(Story) He desires Fire

This story is rated M for mature. You’ve been warned.
Author’s Note: This is the first story of an insanely dark nature that I have ever written. I was trying to channel King and maybe a little Lovecraft, for the most part I think I succeeded. As a hobby, I could see myself writing a couple more of these over the years. I do not believe I could write horror for a career, it isn’t that the writing is not fun or challenging, it is. But the finished result is a story that is disturbingly hard for even me to read and takes about 5x times longer for me to write. Getting back into the head space of an insane character is a lot more work.
***
A scarred young man lit the given match, and held it to the charity cigarette already gripped between his chapped lips. The end caught, showcasing a beautiful cherry, as it cast about its glow in the dimly lit room. He took a long drag, and smiled as the nicotine stick kissed him, its breath filling his lungs. Turning, he faced the woman who sat across from him at the cold metal table. His burned face had an orange shade as he pulled the cigarette from his lips. The cuffs that bound him rattled ever so slightly from the movement of his wrists and hands.
“Thanks for the smoke” the young man said.
Pausing for a moment, he looked down and held the cigarette between his fingers, watching the subtle fire as it burned the paper. The ring of cinder slowly moved towards the filter, eating as it went. He could hear the Fire calling out to him. Finally, his eyes escaped its captivating crawl and came back to focus on the women.
“You look nice.” his rasping drawl clawed. “Is that a new dress?” taking another drag on the cigarette. The young man sensed her digust, as he filled his lungs with tar.
Narrowing her eyes and cocking her head at him, the woman held out her hand. The inmate deposited the charred match, still hot to the touch. She quickly dropped the match in a bowl on the table.
“You always derail the conversation” she said, frustrated. “You do realize how serious this is, and that you are facing the death penalty.”
Acting as if he hadn’t heard, the teenager slouched a bit in his jumpsuit, and pursued his chosen topic. “Cotton by the look of it, and it seems like it is authentic too.” The woman sat watching as his mind spun and his eyes moved over her. “Yeah they don’t make them like that any more, it hangs and flows real nice on your body…”
“Enough!” she yelled slamming her hand down on the table. “I am your public defender, but remember that I don’t have to be good at it.” The threat was sincere, and the kid knew it. Brow furrowing, he moved the cigarette below the table to flick the accumulating ash. Then he brought his hand back up, and crossed his arms, stubbornly blocking any forward momentum the conversation had once contained. The woman realized that she would have to concede to something, in order for them to move on.
“And to answer your question, no this is not new, it was my Grandmother’s” she said. Offering the statement as a pacifying tithe. A slow smirk crept across the teenager’s face. It was not something that anyone would enjoy seeing and had the look of burning wood. As it turned a clean log to black ash.
“Now,” she began again, placing her hands on a folder of documents which was set on the table. “After reviewing your case, I think our best defense is for an insanity plea.”
The smile left the young man’s face as quick as it came. Disagreement saturating the ruined flesh like water.
“I am not insane” he said.
“Does it matter? This is Texas, and this strategy is your best chance of not getting the death penalty-”
Leaning forward and cutting her off, the kid said with heat in his voice. “I am not insane.” And took another long pull off his cigarette. After a time, he receded back into his seat and let the smoke continue to fill him.
“Come on Jonah, you would be stupid to try and pursue any other-”
It was his turn to yell then “And I am not stupid either!”. The teen’s pulse was obviously racing. Looking like at any moment he would explode. As the blood flow increased, veins on his burned face writhed like sickly earth worms. Slowly the teen’s internal thermometer could be seen dropping and his invisible barometer eventually dipped. Some how releasing the pressure at the center of his anxiety.
“Like I said, I am not stupid” breathing out smoke as he spoke. “Many people have called me that.” He turned his body slightly to face the barred window and glimpse the night outside, then continued. “The person that gave me these scars called me that.” Pulling his empty hand up and running it the length of his disfigured face.
At this revelation, the public defendant leaned forward. Intrigued, she was unable to stop herself from asking. “What happened?”
The young man sat quiet for a moment, as if allowing the question to disarm him of anything that could potentially stop what he would say next. “My Pa-” choking as he said it. He looked at her then as deep pools of pain filled his eyes and muttered. And even though his eyes stared at her, he could feel them burn through her, not really seeing at all. ”He would try to teach me things, but I would never be able to remember them. It wasn’t that I couldn’t, my mind just wasn’t interested.” and slowly, the juvenile inmate began to rock back and forth. ”Omlettes.” the word hung in the air. “Me and my Pa made them hundreds of times. But I was always letting them sit too long on one side. Burning them-” he trailed off for a moment. Strangely, the timbre of his voice changed subtly, seeming to take on a whole other persona.
“Stupid fool boy! You burned the damn eggs again!”
The young man raised his free hand up, and smacked himself in the face startling the woman. “Such a dumb ass boy!” he continued in the strange voice. “Maybe if you know what it feels like, think then you can remember?” striking himself several more times. The hitting stopped, but the hand wasn’t finished. It moved behind his own head, and like a vice, took hold of his neck. Slowly, the hand forced his face towards the table. “Please Pa,-” his voice had changed again, this time it took the tonality of a child “-please don’t do this!” he shrieked. But still the hand continued to push his own head towards the metal surface. It was a strange and perverse singular struggle. And when his face was within an inch of the stainless steel surface, his body began to thrash against the visible hand and the invisible attacker who controlled it.
“No Pa-”
“You mutha’ fuckin idiot-”
“Please don’t do this-”
“Teach you to burn my eggs-”
It was then that the hand finally won, as the young man’s face came into contact with the cold hard metallic agony. A scream like something terrible erupted from the bottom of the youth’s throat.
Even in the horrible reenactment, the attorney could almost hear the hiss of searing flesh. Though the boy before her was well over eighteen, he had a youthful appearance and stature. And from somewhere deep, the maternal instinct inside her forced her to stand and move to his side. Gently taking him into her arms.
She whispered “Shhhhh, shhhh, Jonah it’s ok. You are safe, you are with me.”
But still the teenager cried out, tears pouring from his eyes, running down the scars on his face. So the woman continued to hold him, shushing as she rocked them both.
Finally, the young man pulled himself back from her and said. “Why did my Pa always try to teach me things that I couldn’t learn?” his voice started to calm. “If he would have only taught me about fire, I could have learned that real good.”
“I know you could have honey.” said the woman.
“Maybe he could have shown me nylon, and how it melts more than it burns. Or about wool and silk and how they never take to flame. We could have talked about how tight fitting clothes are harder for fire to catch.” He was looking at her intently now as he continued. “And we could have discovered together, that something made of flowing cotton would go up like a torch.” and he let his statement float through the air.
Trying to understand, the woman looked at him, wanting to encourage, so she finally said “Jonah you are smart kid, and I am sure-” but something cut her off, it was the slight feeling of being stung about her legs. She looked down to see the glowing end of his cigarette, deftly deposited against the dress that he had earlier admired. How long it had been there she did not know, but in an instant, the flames danced. She jumped back, and let out a scream as the fire moved across the surface of her dress. Feeling the bite deepen, she reached out her hands and began to beat the flames. Yet the movement only brought more oxygen to the fledgling fire.
“Guard-” she cried. “Guards! Help me, someone help-” but for whatever reason, no one came. And the flames raced up her leg, and towards her torso. Once there, they pulled ever higher until they caught themselves on her low hanging hair that was full of the latest product. Pops and crackles started to sound, like a sparkler on the 4th of july. And all the while the woman howled.
The young man looked on and laughed, pulling his cigarette to his face. His eyes shown like the fire he now watched. The woman thrashed about, bouncing off the table and then into a wall. And he giggled upon seeing this. For there were bits of ruined flesh clinging to the points of impact. He smiled long, trying his best to lock in the site and smell. Then, in a mocking voice, he yelled out to her.
“Pa, no pa, please-” hap hazardly bringing his hand against the base of his neck, a small reenactment of moments before. “God, you should have seen your face!” the tone of comtempt was evident, and he slapped his leg as laughter overwhelmed him and then stole his breath. And through tears of delite, he watched the woman fall to her knees, and onto her stomach. As the fire consumed her, the woman’s cry turned itself into a low gutteral moan. Her breathing slowed and then stopped. The beautiful flame was simply there, before him, free to burn as it willed. It had asked and he had answered. His Fire, was alive at last.