by Tillie Cole
But he threw back his hand and caught my mama across the face. “Get back! Get back and see to your other son that’s crying. The son that, God-willing, will not be anything like this one!”
My mama stumbled back, then suddenly, he slapped my face. It hurt so much that I slumped to the floor. He picked me up by the collar of my shirt, and put his face next to mine.
“There’s an evil living inside you boy. An evil I’m gonna make damn sure is exorcized. Make you normal. Make you right. No more looking through me when I talk. No more weirding people out when you walk into the room. Making us fucking embarrassed to have you as a son.”
He dragged me out of the house. I looked for Mama, but she was at the back of the kitchen, nursing my baby brother. She looked to me as I passed, and tears were streaming down her eyes.
She never cried. Why was she crying?
“Mama!” I called out, but on a sob she turned her back.
He strapped me tight in the back seat of the car. I fought against the seatbelt. I didn’t want to go to the church.
My head throbbed. Eventually I stopped moving. I couldn’t get out and he wasn’t letting me go. Because I had evil inside me. Because I had flames flowing in my blood.
Lifting my fingers, I put them on my arms and began to dig in my nails. I thought of fire, of flames. I thought of their colors—orange and yellow. I thought of their heat. But I couldn’t see flames in the veins on my wrist. They looked normal. But they weren’t normal. He said that was why I didn’t understand what people wanted from me. Because of the evil bringing the fire in my blood.
I knew I was different. I knew I didn’t understand what people wanted from me. I knew I didn’t react right to some of the things people said. That was why I didn’t speak to anyone anymore. It was why I had no friends. It was why I didn’t answer people’s questions. Because I knew I wouldn’t do it right. I wouldn’t know what answer to give. And people would get angry with me. They would cry. They would walk away. They would leave me alone, and I wouldn’t understand what I’d done wrong.
And some people would laugh at me—they were the worst. They would point, and laugh and call me a 'retard'.
Then I would feel sad. Their words made me sad. And I wouldn’t sleep. I’d lay awake thinking of their faces, their faces when they laughed.
The more I thought of the people’s reactions to me, the more I dug my nails into my flesh. Glancing down, I saw blood begin to trickle from the vein. I hissed at the sting of pain my nails brought, but then a warm feeling filled my body. Because the invisible flames, Hell’s fire living in my body, was being released.
And he said that with the flames gone, I might be normal. I might be right.
The car came to a halt and I looked out of the window. We were on a quiet country road. At the side of the road was a small white building—our church.
I struggled to breathe, my chest tightening, as I stared at the church. Then the door opened, and Pastor Hughes walked out with Elder Paul. They were big men and they frightened me. They would handle the snakes in the church. They would give people the poison to drink, to test their faith.
He got out of the car and I watched him approach the men. His hand ran over his head, then he looked back at me and shook his head. I couldn’t hear what was being said. But he must have been telling them about the flames in my blood. He would be telling them I had evil in me. Panicking, I stared at my wrist. I scratched at the veins, digging my nails in. But my nails weren’t sharp enough. They couldn’t get more blood out.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him walking to the car. The Pastor and the Elder of the church walked back inside the building. He opened the door next to me, undid my seatbelt and took my arm. He didn’t speak as he dragged me out of the car. I held up my wrist to show him I was trying to get the flames out. That I didn’t need the church, that I could do it myself. I could get the flames out myself, if he would just let me try. But he just hit my wrist down, then struck me on the back of my head. My eyes stung from the pain.
I swallowed hard when we arrived at the wooden door. I could hear the Pastor talking inside, then he hauled me into the church.
We stood at the top of the aisle. Pastor Hughes and Elder Paul were at the altar. I could hear rattling. I could hear hissing. My stomach dropped.
Snakes. They had the snakes.
He made to walk forward, pushing on my neck the whole time, but I planted my feet firmly on the wooden floor and reached out to grab a pew. He stopped pulling, then moving in front of me, backhanded my face. Pain exploded in my head. My hand ripped off the pew and I could taste blood in my mouth. But I was scared; my blood contained evil and flames. I spat the blood on the floor of the aisle, coughing so much that I vomited.
“Get him here, Michael.” Pastor Hughes’ voice called from the altar, as I tried to wipe the blood and vomit from my mouth.
He hitched both hands under my arms and carried me down to the altar. I couldn’t fight this time. I was tired. My head and face hurt from the pain of his blows.
“Put him on the table,” Pastor Hughes directed. Roughly, he placed me on the table.
“Take off his clothes.”
I wanted to cry out. I didn’t want them to remove my clothes. But he and Elder Paul began stripping me. And it was cold. It was so cold.
I twisted my head from side to side, trying to escape, but I couldn’t get free from their strong hands. Then, as my head rolled to the right, I froze. There was a snake. A snake in a clear box beside me.
I felt my pants coming off, then he and Elder Paul held down my wrists and ankles. Pastor Hughes walked to the clear box and opened the lid.
The rattling sound got louder and Pastor Hughes held up the snake. As he held it in his hands, he said, “The snake is the incarnation of the devil. If your boy is faithful and pure, if he embraces the Holy Spirit, the Lord shall protect him. But if evil runs in his blood, the snake will see and strike.”
My nostrils flared as I tried to breathe. Pastor Hughes was going to put the snake on me. I didn’t want the snake on me. I didn’t want to be bit.
The hold on my wrists and arms tightened. I closed my eyes as the Pastor placed the snake on my stomach. The rattling of the snake's tail got louder and louder in my ears. I could feel its cool body begin to slither. Pastor Hughes began to pray, Elder Paul joining in. And so did he.
But I kept my eyes shut. I kept my eyes shut and hoped that the snake didn’t strike. Hoped that I didn’t have the flames in my blood. That evil didn’t run in my veins.
As the snake moved down my legs, I heard a loud hiss and a sharp pain sliced through my thigh.
I screamed out in pain, my teeth gritting together. Then, suddenly, the snake was taken from my body. I could feel his hands shaking as he held down my wrists.
I opened my eyes, to see him staring at the wound on my leg. His eyes looked into mine. I didn’t understand what his look meant. I was tired. I was in pain, and my eyes began to close.
But I could still hear voices. I could hear him, Pastor Hughes and Elder Paul talking. “Something’s living within him, Michael. Something evil runs in his veins. An evil we must exorcize.”
I heard his choked bellow. And all I could think was that there were flames in my blood. Flames I had to get out. But they were holding me down. I couldn’t get to the flames. I needed to get them out of my blood. Cut them out of my blood. But I couldn’t get free.
Darkness came and took me.
When I woke, I was in a dark room, dirt on the floor and walls. My head throbbed, my thighs hurt, but I couldn’t feel half of my body.
Then I remembered…
And I could feel the flames. I could feel the flames under my skin. Flames I needed to get out.
I heard footsteps above me. Heavy footsteps. I could hear Mama crying, begging him not to do something. I could hear my baby brother crying. His loud screams hurt my head.
The footsteps stopped right above me. My body began to shake. Su
ddenly, a hatch above me opened, the bright light shining in where I was laid, making me flinch. Then he jumped down beside me. He was holding a belt.
I looked into his eyes as he stepped forward. I remember the pain. Remember the pain, the number eleven… and the flames… the invisible flames pouring out with my blood…
A wooden ceiling came back into view and I was in the light. But I was tied down. My wrists and ankles were tied down. Men came in and out of a door to my left. Men that were going to hurt me.
Those same men…
They said things to me, but I couldn’t hear them over the screaming, over the sound of the flames in my blood. I thrashed, needing the ties to be broken, when the door to my left opened again. It was one of them. One of them that tied me down. One of the fuckers I wanted to kill.
The noises of screams, shouts and banging on doors were too much. Then I heard a voice call, “I will not let you hurt him. Please… just let me calm him. Let me calm his rage.”
I froze, my arching back flattening on whatever I was laid. The sound of rushing blood whooshed through my ears, but the person in the room with me now was new… the voice… their voice made the screaming in my head stop…
I panted hard, my eyes staring at the ceiling. Then I heard a cry and my head turned to the side. The floor. On the floor was a woman. A small woman, with her arms around her knees. My blurred eyes blinked fast and I fought to see, my stomach clenching at who she could be.
Black hair… small body… her hands, small hands…
Then I saw the eyes. Green eyes. The pulse in my wrist and neck raced on seeing those green eyes. And the flames calmed. The fire was still there, burning under my muscles. Evil still infused my body, but I could breathe. I panted. I sweated. But I could breathe. When I looked at her, I could breathe.
But I was tired. And I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t fight anymore. I didn’t want to be like this anymore.
I stared at the woman. She stared right back. My heartbeat slowed in my burning, raw chest. A tear slipped down her face. I watched the tear trickle down her cheek, wondering why she was crying? Then, no sooner than the flames had calmed, that feeling of the fire beginning to rebuild—to torture me again—flooded back. The flames never stayed away for long.
I couldn’t do it anymore.
Fighting the threatening darkness, I took a deep breath.
Seeing the woman freeze as she watched me, I opened my mouth and whispered, “Kill me…”
Chapter Nine
Maddie
I could not believe what he looked like. Flame. My Flame. Broken, strapped by his ankles and wrists to the small bed in the center of the room. His torso was bare and it was covered in blood. His skin had been slashed. Everywhere. He had slash marks and scratch marks everywhere.
His legs were covered by his leather pants, but they were gashed, red bloodied skin peeking through.
But it was his eyes… his beautiful dark eyes that had my soul in pain. His pupils were dilated so they looked completely black. The whites of his eyes were the brightest red, many veins having burst. And it was easy to see why. Heart-wrenching screams were pouring from his throat, his back arching off the bed, his limbs stiff as though he was being burned from the inside.
My legs had given way at the shock of seeing him in this tortured state. And I had ended up on the floor. The magnitude of what Viking and AK described was now glaring me in the face. Flame was in such pain. More than I had ever witnessed before.
His head then spun to stare at me. And all his frantic, thrashing ceased. I held my breath, afraid to make any sudden movements. And I waited for him to see me, to see it was really me, Maddie. The young woman he ceaselessly guarded, but his eyes seemed to stare straight through me. Emotion swelled up my throat. Without moving an inch, a tear fell down my cheek.
Catching a flicker of something in Flame’s haunted gaze, my heart leaped with hope. I edged forward as his dried bruised lips opened, then it shattered into a million pieces.
“Kill me…” His voice was rasped, like he had swallowed tiny shards of glass. But his request had sailed to my ears as loud as if it were a scream. The fingers on his hands became rigid and his back began to arch.
“Kill me,” he growled again, harsher this time. I could see that whatever held him in its thrall was regaining its strength. But there was no doubt about what Flame wanted. What he was begging me to do.
The veins in his blood-covered arms tensed, the ribbons of hard muscles protruding from his torso as his fists clenched. His body began to tremble.
Flame’s head began to twitch, his eyes glazing as his legs pulled on the ties strapping him down. A pained cry burst from his lips; and I jumped to my feet unable to stand his pain. My chest was cracking with every second that passed. This was not any way to live. But I could not kill him. I could not...
When his dark eyes did fall upon me, I could see his silent plea. He no longer wanted to live in this manner. He wanted to be free of his pain. Like I had, for so many years, he wanted to be free.
Choking down a sob, I stepped forward. Flame’s back arched and dropped, then arched and dropped down to the sweat-soaked mattress beneath him. I wanted to touch him. I wanted more than anything to put my hand on his arm, and to tell him he would be okay. I wanted to release his ties and hold him in my arms.
But I could not. Our respective fears and barriers held me back. It was too much for me cope with right now. I became suspended in the moment. But no one should exist like this; in so much hurt and pain.
Only feet away from the bed, my hands shook so severely that I feared they would never stay calm again.
My assessing gaze roved over the welts on his arms... and the blood. My eyes tracked north, watching his skin jumping and his muscles twitching. Then finally, I reached those eyes. Eyes that robbed me of breath. They were watching me. Flame’s hand suddenly reached out as far as the tie would allow, and he whispered, “The flames. The flames are too hot. I can’t… I can’t stop them… tied down… too much… kill me… please…”
“Flame,” I cried out on a sob. I shook my head. “I… I can’t… I—”
“Please…” The desperate timbre of his graveled voice cut into my soul, blistering my heart.
Flame’s head rolled to the side as another wave of pain racked his body. He had lost weight. His skin was a deathly white and his eyes were raw with pain.
Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath. When I opened them, I glanced up. On the wall was a strip of metal, magnetic metal holding rows and rows of knives. A roar spilled from Flame’s throat, and I knew that any calm he had mustered had just waned.
Kill me… the flames are too hot… I mulled over his words and his plea. And I found my feet slowly walking forward.
With each step a pit of sorrow burrowed further into my stomach. But my legs still carried me forward. I came to a stop below the row of knives and retrieved the one I had seen him hold as he paced beneath my window. It had a brown wooden handle. The blade was sharp, the steel so polished that the dim light hanging from the ceiling glistened on it, casting a shadow on the floor.
The small bed creaked and Flame released a loud roar. I closed my eyes and flinched. On a deep breath, I opened my eyes once more.
Steeling my nerves, I turned, just as Flame’s back bowed and his head writhed. Ensuring I had a tight grip on the knife, I swallowed back the anxiety holding my body captive, and moved forward. Hearing my movement, Flame snarled in my direction, but as his gaze fell on the knife in my hand, his body froze. And then I saw it, the look of relief in his eyes as they beheld the blade. The blade loosely held at my side.
Nostrils flaring, Flame tracked my movements until I came to a stop at his side. It was closer than I had been to him in many months. This close, I could see every detail of his body. I could see all of him, every scar, every cut, every bruise.
But I couldn’t take my eyes off his face. I had never looked at men. After what I had endured at the ha
nds of males, I could not think of them as handsome. I had given no thought to the matter at all. I simply did not think like that. I had never felt butterflies in my stomach. I had never felt my heart flutter, had never felt myself losing my very breath. When Lilah and Mae would talk of Ky and Styx, when they would blush just describing their love’s faces, eyes, lips; I did not comprehend.
But standing here, over Flame, right now, staring at his anguished face—his sharp features: slightly crooked nose, full lips, dark short beard, and those soulful eyes, those incredibly long black lashes—a feeling previously unknown to me bloomed in my heart, filling me with light. With an incredible heat. This close, I felt a tension spark between us. I felt something magnetic surge in the air.
I… I wanted him as my own. In this moment, seeing the man who had become the center of my world, breaking, I wanted nothing more than to save him. To gift him the peace he so richly deserved, even if it meant sacrificing my newly-awakened heart in the process.
On a loud hiss, Flame’s body stiffened. My grip tightened on the handle of the knife. It felt like a ton weight in my hand, but I knew what I had to do. For Flame, I told myself, You must do this for Flame.
Steadying my shaking grip, I raised the blade, leaving it suspended it in the air. I inhaled deeply, then looked down at Flame. His beautiful eyes stalked me. With tears filling my eyes, I whispered, “Flame… I know you are lost right now. But I want to save you. I want to save you as you have so often saved me.” I swallowed the lump clogging my throat and continued. “I know you want eternal peace, but… but… I cannot… I cannot take your life.”
Tears streamed from my eyes, but I lowered my mouth to a few inches from his ear. “I know the flames torture you greatly. And I know you live with pain. I know you no longer want to live. I…” I sniffed back my emotions as Flame became eerily still. “I have been there too. I have felt the urge to fade, to never wake again. But then something happened to me. Someone happened to me… You.”
Flame’s erratic breathing blew against the hair falling over my face, but he didn’t move. His body was completely and utterly still.
