Page 17 of Full Circle

Celeste shook her head. “Please get out of there!”

“Guess you’re gonna have to come in and stop me.” I shrugged and headed towards the detached garage. It was only big enough for a single car, but there was no driveway to it, making me assume it was meant for a riding mower.

Sure enough, the window on the side of the garage revealed a gleaming riding mower that looked far too big for the square backyard the chief owned. The rest of the garage looked like a small woodshop, with tools hanging from pegs and pieces of unfinished wood leaning against the back wall. There was a large saw table in the space behind the mower, but I couldn’t see more from the angle of the window.

The urge to see what else was inside was too strong for me to ignore and I found myself shoving the window open. Nobody ever locked things around here. They were all too trusting.

A warm hand clamped around my elbow as I reached my hands inside the window to haul myself up. Celeste’s eyes were pleading with me as she tried to pull me away. “We’re gonna get caught!”

“Then keep a look out,” I instructed her. “I just wanna take a look around.”

Celeste continued her quiet protests as I stumbled down into the garage. It was mainly used for outside storage, metal shelves holding gardening equipment and more tools for the woodshop. There was nothing out of the ordinary, although what I was expecting to find, I had no idea.

“Wesley Carter Madden, you get out here this instant!” Celeste’s tiny voice came through the window.

I rolled my eyes again even though she couldn’t see. “Marla’s lines won’t work on me,” I called out to her.

My eyes fell upon two large portable gas caddies when inspiration hit. Both were full of gasoline that I began pouring over every surface in the garage. They were heavy, full enough to douse the floors, the saw table, and the shiny riding mower. Chief Hillsborough probably thought highly of himself for having a monstrosity like that. I imagined that was the kind of things hicks like him cared about. So I’d take it from him, just as simple as that.

I grabbed a dirty rag from the tool bench and a glass bottle from what looked like a recycling bin. A box of matches sat on one of the shelves next to the grill equipment and I felt the wicked grin return to my face. It had to be karma, right, if I torched this garage like the grill master I wanted to be?

I climbed outside, much to Celeste’s relief, though she was practically hyperventilating by now.

“We’re gonna get in so much trouble!” she whined. As soon as both my feet hit the ground, she took off running towards the fence. “Come on, Wesley, we’ve gotta get out of here!”

She hadn’t seen the objects in my hand or else she would have stayed to take them from me, I was sure of it. However, I knew how dangerous this could be and I didn’t want Celeste anywhere near this building with what I was about to do.

I shoved the rag into the bottle and used a match to light the portion hanging out of the top. Since the window was open and I had only poured the gasoline on the ground, I was betting on having the extra few seconds I needed to run away even though I had no idea if science backed up my logic. Setting the glass on the window ledge, I simply pushed it over so that it rolled down onto the random pieces of lumber beneath the window and ran like hell away from the garage.

The sound of flames erupted behind, but nothing was strong enough that I could feel the heat from an explosion. Celeste was sputtering and pointing at the garage as I hopped the fence.

“Did you just set the building on fire?!” she screeched. I had never heard her voice so high pitched before.

I gave her a one arm shrug as I laced my hand through hers. “I was just manning the grill,” I countered innocently. With a quick smile, I took off down the street, keeping a tight grip on her hand in mine.

It couldn’t be too obvious that we were leaving the scene, so when we got to the cross street that could take us back past the school and towards the town square, I veered to the left as if we were going to the movie theater. That was my destination at the moment before we got a couple blocks away and Celeste dug in her heels.

“We have to alert the fire department!” she insisted.

“What?!” I snapped at her.

She was breathing heavily, trying to get the air in her lungs to function after the adrenaline wore off. “That garage is right next to the forest line and could start a huge fire. We can’t just let it go, Wes.”

She had a point, but that didn’t make it irritate me any less. “So what? You’re telling me to turn myself in?” My hands balled into fists that I clamped on my hips.

“No!” Celeste leaned forward, her hands holding onto her bent knees. She pointed down to the grocery store that still had one lone employee inside. “I’m gonna go call the fire department! You have to get home!”

“Get home?” I repeated in confusion.

“NOW!” she screeched again, louder this time.

I didn’t argue with her at that volume. Turning on my heel, I sped down through the parking lot of the movie theater, behind the town florist shop, and into the alleyway. If I followed it down to the end, there was a fence missing a couple boards that I could only just squeeze out of that would deposit me one street over from my great aunt Shirley’s. Ever since going to Celeste’s house, I had learned that it was rude to cut through people’s yards, but I took that chance today since everyone was still at the Fourth of July party.

I didn’t stop until I reached my bedroom, the patchwork quilt still disheveled from where I forgot to make my bed that morning. Pacing the small space did nothing for my rattled nerves, so I pushed open the lone window and climbed out onto the gabled roof.

The sky was starting to darken and stars were beginning to twinkle as I plopped down on the brown tiles, warm from the day’s sun. In the distance I could hear the sound of a siren, which I hoped meant Celeste was successful in contacting the fire department. It hadn’t occurred to me in the heat of the moment that the garage was next to a flammable forest.

I tried to use one of the breathing techniques a therapist taught me to regulate my heartbeat and calm myself back down, but after two attempts, I gave up. My nerves were like a live wire, my ears listening for the police that were sure to be approaching the house soon to arrest me. Wouldn’t that make my father proud?

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