C h i l d r e n o f F i r e

Storm clouds crawled over the snow-dappled mountains, blanketing the desert in overcast. Outside Redfield, the cattle ranchers herded their livestock for the season’s branding. Each year, they heated the furnace for the calves who were old enough and the heifers who had to be rebranded. They cared for the cows’ wellbeing so they treated them with analgesics beforehand and branded only in winter because the cold weather helped alleviate the burn.

A couple of lawmen drove out to supervise the ordeal since there had been trouble in the past about one cowboy branding another man’s cattle. It was simpler if the law were present to make sure of what was right and true.

Presently, Officer Graham found himself knee-deep in mud, rescuing a calf that’d gotten itself stuck. With a mighty tug, he freed the lamb and almost went tumbling backward from the momentum. Then, he helped hold it still while the rancher hosed it off and brought out the brand.

“Sorry about this,” Graham said to the calf as the rancher lined up the red hot metal. The calf, which was bigger than a Great Dane, squirmed in Graham’s grip. He could see the panic in its eyes. When it was done, he gave the beast an apple to take its mind off the pain.

“Benjamin, you’re missing all the fun!” Graham called to his partner as he cleaned himself off.

“About that. We’ve got a call,” Benjamin said. “Someone says they saw Dante heading towards Redfield.”

Graham’s smile turned sour. “Let’s go,” he said, striding to their patrol car.

“Don’t get riled up,” Benjamin placated. “It might not be him.”

“We’ll see,” Graham said, grabbing his binoculars from the dashboard and scanning the single highway that passed through the Redfield. “I’d recognize him.”

“Yeah,” Benjamin agreed, involuntarily remembering the case photos of their childhood friend, taken in the hospital after he’d turned arsonist and attempted to immolate himself. “He’s got a memorable face.”

“I see his truck,” Graham said, pointing. “Over there. If we hurry we might catch him this time.”

“Yeah,” Benjamin agreed, climbing into the car. “Don’t forget. He was our friend once.”

“That was years ago,” Graham said as he got in the car and shut the door. “Almost a decade, now.”

“Exactly. How long are you going to chase him?” Benjamin asked.

“Until I catch him.”

“I just wonder if it’s good for you. You’re not yourself when we’re after him.”

“Ben, he’s a murderer and a fugitive,” Graham said definitively. “As officers of the law, we’ve got a job to do.” He stomped on the pedal, causing the wheels to spit dirt as the two patrolmen drove towards their target.

Dante had just picked up the prescription from the pharmacist when he heard the door chime and the jostle of gun belts. Cops. He walked away from the counter and ducked into one of the aisles.

“Good morning, ma’am” he heard a familiar voice say to the clerk at the register.

Dante saw an exit sign above a door by the freezer section and followed it through another room to the parking lot. As he drove off, he watched the police rush out after him in his rearview mirror.

Soon, patrol cars were swarming the roads so Dante escaped to the farmland where he laid low in a grove of orange trees. The ground was full of fallen citrus. Dante picked up an unbroken fruit and peeled it. He ate it in sections, letting the peels fall to the floor like pieces of fire and thinking that he deserved to be hunted after what he’d done. Still, he hoped he’d get away so that he could deliver the medicine to the doctor since helping her was the only good he’d ever done.

By the time the sky faded to dark purple, Dante decided it was safe to find shelter somewhere closer to the asylum and the doctor. He could only think of one place to hide.

Home.

The patrolmen stopped at a gas station out in the country to pick up coffee while they waited for word on Dante. Benjamin heard muffled cries and scuffling sounds coming from around the back. When he went to check it out, it was only two kids. They reminded him of Dante and Graham: of how they used to tussle when they were boys, trying to prove how tough they were.

“Police!” he shouted. “Against the wall, both of you.”

The two broke apart immediately. One of them took off into the field. The other, who was wearing a clerk’s uniform, complied.

“Why were you beating up that vagrant-looking boy?” Benjamin interrogated. 

“He’s been stealing. I told him to stop and followed him back here but he wouldn’t give it back,” the teenage clerk rebuked. “My father says we’re only scraping by as it is.”

“Listen. I know you’re trying to do the right thing,” Benjamin said, “but violence isn’t the answer. I know your father. He wouldn’t approve of you playing vigilante. Just think of what could’ve happened if the other kid had a weapon.” He paused to let the boy’s imagination work. “If he shows up again, you call the police.”

The clerk nodded, picked up his cap, and went to go back inside.

“Wait,” Benjamin said. “How much did he steal?”

“About forty bucks worth today.”

Benjamin took out his wallet and handed the boy a couple of twenties. “Don’t tell anyone I did this for you, especially not your old man.” He said and walked back to the car.

“Hurry up,” Graham said through the rolled-down window, ready to go. “A sheriff called with a lead on Dante’s truck.”s

“Where at?” Benjamin asked as he got in.

“Pine Creek.”

“Are you ever going to let go of this vendetta?” Benjamin asked.

“Sure, once Dante is behind bars,” Graham said.

“And if we never catch him?”

“Get those thoughts out of your head. I need you to be sharp.”

“I’m serious,” leveled Benjamin.

“So am I. You know what he did.” Graham stated. “Maybe you can forgive him but I can’t. Not then. Not now. Not ever. There has to be justice. For my old man’s sake.”

Dante’s headlights illuminated the wire fence that surrounded Pine Creek, the neighborhood he’d grown up in. Some of the houses had blackened walls and collapsed roofs while others were burned down to their foundations and spikes of rebar remained.

Dante drove around the perimeter fence and parked his truck behind a cluster of juniper trees. He didn’t know why he was there. He could’ve gone anywhere but something called him back here. He pulled the cigarette lighter from the console and held it up. The glowing metal filled him with comfort and fear, a combination that reminded him of home.

He held the lighter close to feel its warmth, remembering his last day as a free man. His father had caught him burning an old shirt in the backyard. “You know what happens when you play with fire,” his father barked.

It didn’t matter what Dante said when his father got in one of his moods. He was out for blood. “What did you say to me?” his father would ask. He could twist anything into a slight against himself. Ever since Dante was a boy, he’d known his father blamed him for his mother’s death because she died in childbirth, leaving Dante’s father with the burden of raising an unwanted son. If Dante dared to call his father out—to explain that no offense was intended—his father would go into a rage.

“Are you saying that I’m lying? That I’m crazy?” Dante’s father would yell as he pushed Dante down. If Dante got up, he’d shove him again until Dante stayed down. Then he’d go to the garage for a while. Eventually, he’d come back holding the truck’s cigarette lighter. It didn’t matter how much Dante begged, cried, or screamed. If Dante was still there by the time his dad was back with the cigarette lighter, he was getting burned. It would be on his back or his thighs, always somewhere that people wouldn’t see. “This is your fault,” his father would say as he held the searing hot metal to Dante’s skin. Afterward, his father would go upstairs. When he came back down, he never apologized. He just pretended as if everything was normal.

Dante remembered feeling defeated with fresh burns on his shoulders. His father threw the lighter at him and told him to put it back before going upstairs. Dante didn’t have much time to think because the heat of the lighter would fade soon. He rushed to the den, where his father’s old football jersey was on display and held the lighter to the sleeve, blowing on the embers until they burst into flame. He wanted to control it so it couldn’t hurt him anymore. His father never understood that. It was a victory to finally get revenge for all the times he was wrongly punished.

The joy of the moment gave way as the flames grew bigger, spreading to his mom’s old cheerleader outfit and the curtains. Dante tried to extinguish the flames but they’d fallen to the floor and set the shag carpet ablaze. His only thought was that his father would kill him if the smoke and flames didn’t. He stole his father’s truck and drove away, leaving his home to burn in the rear view mirror.

Dante learned from the news that his father had survived and reported him to the authorities and that now there was a warrant out for Dante’s arrest. Worse, the fire had spread to some of the other houses.

Now, Dante sat in driver’s seat with the lighter in his hand. He was caught in a war within himself to determine whether or not she should press the hot metal into his forearm as punishment. He knew he deserved it. His pain was like fire and he’d let it spread and consume the lives of others. But something stopped him.

He got a call from the doctor. Her voice sounded hoarse and he could tell that she’d been coughing.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m holding on. Are you?” she asked in return.

“I’m fine, just delayed.” he said.

“They were talking about you on the news again today,” the doctor said. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Dante said. “I would’ve gone even if you had tried to stop me.”

She laughed at that. “Yeah, you probably would have. Where are you?”

“I’m just outside Pine Creek.”

“Oh no. Why would you ever go there?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know I worry about you—” she started but was cut short by a bout of coughing.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “I’ll be back soon. Just let yourself rest.”

“I’ll try. Promise you’ll be safe?”

“I promise.”

Dante put the cigarette lighter back in its place and got out of his truck. She had saved him from himself now just as she had done when he tried to kill himself after he’d heard the news report. She had replaced his memories of burning flesh and home were with the cool sensation of the salve she’d used to treat him, and with a waterfall of soothing whispers. She’d reassured him it was going to be alright, that she knew of a place where he could stay—away from the law—where he could start over. A new home.

It was too cold to sleep in the truck so Dante climbed the fence and went looking for shelter among the ruins and found it in an old cellar.

The police flashlights scanned the marred landscape behind the fence. The asphalt and sidewalks were cracked and overgrown with desert brush. Neither Graham nor Benjamin spoke as they purveyed their childhood home, now ash. Graham entered the code to the combination lock on the gate. Finally, Benjamin broke the silence.

“Do you remember when we broke into your father’s drinking cabinet and stole that bottle of bourbon?”

Graham chuckled in spite of himself. The memory was a good one but even the best memories of Pine Creek felt ruined—devastated.

“We drank about half of it, threw up, and sold the rest,” Benjamin summarized. “We were troublemakers.”

“That was a long time ago.” Graham deflected to block the twinge of loss that accompanied the memory.

“What happened to us, eh?” Benjamin asked.

“My father beat me senseless,” Graham said. “You got off with a warning.”

“Yeah…” Benjamin said. He’d hadn’t thought about Graham’s father in a long time. “For an handicap, your old man was… Well, he was rough sometimes.”

“Wasn’t his fault,” Graham defended. “He’d seen a lot of reality in the army and it hardened him. That’s how he taught me to be.”

“But why did you let him do it? I mean, the man could barely walk. You could’ve gotten away if you wanted.”

“I could’ve. But then I wouldn’t have learned the lesson,” Graham said. He couldn’t help but remember the feeling of helplessness when his father would beat him—and he knew in the moment that he deserved it—so he used that feeling to grow strong so he’d never have to feel that way again. “Sometimes violence is the only way.”

“Do you really believe that?” Benjamin questioned. He’d known Graham since childhood—had been there or heard about every fight and scuffle—but he never thought that Graham sought out violence.

“I do,” Graham said. “Things were tough after my mom left. I had to get tough or who knows, I might’ve ended up dead or as good as dead—like Dante.”

“You wouldn’t actually kill him would you?” Benjamin asked.

“I’ll do what it takes to stop him from hurting someone else. Monsters deserve to be put down.” Graham declared, remorselessly.

Benjamin scrutinized his parter anew, wondering what Graham was capable of. “I can’t believe that’s the right thing to do. At least, it’s not for us to decide,” Benjamin said. He realized that he hoped Dante would get away again—out of fear for what Graham might do if they found him.

“Yeah,” Graham said, distractedly. “There’s a lot of ground to search so let’s split up.”

“Right,” Benjamin agreed hesitantly. “Meet back at the car in an hour.”

They walked off in opposite directions, handguns at the ready.

Instinctually, Graham headed to the street where he grew up. At the end of the block there was an old swing set where he’d play after school. He remembered when he’d climbed to the top and had fallen off and sprang both his ankles. It was Dante who dared him to do it and who had helped carry him home. A field of weeds and a blacked frame was all that remained.

Graham remembered sitting on the couch with ice packs on his ankles while his father whacked his shins with a cane and scolded him for being reckless. He’d said then that bravery had nothing to do with masochism. It was about sacrifice.

Dante was always getting Graham in trouble with his father, Graham thought. It was Dante’s fault that his father was always so disappointed in him.

The memories were like the kindling on a funeral pyre. At the center was the most painful memory of all. Graham remembered seeing the smoke as he drove home from the academy. He’d just passed his psych evaluation and was officially a member of the force. Finally, he would make his old man proud. Looking back, Graham was sickened by the hope he’d felt that the fire was someone else’s loss and not his.

He recalled nearing his neighborhood. He could tell the situation was dire. A whole row of houses were ablaze. Graham drove passed the pillar of fire to the next street, his street. Ablaze. He was paralyzed at the sight of his home, festooned with flame, and his bedridden father trapped inside.

Graham knelt on the doorstep of his old home and scooped up a handful of ash. Holding it to his lips, he swore that he’d exact justice for his father.

Benjamin pried open the cellar door, following the beam of his flashlight underground. Descending, he saw movement in the shadows.

“You can’t run from the law, Dante,” he said, scanning the room.

“Ben,” replied a raspy voice. “It’s good to see you.”

“I wish I could say the same. Why don’t you come out where I can see you?” Benjamin said, approaching the voice.

It was no use hiding. “Let me go,” Dante said, stepping into the light.

“This can go a number of ways,” Benjamin said, “but I can’t just let you go—”

“Please. People are depending on me.”

“If that’s so then why’d you come back here? You must know Redfield isn’t safe for you.”

“I had to get the medicine for the doctor. She’s really sick,” Dante pleaded, cautiously gesturing to the drugstore bag on top of a toolbox.

“That doesn’t change the fact that there’s a warrant out for your arrest.”

“It was an accident. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“So why did you do it? Why did you run?” Benjamin questioned.

“I don’t think you’d understand,” Dante said.

“Try me.”

“I just couldn’t take it anymore…” Dante didn’t know how to talk about his past. It was too horrible to describe. “You don’t know what it was like for me back then. You don’t know what it’s like to be scared and hurt by the people who are supposed to protect you.”

“Okay,” Benjamin said calmly. “What about the second fire out in the desert?

“I couldn’t live with myself,” Dante admitted.

“You tried to kill yourself?” Benjamin asked. Dante lowered his head wordlessly. Benjamin continued, “That’s when the firefighters rescued you.” It was starting to make sense now. “But how did you escape custody?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Because you had help?”

“I can’t tell you.” Dante repeated, looking around the room for an escape.

“You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

“Do you remember when I you crashed your uncle’s car while joyriding and I didn’t tell anyone? It was because we always looked out for each other. Please, look out for me, Benjamin. You’re the only friend I have left from back then.”

“I swore and oath, Dante. I’m bound by the law to take you in.”

“We swore an oath, too. Under the bleachers just before graduation. Remember? We swore we’d be friends forever. Did that mean anything to you?”

“I remember. It did, ” Benjamin admitted. “That’s why I have to take you in before Graham finds you. He won’t be merciful.”

“I had burns on my arms that day. You could see because I cut off the sleeves of my shirt. But you didn’t say anything. You knew what was happening. You and Graham were already signed up to join the force then. You could’ve told someone but you did nothing.” Dante accused. “So I had to. I had to get away.”

“Dammit, Dante!” Benjamin shouted. “I was just a kid back then.”

“So was I!” Dante pleaded. “Please, she needs help or she could die. I know I made mistakes but she shouldn’t have to pay for them. Please…”

Benjamin knew that as far as the law was concerned it wasn’t his decision to make. Yet, it was his choice because was there. He was the one holding the gun so decided what would happen. He took a breath. His father always taught him that there was a higher morality to adhere to than the law. Call it God or karma or fate. Dante wasn’t a violent person. He knew that.

Steadily, Benjamin lowered his gun.

Graham had stayed up late obsessing over Dante. Still, he woke before dawn with a sense of resolve. Together, he and Benjamin waited on the outskirts of town with their binoculars, watching for a sign of Dante. For a while the road was empty so they watched a barn owl hovering above the fields, searching for its prey.

“Maybe we should just go home,” Benjamin suggested. “He’s probably long gone by now.”

“No. We’d have heard if he were,” Graham said. “Every cop in the county knows to be on the lookout for him. Someone would’ve seen him.”

“Unless he stole a different car. Or maybe—“

“I see him.” Graham said triumphantly and started the engine. It wasn’t long before they’d caught up but Graham hung back because he didn’t want Dante to notice them.

When the sun had just crested the mountains, Dante pulled off the road and drove into the dirt parking lot of the asylum for burn victims. Graham thought he had no right to be there and sped up to catch Dante. Blocking Dante’s truck with his squad car, Graham bolted out to confront his old friend with his gun drawn.

“Freeze!” Graham shouted. Dante turned to look at Graham, then Benjamin.

“Graham, stop!” Benjamin exclaimed.

“Don’t take another step!” Graham shouted, heedless of Benjamin’s protests.

“Graham, listen—“ Benjamin said, stepping between Dante and Graham’s loaded gun.

“Stand down!” Graham commanded. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Dante explained everything to me last night. It was an accide—”

“What?” Graham exploded. “You lied to me?”

“Because I knew you’d do something reckless. He’s just delivering medicine,” Benjamin explained. “He’s agreed to turn himself in after.”

“And you believe the lying son of a bitch? He’s just like all the other criminals. He’d take amnesty as an opportunity to do wrong again. I won’t let him get away this time.” Graham said defiantly.

“Listen. There are lives on thes line.”

“What about my father!” Graham shouted, stepping closer “What about his life?”

“I didn’t meant to hurt him” Dante said.

“Shut up!” Graham barked.

“He beat you, Graham!” Benjamin said. “He was abusive. Why can’t you leave him behind? Free yourself from his expectations. This isn’t who you are.”

“Shut up!” Graham bellowed and rushed Benjamin, who—in an attempt to grab Graham’s wrist—grasped the barrel of the gun, forcing it upward. Graham fired into the air—burning Benjamin’s hand—and brought the butt of his pistol down hard onto Benjamin’s temple. As Benjamin crumpled to the ground, Graham turned to Dante, who was heading to the asylum door.

“Not this time,” Graham said, grabbing Dante by the jacket, throwing him down, and kicking him twice in the ribs. Dante convulsed on the ground. “Does it hurt?” Graham taunted. “How about this?” He fired a shot into the ground next to Dante’s head. Dante screamed, feeling as if his ear had just exploded.

Graham seized Dante from the ground and flung him against the truck so he could see his face as he pressed the searing hot barrel into the flesh of Dante’s neck. For an instant, Graham couldn’t help but remember the calf he’d helped brand the day before. Dante had the same panicked look in his eyes. He pushed it from his mind.

Benjamin’s vision was swimming as he lifted himself to his feet. “Graham!” He shouted, his voice shattering in his throat as he drew his gun. “Let him go!”

“Stay out of this!” Graham warned.

“I swear, if you shoot him I will take you down right here!” Bejamin threatened.

“He killed my dad! He has to pay!”

“Just think about what you’re doing.”

“I have thought about it! For nine years, it’s all I’ve thought about!”

“So what if you kill Dante now?” Benjamin questioned. “Then what? Someone comes after you? What do you do then?”

“What I have to!” Graham rebuked.

“Where does it end?”

Tears burned down Graham’s cheeks as he let out a yell. A single deafening shot echoed off the asylum walls. For a moment, all three of them stood still as the silence enveloped the scene. Slowly, Dante slid down the side of the truck, leaving a smear of crimson.

Dante’s voice was thin. “Please… the medicine… ”

“What?” Graham spat, confused. He saw Dante’s eyes—the only part of him that wasn’t burned—the only part that hadn’t changed since they were children. “This is your fault!” he accused and raised his gun towards Dante again, waiting for him to say something.

Dante was as silent and still.

Graham could feel his rage drain from his body, turning his insides cold and hollow. He looked at his hands and saw blood. He dropped his gun and staggered backward. Then, he turned to Benjamin. He didn’t know what was happening anymore. “What did I do?”

Benjamin stumbled towards Dante, ripping off his shirt and pressing it to the bullet wound in his chest. “Dante. Stay with me—” Benjamin pleaded as he checked for a pulse. “Stay with me,” he repeated for a minute. Two minutes.

Nothing.

It was then that Graham noticed the white bag that’d fallen to the floor when he struck Dante. He picked it up—staining it with blood—and looked inside. It was an orange bottle of prescription pills.

Benjamin stood up and turned to face Graham. “He’s gone.”

“Gone,” Graham repeated numbly. He felt as if someone else were talking.

“You finally got Dante.” Benjamin said, scathingly.

“I—“ Graham started but the words didn’t come. He was vacant.

“You have to deliver the medicine.” Benjamin said. “And tell the doctor what happened to Dante.”

The asylum had been an old mission church before it was converted. Now it was a refuge where burn victims could live apart from the unkind stares the unburned. Graham saw the disfigured faces peering from the windows. They darted out of sight as he crossed the threshold of what was once the chapel. The pews had been torn out and replaced with rooms for the people who lived there. He felt like an intruder. Everywhere he looked he could see their eyes retreating from his gaze and he realized they were afraid of him.

Graham followed the sound of coughing to right of the altar, where the sacristy had been. There, the doctor laid on disheveled bed. She had heavy grey bags beneath her eyes, contrasting her palid skin. Graham held up the medicine for her, mutely.

“Where is Dante?” she asked through coughs. Graham didn’t reply.

The doctor propped herself up on her elbow. She could see the dried blood splattered on his shirt and badge. “You killed him. You hunted him like an animal… And you can’t even admit it.”

“I just—your medicine.” Graham said.

The doctor looked at the bag, covered in the scarlet fingerprints. “When I helped Dante escape from the hospital—” she paused to see what he’d do. He didn’t say anything so she continued “—it was clear to me that he realized he’d made a mistake. I believed that he could change—even when he didn’t believe it of himself. Still, that was enough to keep him going and help him recover. When he was well, do you know what the first thing he did was? He walked out of his room, picked up that broom there, and swept the courtyard. Nobody asked him to. He just thought it was a good thing to do.” She paused again to ensure he was listening, taking in how he couldn’t meet her eyes and how he winced at her words. “Look around.” She commanded, the disaffection plain in her voice.

Graham saw the timid faces of children and the elderly, their skin burned into swirling wrinkled patterns by wood grain on their hands, their shoulders, and faces. All were twisted and reshaped by fire.

“These were his patients as much as they are mine,” The doctor said. Dante took care of them like family. But you’d never have imagined that. To you he was branded a criminal. Even so, he knew violence wasn’t the way.”

Graham removed his hat and held it to his chest. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I—I should go.”

“Then go,” she said with such venom that he couldn’t help but look her in the eyes, now shining with tears, “but tell me… How are you going to make this right?”

“I—I don’t know,” Graham admitted, slowly putting his hat back on and turning away, trying to avoid the pink, puckered faces that were staring at him. They all looked like Dante. As he walked away, he heard one of them mutter a word under their breath.

“Murderer.”