Arsonist

CHAPTER 23

A noise invaded her dreams. It grated against her consciousness and she tried to shrug it off. She saw herself on a beach with her mother and brother. Her father was on the porch of the old house with the dilapidated roof. Sand crabs were before her, crawling in their funny sideways walk across the sand as she stood barefoot before them, her brother squealing as he threw stones at them, and her mother asking him to stop as they were God’s creatures.

The sunshine was so bright that her mother forced her to wear sunglasses and a ridiculous amount of sunblock. Her brother was several years older and didn’t have to use as much but he always got burnt. Her parents never seemed to mind.

Her father was trying to say something to her. She turned to him and tried to hear but couldn’t because the surf was too loud. He stood in his shorts and striped shirt, smoking his pipe and he held it up in an expressive motion as he yelled to her but she still couldn’t hear him and the surf grew louder and louder. It was hurting her ears and she put her hands up to them and screamed.

Monique jumped up in bed. The light of a dying sun was coming through the open window and she could hear children playing outside. Her shirt clung to her with sweat but the cool breeze coming through the window calmed her and she stared at the dust that swirled in the beams of light that she watched slowly begin to fade.

She heard a sound and turned to see the man sitting on a chair in the corner. He was eating out of a carton with one hand and playing with an hourglass filled with sand with his other. He was completely enveloped and didn’t notice that she had waked. When he saw her, he lifted another carton that was on the floor along with a bottle of Gatorade and placed it next to her on the bed before sitting back down and continuing his play.

Monique lifted the top of the carton. She had refused food the past two days but she couldn’t refuse anymore. Her stomach ached and her tongue felt swollen and dry from lack of moisture. She took a long drink from the bottle and then dug into the food in the carton; a gyro and French fries with a side salad.

“It’s good to see you eating,” he said without looking at her.

She shoved several fries in her mouth but didn’t respond. She ate quietly and swigged half the bottle of the Gatorade in one gulp.

“You should slow down. You’ll get a tummy ache.”

He turned to her. His face…it would’ve been handsome except for the deep scruff and the constant sheen of glistening sweat. His cheeks were red, almost as if he had applied make up, but there was something manly in his jaw and neck that balanced the effect.

“You haven’t killed me,” she said. “You haven’t raped me. What are you gonna do with me?”

“I could do those things. Our relationship is still young.”

“Do you want to kill me?”

He shrugged. “That, my young girl, was the right question. Anyone else would’ve asked if I was going to kill them. You asked about my desire. As a reward, I’ll answer you and answer you honestly; no, I don’t want to kill you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why do you think? And be honest because if you lie I can tell.”

She bit into her gyro and wiped her hands on her jeans. “I think you need a place to stay. If there was an old man in this house instead of me, I think he’d be tied up here.”

He curled his lower lip and nodded. “Not entirely false, but not entirely true either.”

“Then why did you choose here of all places?”

“I saw you, at the bookstore.”

Monique quickly scanned her memory of the last bookstore she’d been in. A Barnes amp; Noble near Carmel Mountain Road. Had she seen him anywhere? She sat in the café perusing a few books and then made a purchase. She didn’t remember him there; would she have remembered seeing someone like him?

“I didn’t let you see me,” he said, seemingly reading her thoughts.

“Why did you choose me?”

He spun the hourglass on the side table and stood up. “The book you were reading. Dostoevsky. It’s my favorite book.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead. She felt her entire body convulse in fear and disgust. “I’ll be back before morning.”

“Where are you going?”

“To paint the town red. Don’t wait up.”