Incandescence

Ember

He had always found comfort in the smell of fire smoke, regardless of the fact that he had no positive memories associated with it. The lingering scent of burning wood could always lull him to sleep when he was having difficulty, but he found that the acrid smoke burned his nostrils when he was standing close to the source of it.

The box of matches hardly felt any different in his pocket physically. It was light and small enough that he didn't notice anything too out of the ordinary as opposed to the familiar feeling of having empty pockets. His mind was hyper-aware of the small object, however, and as he watched the flames build and devour the dry, old wood, it seemed to burn a hole through the denim.

There was a word for the bitter feeling in his chest right now, but he certainly didn't care to remember it. There were several words, actually, but he didn't want to place much thought into those either. Every second dragged by like cold molasses, yet seemed to rip past him and leave him dizzy.

The fire started out small, as he didn't have any alcohol or gasoline at his disposal to speed up the conflagration. It didn't take long for it to build, regardless of the lack of flammable fluid. The night was fairly warm and dry for a beach town like Glass Shard, and the wood hadn't been touched by water in at least a month. The fire crawled across the planks easily and efficiently, destroying the many months' worth of construction that he and his brother partner had dedicated to it.

The golden light from the fire grew brighter and brighter, the temperature climbing higher and higher until he had to step back from the flames, squinting against the brightness. He watched his childhood project burn for only a few seconds longer before he couldn't stand it anymore. He did his best to leave any negative feelings he had about starting the blaze in the space he was putting between himself and the boat, letting everything he left unsaid to hang in the air.

He was approximately 100 yards away when he heard some sort of odd noise. It wasn't particularly high pitched and piercing, but some quality of it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It almost sounded like screaming, but that would make no logical sense. Nobody was around that he could see, and no sign of anyone's having been there before him. It was easy to dismiss the disconcerting sounds as nothing more than the wood creaking and groaning, beginning to become unable to bear its own weight anymore.

It was easy, until he rounded the corner of a 24/7 convenience store on his way back to the pawnshop and found himself staring at his brother's Stanley's car.

Ford had read all about fight-or-flight responses in several books pertaining to psychology, as well as anatomy and physiology. He understood the process step-by-step, knew exactly which chemicals and hormones went where, and that everything happened in the span of a few seconds. Logically, he could take this apart to easily understood pieces. He was familiar enough with the feeling of epinephrine flowing through him to recognize it and deal with it. What he couldn't explain was the gut-wrenching feeling that made every part of him freeze in place, only to dash back around the corner and stare at the flaming wreckage of the Stan O'War.

He didn't need to look into the store to know that Stanley wasn't in there. He knew where his twin was, and with a sickening tug in his stomach, he realized he had dismissed screams of torture as groaning wood. He stared at the inferno on the beach for a handful of seconds longer before he regained control of his legs and he was dashing toward the doors of the store, flinging them open and startling the half-asleep cashier. Ford was at the counter before they could say anything.

"Call 911," he breathed, "fire, beach, brother, burning-"

He didn't need to say anything else, as the cashier was already surging toward the phone, but he continued to babble, his mind racing. His hands trembled under the stress, and he snatched an empty bucket from the corner near the bathrooms and sprinted out of the store. He would have to apologize for property theft later.