Fire Summoner

Chapter Two: Aftermath

The next two hours were a whirlwind of confusion.

As Harold and Charlotte walked back to their house they discussed what their next moves should be.

"We can't tell the truth," Lottie worried, wrinkles appearing on her forehead. "We'll sound insane, Harold! What are we going to say? 'Oh don't worry y'all! The blaze went out by itself! Oh this little thing? Yea, she might have caused the fire in the first place but don't worry, she put it out!'" Charlotte's voice was rising in anxiety now, echoing out across their back porch where the three of them stood trying to figure out next steps.

Or at least two of them were, the third was yawning while resting her head in the crook of Harold's shoulder. Her curls tickled the side of his face and he felt her breath hit his neck. He was quickly falling for the little kid. He and Lottie had always wanted children. But neither of them were in the right place to be able to have a child.

As it stood, they barely made enough money to keep the lights on and put food on the table. The summer months were sweltering, as they didn't have any sort of AC unit, so the windows of their old farmhouse stayed open 24/7. In the winter they heated their house with wood burning furnaces. If it got too cold for the furnace to keep up, they would don their winter coats and gloves to warm themselves. They both knew that the financial burden of having an infant would empty what meager savings they had.

"Oh fuck!" Lottie exclaimed, putting one hand on her forehead and one on her hip, "child services are going to be crawling all over us!" Harold was not as concerned about this. There was no record of them ever fostering or taking a child into their care. So it wouldn't make any sense to claim that they had attempted to put this kid into harm's way out in that field. They were probably looking at a case of child abandonment. But he had no idea how to explain away the fire.

The trio were now making their way towards the front drive. Harold was in the lead, carrying the little girl on his arm, Lottie was behind them whispering harshly after her husband.

"Who'll look after the farm if we go to jail?? JAIL HAROLD, JAIL!!"

"Just let me do the talking, Lottie," Harold threw over his shoulder. "No one is going to jail tonight, well at least we aren't." He motioned between the two of them. "Probably whoever dumped this kid in our field will, though. Such a careless act!" Harold's face was starting to grow red now. Rage was winding its way through his chest at the thought that if the person, whoever they were, had just dropped the bundle off at their front door and not the back field then none of them would be in this mess.

They were out by the truck now. Charlotte had quieted beside him, her eyes now jumped anxiously between her husband, the kid in his arms, and the fire marshal that was approaching them now.

"Evening folks, we received a call about a fire?"

Tim Bets, the fire marshal, had gone to school with Charlotte. Tim knew that Charlotte was a no-nonsense type of woman. However, he was slightly confused now. There was no trace of the fire that she had frantically shouted about on the phone no less than fifteen minutes ago. There was the faint smell of smoke, but neither of the Barlowes showed hints of fire related injuries. Tim took notice of the bundle in Harold's arms. He then also realized that the jacket arm which was supporting the bundle was charred. To say he was confused was an understatement.

"Hey Tim, how are ya?" Harold said with a sigh. He didn't even know where to start. "Alright listen, I'll ask ya to keep an open mind when we tell ya what happened here tonight."

"I trust you guys," Tim nodded encouragingly. The Barlowes would often watch his young son, Nicolas, when he and Mrs. Bets would go out for dinner. They would always get Nick back well fed, bathed, and tuckered out with no complaints about Nick's...erratic hobby, if one could even call it that.. Tim and his wife, Sarah, had made the mistake of giving Nick a toy slingshot a year ago as a gift from Santa. What started as misplaced shots, pebbles and wood chips whizzing past your ears, evolved into Nick being able to nail you square in-between your eyes with a pretty sizable chunk of rock.