Passion's Flame

Fictional short story set inside the mind of the pyromaniac.

He jumped in his Caddy and followed the GPS to Clermont, Florida. A city of shopping strips and highways and gated communities about a half hour outside of Disney's Magic. A city where nothing really happens. All Johnny knew is this guy was holed up in a motel for seeing something he shouldn't have and it was his job to silence him. He had his picture, an address and twenty five thousand dollars he'd received from the guys from the Cigar Shop. He'll get another twenty-five when the job is done. That's all he needed to know.

 

As he drove the fourteen hour drive he reminisced. He didn't do these jobs for the money. He did it because he loved the heat and her flames. The way she danced for him. He would always save her for the moonlight. His lungs would drink her and he would get turned on by the way she took his breath. Ever since he was a kid he had it for her like that. Most kids on the block were traumatized that day when the woman whose body was engulfed with flames came bursting out of the house fire onto the street, but not him. He laughed right there at ten years old in front of everybody, including the girls' mother and Father Mike. He thought it was a beautiful dance, just for him.

 

He remembered his first paid job doing what he loved.  He was seventeen and the guys from the same Cigar Shop gave him a thousand dollars to burn down a local pizza shop. Early retirement, South Philly style. He rode his bike there with pride and excitement bursting out of his chest. He opened the gas can and the fumes entered his nostrils. He took it in like fresh air and ocean breezes. He broke in through the back and dumped half the can in the grease trap, leaving a trail as he backed out. What was left he poured in through the exhaust fan. He flicked open the Zippo he stole from the cigar shop and tossed it lit into the powerless exhaust fan. He heard the whoosh of the blue flame as it quickly spread across his trail and he grabbed his bike and rode to the end of the block. He knew he should ride off before the grease trap blew so as not to get caught but he couldn't help himself. He had to stay long enough to feel her heat. The trap blew and half the restaurant with it. Johnny stood in the light of it, rubbed his hands down his chest, and grinned like a madman as pieces of building rained down all around him. He giggled and laughed maniacally as he rode away on his bicycle. He rode down to The Lakes and fell off his bike into the tall grasses under the Interstate. He was sweating and his heart was beating fast...and he was excited. He made love to his gas can hands with the passion he would never learn to have for a woman. Not to this day. He smiled to himself at that memory...the smell of his hands, the memory of her dancing flames. He looked forward to being with her again.

 

He stopped halfway at the Holiday Inn in Fayetteville to get some sleep so he wouldn't be tired from the drive. It was right off of the Interstate and he didn't want to lose much time. He just needed a few hours shut eye and he would be good to go. He put on the PBS channel and fell fast asleep. He dreamt of hot lava gliding on glaciers towards him with her hot tendrils beckoning...spreading herself out before him. He woke up sweating and thirsty but full and warm and satiated. He hummed to himself and showered in the late afternoon glow coming in through the bathroom window. After a sandwich in the hotel restaurant and a pat on a waitress’ a*s he was back on the road.

 

He found Clermont and the motel and found a spot in the parking lot. He went to the room number that the boys had given him and knocked on the door. "Pizza delivery!", he yelled through the door. The guy was in there. The flickering of the TV glow poking out around the edges of the curtains, the giveaway.  He heard rustling toward the door and the moment it opened he kicked it hard busting the chain off, like in every cop show he'd ever seen. His victim staggered back and before he knew it Johnny had knocked him out cold with a swift uppercut,  like the brothers at the boxing gym had taught him. He landed on the bed. “Good!”,  Johnny thought. “The bedsheets will help the accelerant!”. He poured the fuel all over the guy and backed out toward the door. He flicked the Zippo and tossed it and ran back to his car which he had kept running. As he fell into the driver’s seat he saw the burning figure come bursting through the door…dancing. Flailing and dancing like a starlit maiden, dancing just for him. He was transfixed and elated. His breath grew short and quick and sweat beaded on him even though he wasn’t close enough for it to be from her fiery heat. It was coming from within. She was inside him. He writhed in the white leather seat and moaned. She screamed and writhed and moaned in the parking lot as she danced and burned. They were one. It was the first time all over again. He wept alone as the Flames came for him…and they danced.