cut throbbed. I gripped my arm to make it stop, but it was in vain.

“Manny… I just don’t really know what to make of all this…” He looked at me uneasily. “I think you’re seeing things that aren’t even there.”

“No, look.” I lifted a picture with one hand and a note with the other. “I have case reports, and photos, and—”

“I was there for these calls,” he interrupted, pointing to the papers, “And none of these were declared arson. Not even Cormorant thinks they were, and he’s had to have seen a billion fires by now.”

My nose wrinkled as I frowned. “You know Cormorant writes tons of shit off as ‘faulty wiring’ and ‘spontaneous ignition’ ‘cause he’s too proud to admit when he doesn’t know the truth, right?”

The look in Garrett’s eyes drove me crazy. Such pity, such confusion, like I was a schizophrenic rambling on the sidewalk. When I grimaced at him, he sighed like he was at a loss for words, smoothing his hair flat.

“I’m sorry, Manny, I just… I don’t know, I’m kind of lost as to why you care so much, I guess,” he said. “Like, I don’t see what’s wrong with having more fires to go to. Honestly, between you and me? I’ve been on top of the fucking world!”

His smile was so broad, so genuine, it chilled me to the bone. I stared at him in disbelief. “What?”

“Look, for a while there, I thought all there was to this job was just old people falling over and kids getting stuck in things, but… damn, when something’s actually happening? It’s like— finally! I’m finally doing something!” He squeezed his hands into passionate fists. “Last week alone was crazy!”

Garrett’s attitude was more common in firefighting than most would want to admit to, so I tried to withhold my disgust. It wasn’t necessarily something to be concerned about; he was still pretty new in terms of the service, and the thrill of putting his training to the test outweighed the grief he was eventually going to have to carry with him for the rest of his life.

“Don’t get too used to it.” I flattened my mouth, casting a glance back at my papers. “This station doesn’t see a ton of action— that’s why I think something’s up. Statistically, we shouldn’t even be seeing this many fires.”

This reality check did nothing to dissuade the wild excitement now overtaking Garrett’s features. The longer I watched him, the more unsettled I became. Gone was any ounce of sweetness that he usually had; something darker killed it and took its place.

“Manny,” he said, leaning forward as he dropped his voice low, “When I carried you out of that fire, I felt like I’d finally done what I was trained to do. What I was meant to do.”

As he laid a hand on my bandaged arm, Garrett’s eyes sharpened further.

“I finally got to be a hero,” he whispered.

I swallowed nervously, but laughed to offset it. “Ah, chico… you think you ain’t been a hero this whole time? Give yourself more credit—”

“No! I don’t really consider it ‘heroism’ when people make me do CPR on fucking cats!” He shouted, his face growing red. “I get punched, groped, slapped, puked on, pushed around— even here at this fucking station, I’m basically a fucking whipping boy! And for what? If I’m not really helping, what the fuck was this all for?!”

He spoke so quickly, so rapidly, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “Garrett—”

“No, Manny, listen, okay?” He clenched his jaw. “These fires— they make me feel like all this time, all this effort— it wasn’t just a pointless sacrifice! Every time someone gives me shit, I can think to myself: at least I’m doing something useful— not just sitting on my ass, twiddling my thumbs! I’m actually making a difference! Unlike all the motherfuckers who ever put me down, I’m saving people, Manny— I’m actually saving people!”

“Garrett—”

“Shit, you know what?” His gritted teeth became a fiery smile. “I hope they never catch the guy doing this!”

I stared at Garrett as he let out a hot, ragged breath to calm himself down. His cheeks stayed flushed in anger, and his fists curled inward on his lap. Though my instinct was to offer him words of comfort, I was unable to tear my eyes away from him, paralyzed by the shiver that had gone down my spine.

“… So you do think someone’s doing it on purpose?” I asked quietly.

Now Garrett returned my stare, fixed on me in a way he’d never been bold enough to do before. Usually, he seemed almost a little bashful about looking at me, but there was no sign of that now.

In the absence of an answer, we sat in a silence that swallowed the room. Before either of us could shatter the glass that was forming between us, Liam called out loudly for Garrett from down the hallway. As he stood up, Garrett looked down at me, the wild look on his face having completely disappeared. He looked so sweet again, like nothing had even happened.

On his slow stroll out of my dorm, Garrett glanced down to the floor as if something had caught his eye. He bent over to pick up my pocket knife, which had skated across the floor when I’d dropped it, and rotated the blade in his hands carefully.

“Hey, Manny,” he said. “You know how you’ve always got some ‘friendly advice’ for me?”

“Yeah?” I looked at him from over my shoulder.

Now that he had my attention, Garrett pressed the pad of his finger along the sharp edge of the knife, his flesh barely giving way to the blade. His gaze flickered to meet mine. “I’ve finally got some for you.”

Sauntering toward my desk, Garrett dropped the opened pocket knife barely a hair’s breadth away from my arm. When I reeled back to dodge the blade’s point, he laughed.

“You should be more careful the next time you play with knives.”