Until We Burn_A Psychological Thriller

by David Duane Kummer

  It turned out he didn’t have to. Lunch time came, he entered the house, and met instant confrontation.

  “Sit down,” Cyrus said, handing Will a glass of ice water.

  He motioned towards the kitchen table. There were two plates set out with a sandwich on both. Cyrus placed himself on one end, and Will took a seat across. Slowly, keeping his eyes down, Will picked his up and took a bite.

  “You and Zada, last night… How far did you go?”

  Will’s eyes snapped up, narrow. He dropped the sandwich and started to shake. “How did you-?”

  “I can see the way you’re acting, kid.” Cyrus shook his head. “I figured it would happen eventually. Put yourself in that situation enough times, something’s bound to go wrong. I told you to be careful.”

  Will propped his elbows on the table and cradled his head. “Are you gonna tell my parents?”

  Cyrus chuckled. “Of course not. You aren’t a bad kid. You just made a mistake. They don’t have a high opinion of me, anyways. I’m not your father.” (Will smiled a little at the thought.) “But I have to repeat my question… How far did you go?”

  Will took a large gulp of water, feeling it freeze his throat. “Home run.”

  “What?”

  “Like… we went all the way.”

  Cyrus closed his eyes. “And protection?”

  “I forgot…”

  “How’d she handle that?” Cyrus asked.

  Will pressed one hand against his eye, feeling the tears start to crawl their way to the surface. “Not well. We didn’t talk last night. She never answered. I offered to go buy her a pregnancy test, but she didn’t respond today, either. I’m scared.” He sniffled, trying to hold them back.

  “I’m… sorry. Will. I hope she comes around.”

  Will buried his face on the table, covering his head with both arms. “It was my fault. If she leaves me, it’s my fault. I just… if my parents find out, if the town finds out… You don’t know how they treat teenagers after stuff like this. One kid ran away and never came back after it.”

  “I do know, actually,” Cyrus interrupted. “Me and Ophelia… Well, we were just out of high school, so it wasn’t as scandalous. But she was pregnant, and we didn’t know what to do. We ended up aborting it… Hardest decision I’ve ever made, and I regret it every single day.” He shook his head. “Listen, Will… It’s alright to make mistakes, but you have to be willing to face what comes next. I’ve… got your back. I think that’s what you kids say these days. I know what it’s like to be your age, in a way. Some adults forget. I’ve done my best to remember.”

  “So do you think Zada will forgive me?” Will asked, his voice wavering. “I… I mean, it was my idea to go out there…”

  “Listen, Will. She knew what she was getting into. It’ll take time, but she will come back. You don’t understand how scared she is right now. My wife… when it happened to us, we talked for a week about how to hide it. And then she took a test, and it hit us right in the face, something I never thought I’d have to deal with.”

  Will nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Should I take her flowers?”

  “I think you should take a car full of flowers, douchebag.”

  Will laughed meekly, holding a palm up to his forehead. “What do you need me to clean in here? It’s so hot outside.”

  “Just go home for the day,” Cyrus said. “Tell your parents I’m busy or something, and get Zada some flowers.”

  Thanking him, Will stood up from the table, taking a last drink of water and setting the cup down with a renewed vigor. He shuffled past Cyrus awkwardly, before reaching back and hugging him with one arm. Cyrus gingerly put an arm around the young man’s shoulder, and smirked as he left through the front door.

  After finishing his meal, Cyrus grabbed a piece of paper from the kitchen counter and a pencil. He sat down on the couch in the living room, flicking on the TV. It buzzed to life, bringing the crackling sound of a black and white screen. Cyrus turned the volume up as loud as it would go, and snatched the paper. He scribbled a few words, erased them, and tried again.

  “I think that’ll do.”

  Ripping the paper in half, he shut off the television and marched upstairs.

  <*l>l*li<*>*i ili*<*>*il<*>*lilili **

  Will stood nervously at the front door, his knees shaking as he tried to steady his legs, bouncing from heel to heel. He knocked again, listening for any movement inside. There was the sound of footsteps, and the door swung open.

  “Hey, Zada…” He held out the flowers, staring at her through the screen door. She opened it slowly, grabbing them.

  “I’m not pregnant,” she announced. Her eyes were puffy, and her cheeks were red. It looked like she hadn’t slept all night, or stopped crying.

  Will bowed his head, letting out a deep sigh of relief. “Thank God. I’m really sorry. You have no idea-”

  “Will,” she interrupted him.

  His eyes rose, and his heart began to thud in his chest. Something lodged in his throat, cold like an ice cube. The tone, the way she’d said his name… emotionless.

  “I can’t handle this right now,” she whispered. “I can’t handle this stress. This isn’t…”

  “No, no.” He bit his lip, trying to think of something witty to say. “Please, Zada, listen-”

  “No, Will.” She handed the flowers back to him, grabbing the handle of the screen door and pulling it towards her. “Just… just go. We can talk about everything later, after I calm down. I just can’t do this right now.”

  “Zada, we can work things out. I’m sorry, it was my fault, I shouldn’t-”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Will!” Her voice rose and grew more strained, choking back tears. “It was both of us. We just need some time apart. Some time to think.”

  “I don’t wanna think.” Will extended a hand, pressing against the screen that separated them. “I want you.”

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head, turning away. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk. Please try to understand…”

  The front door swung shut, a dull thud. He was barred out of the home he’d visited so many times before. Turning abruptly, no tears in his eyes, Will marched back to his car and held the flowers tightly. He was shaking as he clambered into the driver’s seat, still eyeing the house, wishing she would come running out and change her mind.

  It was a short drive to Cyrus’s house. He knew the way, barely paying attention to the road, instead driving by instinct. Not that it mattered if he crashed. Maybe then Zada would understand where he was coming from. Maybe if he died, then she would feel the loneliness taking over his body.

  He stopped the car, skidding to a halt in the driveway. Turning the key left, he picked up the flowers and marched to the back of the house. Will threw them onto the ground, and stepped inside the dusty garage. Grabbing a weed eater, he pulled the cord, revving the engine to life, and set his sight on the flowers. In a few moments, they were chopped up into bits, and he dropped the machine as it shut off.

  “You really went to town on those,” Cyrus called from the back door.

  Will spun to find him watching, a somber smirk on his face. “So what?”

  “Wanna come inside?” Cyrus beckoned to him, holding a beer bottle in one hand and taking a long drink.

  “Why?”

  “You aren’t looking safe,” he said. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  Will slunk towards the house, hunching his shoulders and sticking both hands deep inside his pockets. “Okay.” If anybody could help him, it would have to be Cyrus, without a doubt.

  Chapter 24

  Cyrus and the Fight

  *Years Ago*

  He heard her coming, the footsteps on the carpeted steps, long before she groaned at the sight of him. That was her way of saying hello, at least it had been recently. As the bottles piled up in their recycling bins, it formed a wall between them.

  Cyrus never thought much of them, until the
men who collected glass and plastic would pick up their bins, dump them into the noisy truck, and give him a complicated expression. It was some mixture of disappointment, amusement, and pity. While drinking wasn’t prohibited by any means, consuming this much alcohol this frequently made him a less-than-noble figure in their judgemental community.

  “Guess who asked for Daddy to come read him a story before bed?” Her voice was snide, as she placed two hands on the back of his chair.

  Without answering, Cyrus took a long drink from the beer can in his hand. One empty and one unopened sat sweating on the glass table to his side.

  “Your son.” She went on. “That’s who.”

  “He’d rather have you do it anyways.” Cyrus grumbled something towards the TV, where a late-night game between two West Coast basketball teams stole all of his attention.

  “No. He wouldn’t.” Ophelia shook her head, keeping herself from reaching down and smacking the cans onto the floor. Nothing would make her happier than to throw every last one out of the house.

  “Can you stop trying to fill every single wish of his? He’s a little kid. He’s petty, whiny, and he’ll toughen up. Unless you baby him.” Cyrus punctuated it by cracking open the third can, letting the fizzing sound evaporate into the air.

  “Can you put down the beer for one goddamn second?” she yelled, kicking the table and sending it onto the carpet. Both cans fell, a small amount of liquid drizzling out and staining.

  “Wow, you really are upset if you’re cursing.” He chuckled, with no attempt to hide his amusement. “Careful, or you might wake up precious little-”

  “Why do you have to be so cruel? All the time!” She stormed into the kitchen, throwing her hands up in despair. There was a loud clattering sound after she disappeared inside.

  Cyrus bickered under his breath as he stood up, following her into the adjoining room. He snuck a glance at the stairway as he passed, but all was quiet. Their son slept up in the attic, which was more like a bedroom, and probably couldn’t have heard them arguing even if he was awake.

  “Cruel? I’m being cruel, now?” He crossed his arms, blocking the exit. “You find new words to describe me every day. Pretty soon you’ll run out. Once they get longer than two syllables.”

  “All I want is you to help me with him!” she begged. “I feel like I’m raising our son by myself, and the last few weeks here have been hell.”

  “Well, what do you wanna do?” he asked, sarcasm drooling off his tongue. “Counciling? Couples’ therapy? Have nice little tea parties with our son until he’s putting on dresses? Don’t try to turn him into some little girl you can dress up. You had a chance to raise one, and-”

  “And what?” she roared. “And we killed it? Her? I don’t wanna go over this again, Cyrus, and trust me you don’t either.”

  “You can’t act like I’m the bad guy in all of this!” He stalked closer to her, his muscles bulging. “Do I need to bring up the damn preschool teacher again, or did we finish with that rotten piece of-?”

  “He came over to ask how our son was!” She let out a mild, exhausted shriek. “I’ve told you that so many times, and you won’t listen. You’re afraid of me leaving you? Then show some emotion! Be helpful! Because our son’s preschool teacher has shown more care about his well-being in the last week than you have in a year!”

  “You think it’s been bad here for you?” he snarled, taking a step closer to her. “How bad do you think it is for me? Why do you think I need the alcohol?”

  “If it’s so bad, then just leave!”

  “This is my house!” he roared, bringing a fist up into the air and stumbling towards her. He stopped, just in time, before he would have swung down.

  Her wide eyes and open mouth seemed to break him out of the trance. He gasped, dropping his arm, and staggering backwards. “I’m… I’m so sorry…”

  The damage was done. Ophelia ran to their room, crying, and he found the door locked soon after. He knocked softly, begging her to give him another chance, but all he got was a choked command to leave. He obliged, thankful at least that she was alive. She’d threatened to do much worse things if they ever fought like that.

  Cyrus slept on the couch that night, a cold and lonely place. He stared at their living room walls, all blank and pointless. Ophelia joined him early the next morning, when it could still be considered night, and they talked for hours. When their son rushed downstairs for breakfast, they were forced apart by the different demands of parenthood, and the conversation died off.

  They made a few decisions, nonetheless. Ophelia would find a new hobby, helping her dispel the dark thoughts that swelled like the plague. And Cyrus would take up counselling at the church, possibly join an AA program, if he could find one in town.

  The paintings began to spread, the number of beer bottles began to shrink. But that number never reached zero, and their influence was never fully gone, just masked.

  Chapter 25

  Flickers

  Sitting quietly at one of the breakfast tables, Keener sipped from his glass of orange juice, eyeing the other guests, eyes narrowed. Most of them were much older or much younger than him, what he would consider grandparents or grandkids. That was unnerving enough, having nobody of your own age nearby. Adding to the peculiar situation was the fact that all of them seemed to be stare directly behind him, at all times.

  He first noticed it when he entered the room, taking a seat. All of them glanced towards the doorway, directly behind him, so that he figured somebody else was entering. When he turned around, however, there was no one there, except for him. He spun back around, to face the strangers, but they were all eating or drinking.

  This same event occurred more than a few times, wherever he went in the room. They would all peer directly over his shoulder until he turned that direction, and then everybody appeared normal when he turned his attention back to the room. It was something he couldn’t explain, and so he didn’t try.

  The atmosphere hung eerily quiet, as well. None of them engaged in any conversation, so far as he could tell. Their entire focus was on eating, drinking, and staring. Nobody said a word, not to each other and definitely not to him.

  After breakfast, he hurried back to his room, feeling uneasy. This entire hotel seemed more sinister now, and he had the feeling of somebody following him, probably because of their never-ceasing watching. As he rushed back to his own door, nobody else came into view, and there were no sounds other than his feet on the soft, dull-colored carpet.

  Lights would flicker as he walked underneath them, wracking his body with shivers. There was a loud, crunching sound, and the ice machine made a ruckus directly as he passed by. It was enough to drive any man insane.

  When his hotel door was shut behind him, and the television was murmuring gently in the background of his thoughts, he finally felt safe, and at ease. Freaky guests or not, this hotel wouldn’t be his home much longer. Just a few more hours, and then he’d make his exit, as silently as possible.

  He opened his eyes. There was no television in the room. So what low, mumbling sound did he hear?

  Laying on his back, staring at the ceiling, he felt a muscle in his leg start to twitch and slapped at it. It was no use, and continued to annoy him. Maybe people in the hallway.

  “What a week,” he mumbled, thinking back on the town and how it would be holding up. Had anyone else died? Were the people starting to warm up to Cyrus, or hold him at arm’s length still? Whenever this mess was over, he’d head back and find out. Cyrus would contact him when they solved the case.

  Reaching for the bedside table, he grabbed his wallet and extracted a picture of his church. He grinned, holding it to his forehead, and began to pray.

  He didn’t hear the man climbing out of the bathtub, couldn’t see him stalking towards the bed. When he did open his eyes, he found himself unable to move, his body frozen in spot, rigid. He willed himself to turn, to flee, to do anything, but couldn’t. His brain went foggy and his ext
remities began to shake, as he started to fight, but didn’t move.

  The axe flew downwards and split his head, then again.

  Nobody heard the man exit the room, as he dropped the axe in the bathtub filled with water. His feet sloshed on the carpet as he left, leaving wet marks until they dried off. Without a word, he saluted the man at the front desk and walked out the doors.

  Nobody knew.

  Part 3 Gray

  Chapter 26

  Eye

  They sat on the couch, watching the hazy TV, a program that flickered on and off between that familiar snow-storm buzz. Cyrus had one arm wrapped across Will’s shoulders, who sat upright and rigid. His back was like a board, while Cyrus sprawled out beside him and sipped from a beer can.

  “She’ll come around,” Cyrus assured him, patting the young man on his shoulder. “Just wait and see.”

  “Every boy in this town wants to hook up with her,” Will mumbled angrily, gritting his teeth. “Every single one, and now she’s available.”

  “Maybe in their eyes,” Cyrus said, “but in her eyes she’s just as taken as she was three days ago. None of those boys interest her. Know how I know? Because she dated you, and not them.” Cyrus nodded, sure of himself, taking another noisy gulp.

  “I know, but still. There’s the question of ‘what if?’ You know?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “No, there isn’t.”

  Will grabbed the remote from the table in front of them and flipped the channel. He went through a couple stations, before settling on the news.

  “Hate watching this stuff,” Cyrus commented. “So many deaths. Any news is bad news, nowadays.”