An arsonists cookbook

Chapter 18: Emile Kovač

Emile had now been with his new family for a few weeks but no matter how much medication he took, how much therapeutic advice he was given, he couldn't get away from the past events. He couldn't shake the image of the burning man, dying right there and then; the voice of his father, disappointed and evil; the final moments of his brother, mourning yet still handsome. Emile's spinning head was causing migraines, the pain was relentless. He was deathly afraid of fires now, he wouldn't even be near a candle if it was lit. Emile sat in his room, on his computer, day and night. The absolute depression Emile found himself in was extraordinarily bad, he had never felt so low. The school councillor said he could stay away from school until he was ready. He thought he was ready many times but the scars would hold him back each time and not all of them were from the fire.

One night, Emile sat alone. Pondering his life and how it had changed so much. He tried his best to highlight the good times but his fading memory didn't allow him to, only bad times remained. The beautiful image of his mother, tainted by his fathers strict, biased and disgusting ways. His happy, young self, destroyed by the wickedness of life. Everything was against him living, he couldn't take it any more. He couldn't stand unassisted. He couldn't walk without a prosthetic leg. He couldn't breathe without an inhale with his inhaler. He was riddled with scars and injuries, some were no accident. He looked around his room, his favourite bands covered every inch of it, his new guitar sat perfectly in the corner. His foster parents bought him everything he ever wished for, however, without his brother, nothing seemed fun any more. Everyday was becoming a drag, he didn't have the energy to breathe any more. He had always just got on with things but now he couldn't. He glared across the room to the clock on the wall, his partially blind right eye, strained to read the time. Three AM. Emile thought as he slowly sat up. His scarred right arm dragged him across to his wheelchair at the bottom of the bed. He lifted himself into it and slowly made his way down the hall. He passed the room of his brother, not blood but the past moments he had spent with him he felt like he was and he was only nine; he passed his foster parents' room,the Father was a hunter and the Mum was a nurse; finally, he passed his sisters room, still not blood but her small smile felt like they had connected, she was only two.

He made his way to the bathroom and was met by his father who was walking out.
"You all right, Emile?" his new father whispered
"Yeah, just need the toilet is all" Emile whispered back
"Okay, get straight back to bed, your brothers play is tomorrow"
"Will do, Dad" his fathers face lit up as soon as Emile called him his father, he had been trying for months but Emile thought that dad wasn't a good enough description for this nice man whom had became his new father. His dad joyfully sneaked back to his wife and shut the door slowly. Emile wheeled into the bathroom and turned on the light. He shut the door behind him, he looked at the bench which was connected to the wall and stretched across the open bath tub. That was enough for Emile to feel even worse, the fact he couldn't get a shower or a bath unassisted was demeaning for him. Privacy had always meant so much to him. He couldn't escape any more, or could he? Emile reached into the low built cabinet and got out a bottle of pills and strong disinfectant. He put them both on the floor and reached far into the back and got his hands on his new dads secret drinking stash. He had a choice; Whiskey, Vodka or Brandy. He contemplated what to choose for a while before he picked Vodka. Strongest of them all. He thought as he placed the bottle of disinfectant back where it belonged. He took the bottle of pills and placed them on the counter top which surrounded the porcelain sink. He knelt on the seat of his wheelchair, leaning his left side on the counter top for balance. He stared into the mirror at the abyss of his eyes. The eyes are a gateway into the mind, if mine are just a singular abyss, then what is my soul? Emile reached over for some toilet paper and revealed a pen out of his pyjama pocket. He wrote his thoughts on the toilet paper and stuck it next to the sink. He had written what his life was to him. Everything he had experienced sat patiently in his journal under his bed but what he thought of life was on the piece of toilet paper, it wasn't a pleasant view. The unhappy shell of a teen which was Emile sat staring into the mirror and at three-thirty AM, Emile took his own life by swallowing medication and alcohol. He was found by his younger siblings and parents in the morning and no matter how hard the paramedics and his new parents tried, he wasn't saved and pronounced dead at the scene.

The days afterwards took a toll on LA. The whole city went into mourning, memorials were placed and many schools sang prayers for the recently deceased boy. Newspapers sold with headlines like 'School boy tragedy', 'Never have favourites' and 'Foster love revival failure'. The place he lived in- Shady Oaks, Inglewood, Los Angeles-would now be stained with the memory of his death. Legacy Drive connected the whole of LA, the once badly named town began to be reconsidered as a place of community. Emile had of known the sense of community he inspired, I'm sure he would've been proud. Unfortunately, it was too late for Emile but his parents knew there were plenty more depressed people out there who needed help. They made the 'Save Our Souls' campaign a few weeks later.

The funeral hit everybody hard. two-hundred people turned up at the day of mourning and a concert was held at the wake. A local band played all of Emile's favourite songs. His biological parents didn't attend the wake but his mother came to the burial. She mourned so hard she had to be pulled away. There wasn't a dry set of eyes at the wale even the band began to cry when Emile's small nine-year-old brother stood up to say his prayers;
"Dear Lord, please tell Emile that he is loved by all those who ever encountered him. Tell him that he needs to say hi to his brother for me because I really wanted to meet him. Tell him that what he did made a lot of people sad but it will make them happy when we look at what has inspired. Tell him to say hi to our old dog, Rover, too! Thank you for listening, Amen" the small boy instantly ran to his mother who was beginning to realise how much was missed leading up to Emile's death. The amount of signs he had managed so well to disguise. She thought the medication and therapy was helping, she was so very wrong. Many people still continue to mistake Emile's death as a self-righteous suicide, although, like many other teenagers, Emile was badly depressed and needed serious help which he didn't get. His final thought before he committed suicide was. I hope I'm considered normal in heaven .