Page 86 of Babalon

There is more for me and the only way to move forward is to snuff out the past.

Walking down the hall, my hands reach out to run the expanse of the walls. Feeling the wood paneling beneath my fingertips with each step. Some places along the wood are rougher than others, some slimy as if they were coated with oil. When I make it to the end of the hall, I see dad sitting in his chair again, rolling a cigarette with the cheapest tobacco he could buy.

He’s so sad.

My inmates have the means to get good smoke behind bars, yet here sits the man who is supposed to be a positive force in my life—desperately shoving dry leaves in rolling paper and licking the edge. I can’t help but chuckle to myself. Head tilting to the side while I look at him.

“Watch yourself, child.”

A smile so big that it feels good spreads across my face, incapable of containing my laugh as I step back into the living room. Delirium is what they call this, I think.

“You know what I have learned at the prison over these past few years?”

“What’s that? That those men deserve to be put down like rabid animals?”

“That they’re real. What you see is what you get. There is no lie, no facade they are hiding behind. My killers own every murder they have committed. Men who have embezzled sitting comfortably in their cells reading like they are unbothered by the world. Drug peddlers doing their thing like walls and gates don’tseparate them from the rest of society. They don’t shield who they are and that, Dad, is exactly what I need in life.”

“What are you going on about?”

“I’m where I belong. Work may be dangerous at times, but I have the respect from men who could do what you never could—end my life. If that doesn’t scream true power…”

Trailing off, I reach into my pocket and pull out the lighter again. Walking over to the dingy curtains that lined one of the windows by the front door, I strike the flint and bring about flames once more. Then? I hold it to the edge of the fabric–watching as the flame licks and starts to catch onto the fibers.

“What the fuck are you doing Nadia Raylie!” he screams.

“Something I should have done a long time ago.”

Once the filthy cotton caught, I move to the next, then over to the opposite window.

Of course, he panics and rushes over, trying to blot the flames but I am moving too fast and Kaleb's Zippo is burning too hot.

He is helping me, beyond the grave, to leave this life.

Just like we planned.

Dad couldn’t stop the flames, and I moved too quickly for him to keep up with his delayed movements. Within moments, fire was devouring the house. We stand outside as the rickety shack that holds so many bad memories while it roars with flames. The heat almost too much to bear, but it feels freeing across my skin, turning it splotchy and pink while the rest of my pain trails down my cheeks in the form of tears.

Sirens wail down the road, the fire department trying to make it into the neighborhood but are blocked by the over crowded streets— cars parked on both sides making the road one tight squeeze that was too snug for the engine to make it in time.

Turning, I head back to my truck, finding a spot to lean against while everything burns. My dad, no, my sperm donor, shouts and fretts over the firefighters getting to the house faster.

What a fool, no amount of pleading is going to stop everything you own from burning to the fucking ground.

It takes a while for the fire department to get everything under control but they should have just maintained a perimeter and let it finish burning. Nothing but the bones remaining— albeit charred.

“Nadia?” An almost familiar voice calls from my left.

I turn to meet the face of Detective Whitlock.

“Detective.” Keeping it short. “Wasn’t aware IA dabbled in accidental fires.”

“Mm, that’s why I am here. The fire marshal said that this may be arson according to the homeowner.”

“Ahh, yeah, I suppose.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I look forward, watching the show for a few more moments before I shove away from the truck and head for the driver-side door.

“Not so fast,” he speaks, hand darting out to grab hold of my elbow and halt me from moving any further.

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