Until We Burn_A Psychological Thriller

by David Duane Kummer

  He nodded half-heartedly.

  “Will, I just want you to be able to be happy, and I don’t think that’s possible when you’re focused on this guy.”

  He stopped answering, instead his eyes were focused at opposite corner of the diner, where there was a small booth. Lowering his head immediately, he stared at the table and tapped her foot under the table, trying to be discreet.

  “What’s your deal?”

  “We need to leave. Follow me.”

  He stood up abruptly, and she did the same. Will began to shuffle towards the front of the diner, rushing to get out. Zada tried to glance in the direction his eyes had been facing, but had to struggle to keep up with him. By the time she was outside and the door closed behind her, Will was already launching himself into his car and igniting the engine.

  “What’s going on?” she asked nervously, hopping into the passenger’s seat. “Are you alright? I didn’t see any-”

  “He’s in there.” Will said, his hands visibly shaking. “You were right.”

  As soon as Will pulled away from the curb, she saw what he meant. Directly behind them, another car did the same and began in the same direction. She couldn’t make out who was sitting at the driver’s seat, his face obscured by shaded glass, but an eerie feeling crept up her stomach and her lungs clenched.

  “Who is that, Will?”

  He didn’t respond, instead shaking his head and pushing a foot down on the gas pedal. The car hurled away from the diner, but no matter how quickly he increased speed the car behind them met it equally.

  “Will, answer me!”

  “It’s Cyrus.” Will was taking deep, hyperventilating breaths now. “He’s coming to kill me.”

  Zada’s mind revved into focus, and her eyes glued to the rear-view mirror. She hadn’t seen the car before. It was nothing like the convertible Cyrus had come in, but that didn’t mean anything. If he’d killed people, then surely stealing a car was no big deal.

  “Turn down that street,” she commanded, pointing ahead.

  Will braked as little as possible and swerved, pressing her against the armrest of her chair. The car behind them followed in a smooth arc, and was directly on their trail once again.

  “What’s he gonna do?” Zada asked. “Run us off the road?”

  “I don’t know.” Will’s eyes flashed to the speedometer and then back to the road ahead. “I don’t want to find out.”

  “How much are we over the speed limit?”

  He shrugged. “Fifteen.”

  “Maybe if we get pulled over, he’ll leave. He wouldn’t approach us with a cop nearby.”

  “Great idea.” Will patted her leg, a sense of determination entering his eyes. “Fantastic idea, babe. Alright. Well, there’s only ever cops on the main road, so let’s drive along there.”

  She beamed at the compliment and pointed out the turn ahead. He snapped, saying he knew it, but she understood it was the pressure of the moment getting to him.

  Will made the sharp twist, and took of careening down the right lane. His eyes scanned for any cop cars on the side of the road, monitoring. The road’s speed limit read thirty-five, but he was nearing sixty now. Behind him, the car hadn’t slowed down, and actually seemed to be gaining. Whatever Cyrus’s plan was, he’d have to act now.

  Sirens wailed, and Will saw a cop stick its nose out of a parking lot. Cyrus swerved into the other lane, and began to slow. Will waited until the cop was clearly trailing him, before flashing to the right and turning into a fairly busy lot.

  As he came to a halt, and the police did the same behind him, he saw Cyrus drive into the distance, eventually disappearing as the road curved away. He and Zada took a deep sigh of relief, and he rolled down the window, waiting for whatever policeman to come with his ticket.

  “Do you know how fast you were going, sir?” the officer asked, standing beside his car with a bored expression and a notepad.

  “Sixty.”

  “Why is that? That road there is only marked at a thirty-five, you may recall.”

  “We were being chased,” Zada chimed in.

  The policeman grinned, shaking his head. “Chased? Come on. At least give me a good reason to let you off. Like going to church or something.”

  “No, really,” Will insisted. “Cyrus Streett was chasing us, and I was trying to get pulled over so he won’t kill me.”

  “You’ve gotta realize how stupid you sound, kid.” He scribbled a note, and tore off the piece of paper, handing it to Will. “I’ll let you off. My shift’s over, anyways. Next time you’re ‘being chased,’ find some other way to deal with it than wasting my time.”

  As the black and white cruiser left the parking lot, Will held up the note, his eyes full of disbelief. It read simply: Stay safe kids.

  “That went better than expected,” Zada commented as they drove back towards her house.

  “True. I’d get in loads of trouble if our insurance bill went up that much.”

  Before hopping out of the car, Zada leaned over to give him a kiss. Her hand snuck downwards across her stomach, and she giggled. “Maybe next time.”

  Will smirked, watching her walk back up to the house and waving at him goodbye. He pulled out the driveway, feeling lighthearted and carefree.

  Zada watched him go, and something coiled up inside her stomach. It was fear, or anxiety. A deep sense of dread. Despite the brave face she’d managed to put on, their conversation that day and the dramatic car-chase afterwards put her on ege.

  “Will this ever end?” she mumbled, turning back to her house.

  Chapter 38

  Gray

  The ceiling fan overhead was spinning, around and around, his eyes attached to it. Will’s breaths came in slow waves. His hands were behind his head, his body sprawled out on the bed. There was nobody else home, and there hadn’t been all day. It was him, alone.

  When he woke up that morning, the plan was for Zada to come over that afternoon. Something in his mind switched, though, and he made up an excuse about being sick. She said that was alright, and maybe they could try again next weekend. He agreed, and lied that he was going to take a nap, try and feel better.

  I love you, she had texted him.

  I love you too, he replied. I’ll talk to you later.

  And that was it.

  Now, his room light off, Will embraced the darkness, let it wrap around him. Every room in the house seemed plagued with shadows. His main concern, for now, was to avoid them. So he stayed in his room, mulling over everything in his mind, and all the various events from the past few weeks. Something still felt off, like it wasn’t quite over yet. He wanted it to be. He wished this could be the end. But he knew the truth.

  The image that infected his mind continued to bother him. Cyrus and himself, sitting on a couch, surrounded by beer bottles and shots. Every time it popped up in his mind, a new aspect presented itself. Yes, Cyrus was slumped over, but Will sat wide awake, staring forwards at the television. The TV itself, though, was an oddity, filled with the black and white, fuzzy, scrambled signal that he’d come to hate as a child. The random dots formed a pattern, an upside down cross, but he thought that might just be his brain trying to find reason where none existed. Much like this entire ordeal.

  “For inspection,” he mumbled, turning slightly to stare in the direction of the desk.

  Underneath it was a cardboard box, filled with all sorts of papers and notebooks. He’d taken it from Cyrus’s house, and -after sorting through everything late one night- was extremely glad he did. A wealth of information lay inside of it, answers to so many questions. It was a Pandora’s box of sorts, only he’d gone searching for it, wanting to reveal the dark truths within. Even if he ended up worse off because of it.

  One newspaper hung on the back side of his door, where nobody else would ever look. It was an article from nearly twenty years ago, and showed a younger version of Cyrus that he’d only seen in the frightening VHS tape after work one day, a few weeks ago.
That seemed like years, now.

  Above the not-so-flattering picture of Cyrus, the headline read: Accused man cleared of arson charges, will leave town with wife.

  The article described how Cyrus, known to have problems with alcohol, had initially been a suspect of the crime because he couldn’t provide a verifiable alibi, and one townsperson had reported seeing him walking along the highway late that night. Will had a feeling that honest citizen had been Dumpy.

  After an investigation, the police decided Cyrus would be worth taking a deeper look into, but by the testimony of his wife, Ophelia, they were unable to charge him with anything. After the troubling, reputation-shattering events, the Streett family decided to leave town.

  It made sense, to Will. Cyrus had used his son’s death as a an excuse to get away from the town where he’d killed so many people. But that was also one of the problems he had with this solution. Why would Cyrus kill his own son? How was it possible for him to be that upset afterwards?

  Despite giving him some answers, the box had also raised and reinforced many questions.

  Will sat up in his bed, something clicking in his brain. The image of Cyrus’s couch came back to his mind, clearer than ever this time. He noticed something else, about the placement of the bottles, and the expression on his own face.

  Cursing out loud, he began to rock back and forth on his bed. The ceiling fan buzzing above him, making an irritating sound. He picked up his pillow and chucked it, but the light object fell to the ground, harming nothing.

  Will screamed for a few seconds, letting his voice vibrate the walls and his lungs begin to ache. He wished they would fill up with blood, ending the misery.

  He understood, now, why Cyrus would have lashed out that way, and how he could have forgotten the events of the first fire. It was easy to block things out of your mind, when those were tragic enough. Some kind of protective measure for the brain, for your sanity. But even those walls could fall, and when they did the darkness was unleashed, after being hidden so well.

  “I know, I know, I know,” Will began to chant. “I know, I know.”

  Understanding could make somebody go mad. If Cyrus was to lash out and kill dozens of people because of it, that wouldn’t surprise Will. But the truth now was worse. He didn’t know why Cyrus had left town. He didn’t know why he hadn’t said anything to Will. Maybe he figured it out first, and got away as quickly as possible.

  “I know, I know, I know.”

  Will snatched his phone from the bedside table, lit up the screen, stared at the background of Zada. She was smiling, so happy. He hoped she would still be happy, after this. After what he had to do.

  There were other choices, of course. He could run away, possibly even with her. He could kill himself, now. That was the most tempting option. But it would hurt too many people, and it wasn’t right. This, what he was about to do, could be seen as right, from his own point of view, anyways.

  He dialed the number, and listened to the phone ring.

  “Pick up the phone,” he mumbled. “Pick up the damn phone.”

  There was no answer. He cursed again. That was his final chance. Squeezing the phone tightly with both hands, he dialed again. This time, there was no ring. It picked up in less than a second.

  “This is 911, what is your emergency?” answered a lady’s voice, clear and concise.

  “I’m calling because I have a tip about the church fire.” He took a deep breath. “I know who did it.”

  “What is your information?” she asked calmly. “Keep in mind, these are very serious accusations, and will be treated as such.”

  “It wasn’t Cyrus this time.” A single tear leaked from his eye, and slid down his cheek. He thought of Zada. He wanted to see her one last time. Maybe he could, before the police arrived. “I’m sure. It was me.”

  Chapter 39

  The End

  Shovels plunging into the ground, fighting under a layer of dirt, and then throwing it up onto the lawn. The rhythmic, constant crunching of the ground, and the men breathing heavily who took it upon themselves to churn up the backyard of Cyrus Streett’s home. That was the only sound of the afternoon, as the rest of the neighborhood stayed indoors, not wanting to face the frightening reality.

  For nearly two months, they had lived by, talked to, and been in close quarters with a murderer. Not only that, but they had grown to accept him, to make him their hero, when all along it was him causing the problems.

  The townspeople didn’t know about Will yet. The newspaper hadn’t yet gotten their hands on that juicy drama. Instead, they were solely focused on Cyrus. Now that the police were searching his house, it seemed a certainty he would be charged with the murders. Not only that, but with enough evidence they could link him back to the first fire.

  And there was evidence. So much of it. Dozens of papers to file through, strange paintings, a mysterious attic with gruesome objects inside. With every passing hour, they unpeeled another layer of lies built around Cyrus. They were discovering, inch by inch, who he really was.

  That was the hardest part for the town. Coming to grips with the fact that Cyrus Streett, a boy raised right there by all of them, could turn into a monster like this. He’d been such a lovely young boy, they all agreed on. His wife was such a lovely young girl. What went wrong?

  “How many bodies did they find?” the head policeman asked, his arms folded, standing on the back porch of the house.

  In front of him, the “garden” that never grew any plants was being annihilated by the men with shovels.

  “Two bodies,” the younger cop answered. “We aren’t sure who they are yet. We’ll find out.”

  The more experienced head man chuckled. Such young confidence. If only all their force had that. “Let me know if anything else comes up inside the house.” He started towards the edge of the porch.

  “Where are you going, though, sir? We aren’t done here yet.”

  “You all can handle this.” He groaned, shielding his eyes from the sun. “I need to go speak with a different young man. There may another house for us to search today.”

  He worked his way through the crowd of officers, finally arriving at the road. Running his hands over the fence that separated the house from the rest of the community, he took a long moment to think of what he should say. Will had admitted to the crime, and yet it didn’t make any sense. Perhaps he was trying to protect somebody. Maybe he could let him off free.

  “Did they find the bodies?”

  His eyes snapped up to find a young girl staring at him, a large bow in her hair. The officer glanced around, searching for some kind of chaperone, but there was none to be seen.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “Where are your parents?”

  “He left town,” she said glumly. “Now I’ll be gone soon. I just wanted to know if they found the bodies.”

  “I… I really can’t talk to you about this. You need-”

  “You’re not going to find him,” she interrupted, her voice growing darker as the conversation went on. “He will never face justice.”

  “I need to be going somewhere, so I’d appreciate if you could-”

  “Will’s a good kid,” she barged in. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  “How do you-?”

  “Hush now.” She grinned, her eyelids lowering halfway. “Don’t think about it. You’ll never understand. You should hope not.”

  He turned back to the house, looking for somebody who could take the little girl home, but it seemed all of the officers had gone out back. Cursing under his breath, he turned back to the road, but she was gone.

  “I’m too old for this town,” he mumbled, fishing out his keys and heading to his car. “Maybe it’s time I retire.”

  <> <> <> <> <> ><

  Cyrus Streett finishing shaving with the last few swipes of the razor. His eyes wandered out over the rocky cliffs in front of him. They were black like night, and never had any visitors. If, by some chance, there we
re, then he had a gun to deal with that.

  “Completely off the radar,” he murmured, rubbing his chin and enjoying the feeling of a fresh shave. There were few things in life to enjoy any more. That, at least, was one of them.

  Shimmering glass blinded him for a moment, as the sun reflected off the dozens of beer bottles shattered on the rocks below him. Somewhere a ways off, he could hear the rolling waves, that thunderous roar as they crashed against the land. Maybe one day the sea would rise up and swallow the cliffs, taking him and his house into the depths. That would be one way to go. Probably the best way.

  There was a buzzing sound from the table behind him. His phone was glowing, and he saw the caller I.D. said: Will

  Cyrus shook his head, a pang of guilt stabbing his heart. The poor kid. He would, eventually, remember what happened. Whether that was tomorrow or in ten years, it didn’t make a difference. The mind can only protect you for so long, and eventually it falters, just as his had.

  “We all deal with grief in different ways,” he hummed. “Who did I hear that from? Was it me?”

  He hoped Will was better equipped to handle the grief, because it would be enormous. Even that very instant, perhaps he was struggling with it. Nothing would make Cyrus happier than to help him through it, but that wasn’t an option. He had to disappear. For the sake of them all, it was better that he stay alone.

  Night fell quickly, shading his entire world. Out on the cliffs, he could still see the broken bottles every once in a while, as the moonlight bounced off. He imagined Ophelia out there, strutting along the edge of the world, staring down at the deep drop into the ocean and not being afraid. She was never afraid.

  “Broken shards, broken humans.” Cyrus leaned forwards against the railing of his porch, gnawing on his thumb nail. He could see Ophelia, her beauty shining, her clothes swirling around, and her hair a picture of perfection. She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but wave, even though he knew she wouldn’t wave back.