The Mirror Beyond The Void

2. Mary Sanders, Pyromaniac

Written on 1/24/2016 (Winter Season, January 2016 edition).
Mary Sanders (picture reference).

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The moment Parley left the office building, Mary Sanders stalked after her boss, all flustered and blushing, bringing her growing sphere of warm air with her. She was about to step outside to make sure her boss will remember her name when she got an earful of repressed laughter from her three coworkers.

She stopped mid-stride and glared at them.

All at once, the temperature rose from a comfortable 65 degrees Fahrenheit and hovered at around 95. The sphere of heat expanded, encompassing the entire entrance area, wilting a row of Monica Craft's potted anemone, scylla and arabis on the low-lying bookshelf near the door.

The men turned, stifling their laughter at once, caught in the sphere of heat. Sanders had all three men on their toes now. She enjoyed seeing the beads of sweat forming on their temples, as well as on the napes of their necks, almost like a noose. Raymond Jones tried his best to explain, and Daniel Taylor tried his most heartfelt apology, both men inching towards the door, when Sanders spied Devin Kowal and smiled radiantly at him, daring him to try his psychokinesis on the door knob.

Of course, Devin flinched.

Now all she had to do was whittle away at the trio of bumbling ingrates, till they gave way. She wanted answers, and she was going to get them. Since her introduction to the private investigation firm, she slowly wrapped her influence in the form of heat around them till they were her yes-men.

Raymond Jones seemed paled at the furtive glances Devin and Daniel gave him. So he cleared his throat and said, "Now don't get any ideas, Ms. Sanders. It's . . . nothing personal."

"Oh, really," Sanders said, settling her glare on him. "If it's not personal, then why go out of your way to ridicule my working relationship with your boss, hmmmmm?"

And with that, the temperature rose again by twenty degrees and hovered at around 115 degrees Fahrenheit. Fog began misting on the outside of the office windows, where early springtime air still held a chill to it. A sheen of sweat began dripping from their faces and soaking into their clothes. The air became stifling and heavy. The expanding sphere of heat crinkled the papers in the filing cabinets, raising the temperature of all the flat surfaces in the sitting area, and wilting the rows of anemone, scylla and arabis along the window sill as well as the potted rhododendrons on the side tables of the interview area.

"That's not it," Raymond said. "Just stop. Monica's gonna freak when she finds out all her plants are . . . Jeez!" He flinched at the heat of Sanders' glare seeping through his clothes and onto his skin, and he tried to avoid her gaze. "Stop! Whatever it is, just stop, and I'll tell you already! Just stop!"

"Oh, so now you're starting to get it, eh?" she said, grilling Raymond in waves of heat. "I was beginning to think you left your brain in at your place. And no," Sanders added, glancing towards the doorknob where Devin was about to touch it, turning the metal knob red with heat. "Nobody leaves until I say so."

Devin jerked his hand away, curling his fingers into a tight fist, the residue of heat steaming the sweat in his fingers. "Come on, that's not fair!"

"We're your coworkers," Daniel said, "not your slaves!" And he punctuated the 'not' with a blast of psychic movement at the Sanders, jolting the coffee table and the couches about a foot, shaking the filing cabinets and shelves, knocking over some of Monica's plants in the process, but Sanders stood unfazed.

So she retaliated and concentrated on Daniel's feet, where smalls wisps of smoke appeared from his shoes.

And right on cue, Daniel was sent dancing and screaming around the room, bending over to try and remove the melting shoes before his socks caught on fire. His friends kept calling for him to calm down and stay still, so they could help him, but he wouldn't have any of it. He threw himself on his back, where his fellow sufferers grabbed the smoking half-melted shoes off his feet with sleeve-covered hands. All the while, Daniel was cursing up a flurry.