and wrists. For a second, I just knew he was thinking of me, that he heard me damning him to hell. Besides, Fire Girl was there. She told me so. That night I went to the saw mill outside of town with some newspaper and a lighter and—
“You okay? I hate to catch you at a busy moment,” the cop says.
Probably just lulling me into making a mistake. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and wish my tie wasn’t so tight. I may have to take him down. Bring him out back. Get the gas can and…
“It’s that time again. The annual Police Benevolent Association fund drive. Last year we counted you for…”
I picture the withered match falling to the gasoline-soaked floor at the old milk house. Our tire tracks, my footprints, and god knows whatever else is still there. I have to hurry and light the big burn. But first I have to find Michelle.
****
I drive by her house twice, check the Riviera and Le Gran Paradise. I even swing by her gym and favorite day spa. But at five to four, I hit gold and catch her right where she is supposed to be, walking out of the shiny green glass doors of her office building in White Plains, an hour before quitting time.
“Bill. What are you doing here?”
“Thought you’d get a rise out of seeing me,” I say.
She walks faster, her heels clicking on the pavement.
I move next to her, match her stride. I throw my arm around her waist.
“My car. I’ll drive,” I say.
“Uh, Bill, I gotta go. John’s waiting for me.”
“Come on. It’s been two days. I owe you.”
I open the door, holding her with the other. Her legs fold like matchsticks and she collapses into the front seat.
I hurry around the car, slide behind the wheel, and start the engine.
“What’d you see? Who’d you tell? The cops? My wife?”
“Bill, I don’t know what you’re thinking. But I didn’t see anything. I didn’t talk to anyone.”
She’s looking to buy a dose of things are okie-dokie, normal as can be, so I give it to her.
“I just needed to see you,” I say.
She relaxes a bit, but all the heat between us is gone. I speed up.
“Where we going? The Riviera’s off Ninety-Five.”
“Somewhere else.”
I hit the Taconic so I can do ninety and avoid the traffic and speed traps.
I turn off after a few exits and pull into a place called Jerry and Ginny’s Cabins and Campsites. I’d been there with Nadja and Allie once. Six cabins. All a nice walk and out of earshot from each other.
“Bill, we gotta make this fast. John’s expecting me.”
“Since when did you give a damn?”
“Calm down. You don’t look so good.”
I try to pull it together. I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t see another way. I have to pull off the big burn and nothing can come in the way.
I open the trunk, push around the wires and charges and grab a bag of coal, butane, and some two-by-fours. I toss them into the barbeque pit.
“Bill, what the hell are you doing?” Michelle says.
I ignore her, flip open the can of butane, and catch the sweet smell. I squeeze the can, coaxing all the fluid from it, and flick the match. The crisp wood takes with a satisfying hiss. The paper and leaves crackle and fold into themselves, disappearing into the hungry line of glowing orange.
I look through the wafting black smoke for her .
“Where are you? What do I do?” I ask.
“You’re more messed up than I thought,” Michelle says. She kicks off her heels and bolts into the woods.
The flames sputter and gain a hold on the wood. I can faintly make out her flickering face.
I could catch up in seconds. Wrap my hands around her neck, then let the flames eat the evidence. But the big blaze has to be lit. Nothing can jeopardize it.
“Let her go,” Fire Girl whispers.
“But she’ll tell someone. The cops.”
“Go. You are so close. Nothing matters now but the flames.”
She’s right. I have the keys and pass cards. No one
“You okay? I hate to catch you at a busy moment,” the cop says.
Probably just lulling me into making a mistake. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and wish my tie wasn’t so tight. I may have to take him down. Bring him out back. Get the gas can and…
“It’s that time again. The annual Police Benevolent Association fund drive. Last year we counted you for…”
I picture the withered match falling to the gasoline-soaked floor at the old milk house. Our tire tracks, my footprints, and god knows whatever else is still there. I have to hurry and light the big burn. But first I have to find Michelle.
****
I drive by her house twice, check the Riviera and Le Gran Paradise. I even swing by her gym and favorite day spa. But at five to four, I hit gold and catch her right where she is supposed to be, walking out of the shiny green glass doors of her office building in White Plains, an hour before quitting time.
“Bill. What are you doing here?”
“Thought you’d get a rise out of seeing me,” I say.
She walks faster, her heels clicking on the pavement.
I move next to her, match her stride. I throw my arm around her waist.
“My car. I’ll drive,” I say.
“Uh, Bill, I gotta go. John’s waiting for me.”
“Come on. It’s been two days. I owe you.”
I open the door, holding her with the other. Her legs fold like matchsticks and she collapses into the front seat.
I hurry around the car, slide behind the wheel, and start the engine.
“What’d you see? Who’d you tell? The cops? My wife?”
“Bill, I don’t know what you’re thinking. But I didn’t see anything. I didn’t talk to anyone.”
She’s looking to buy a dose of things are okie-dokie, normal as can be, so I give it to her.
“I just needed to see you,” I say.
She relaxes a bit, but all the heat between us is gone. I speed up.
“Where we going? The Riviera’s off Ninety-Five.”
“Somewhere else.”
I hit the Taconic so I can do ninety and avoid the traffic and speed traps.
I turn off after a few exits and pull into a place called Jerry and Ginny’s Cabins and Campsites. I’d been there with Nadja and Allie once. Six cabins. All a nice walk and out of earshot from each other.
“Bill, we gotta make this fast. John’s expecting me.”
“Since when did you give a damn?”
“Calm down. You don’t look so good.”
I try to pull it together. I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t see another way. I have to pull off the big burn and nothing can come in the way.
I open the trunk, push around the wires and charges and grab a bag of coal, butane, and some two-by-fours. I toss them into the barbeque pit.
“Bill, what the hell are you doing?” Michelle says.
I ignore her, flip open the can of butane, and catch the sweet smell. I squeeze the can, coaxing all the fluid from it, and flick the match. The crisp wood takes with a satisfying hiss. The paper and leaves crackle and fold into themselves, disappearing into the hungry line of glowing orange.
I look through the wafting black smoke for her .
“Where are you? What do I do?” I ask.
“You’re more messed up than I thought,” Michelle says. She kicks off her heels and bolts into the woods.
The flames sputter and gain a hold on the wood. I can faintly make out her flickering face.
I could catch up in seconds. Wrap my hands around her neck, then let the flames eat the evidence. But the big blaze has to be lit. Nothing can jeopardize it.
“Let her go,” Fire Girl whispers.
“But she’ll tell someone. The cops.”
“Go. You are so close. Nothing matters now but the flames.”
She’s right. I have the keys and pass cards. No one
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