Fire and Ice

If the devil enjoyed heat, then he was surely after Marco. As the flames from the house grew and smoke snaked its way up into the sky, Marco felt sure he could feel Satan breathing down on him. In the distance, Marco could hear the banshee song of a police siren. Even with the searing pain shooting through his shoulder, he held the bundle in his arms close, careful not to drop it.

Life had been tough living on the streets. Climbing in and out of abandoned homes every night had been the only way to have a roof over his head since he was a kid. It was still second nature to him. He had never been caught. Some people were just born to be thieves.

For a time, there wasn't a need to do it anymore. He was making good money in the warehouse district, but that cash eventually led him to trouble again. Tina was the highest paid dancer at Two Cherry's and now round with his baby. Things were good until those pricks at the bar wouldn't let her dance anymore, not like Marco wanted her to anyway. But she could have still bartended. And after the baby was born, she could have gone back to dancing.

Except that's not what Tina wanted.

“I want to stay home with the baby, Marco. You need to make this right.”

“I'll find a way,” he told her and meant it. He had to do right by her and his little son that now grew inside of her. His dad might have taken the easy way out and left them to fend for themselves but Marco knew he had what it took to be a good dad.

At night, only after Tina had fallen asleep, Marco would lay his hands on her stomach as if he were praying. The slight jumps and flutters he felt within were enough motivation. Back to hitting licks and bringing in the money. He didn't want his kid winding up on the streets like him.

Marco made good money one night, the most he had made in a while. Luck was on his side so he decided to hit one last house. Whoever lived there had just moved in. There were boxes everywhere. It would slow him down to go through them so he decided to just leave well enough alone.

Marco had always been quick like a cat, in and out in a matter of minutes. In no way was he prepared for the man to jump out at him from the dark corner. The man surprised him by first hitting him in his shoulder blade with the golf club, then kneeing him so hard in the groin Marco thought he would pass out from the pain. Marco was strapped but he never had to use it before.

“You think you can just come in here and take my things?” the man shouted as he took aim at Marco, narrowly missing him with his golf club. Ice blue eyes stared down at him. Even in those short seconds, Marco could see that there was something very cold about the man's eyes, detached, sad. “F*****g lowlifes think they can just come in here and take what I've worked so hard for. The cops are on their way, a*****e!”

No, not the cops. Marco remembered his hand on Tina's belly, the small flutters and jumps, the way it calmed him. But at that moment, he felt anything but calm.

A split second was all it took for the man to make a mistake by turning around. Marco kicked at him, knocking him down to the ground. He thought of his son. No one would take him from his son. He pulled out the gun, only wanting to scare the man enough to let him run out of the house but he just wouldn’t stay down. And then, just like that, the sound of the gun shot rang throughout the stagnant air of the house. Cold, blue eyes stared up at him again, this time not in anger, but shock as the man’s life faded out before him.

No, no, no...the mantra flooded Marco's mind as he saw the man clutch his chest and fall. Marco thought death was a slow process, not something that happened lightening quick fast. He looked down at the gun in his hand, smoke still rising from it.

And then, Marco heard it. A wail, like a cat’s call.

The police were coming and he had to haul a*s out of there. He didn't even want the stuff, not like that. How did it all go so wrong? He'd explain everything to Tina once he got home. The man lay on the floor, eyes wide open, looking up at Marco but not. They were already beginning to glaze over. Marco turned around, and vomited in the same dark corner the man had first emerged from. He had to get out of there.

Marco was almost to the door when he heard it again: a long, screeching wail.

It wasn't a cat. Marco was sure of that now.

The sound of it was coming from somewhere in the very back of the house. The cops were on their way. Marco was shaking and sick to his stomach. The man was on the ground, dead. The front door was now wide open.

Marco didn't understand why he did what he did then.

When Marco got to the door, a cold chill ran up his spine. A single picture hung from it: an attractive woman smiling into the camera. Her hair was long and jet-black, her hands hovered protectively over her stomach. She had kind eyes. Chicken scratch handwriting lined the bottom of the photo: “Judith, you are always with us.” The wailing was coming from inside.

Marco went in and saw the crib.

The baby couldn’t have been older than three-months-old, tiny, defenseless, alone. When he saw Marco, he stopped wailing. He looked up at him, and then extended his arms towards him.

Marco could hear the police sirens coming even closer.

The house was engulfed in flames by the time Marco made it three blocks down. Old curtains lit by the lighter in his pocket caught and spread the flames quickly. Marco opened up the bundle in his arms after feeling the slightest of movements.

Blue eyes stared up at him but they were not ice cold like the man’s. They were warm, the color of the purest flame, like the woman’s eyes in the picture. Tiny fingers reached out and grazed Marco’s cheek. Calmness spread over him.

Marco would explain everything to Tina once he got home. He would do right by her and his sons.