Page 2 of Playing with Fire

He flinched when I snapped the lighter shut.

“This is about the fourteen bodies that paid for this house. For your stupid Tesla. For your vacation in Dubai.”

Now came the recognition, dim at first. Then it flooded his face as he processed who and what I was. His hand fell from the light switch, dropping limply to his side, prey recognizing predator at last.

He backed toward the door. “Look, I have money…”

The laugh escaped before I could stop it. “Of course you do. Insurance fraud pays well when the witnesses burn to death.”

His face went bone white. Perfect. He knew exactly why I was here. Not random. Not chance. I was a consequence come knocking.

“Those were accidents,” he said, though the words rang hollow. “I had no way of knowing.”

I stood, pocketing the lighter. “Ricky, Ricky, Ricky,” I said and tisked. “Once is an accident. Twice is coincidence. But three times? Three times is a fucking pattern.”

He lunged for the door, but I was already moving. I intercepted his escape with a kick to the knee from behind. Bone cracked, and he collapsed with a delicious scream. Something warm settled in my chest, and gooseflesh broke out over my arms. That was the thing about pain. It had texture, depth, and variations as unique as a fingerprint. And the pain of Richard’s torn ligaments and snapped tibia? That was like catnip to someone like me.

I followed him to the floor, landing on top of him. In one swift movement, I brought the lighter back out and flipped it open. The tiny flame sprang free and danced against his throat. His pulse raced as his flesh burned and he screamed.

The scent of burning flesh filled my nostrils—sweet, acrid, primal. Most people recoiled from it. I breathed it in like a perfume. The flame kissed his skin, raising a perfect red bubble that would soon blacken and char. I watched the transformation and licked my lips. This was better than sex, watching the skin bubble and burn.

People never understood when I told them I was asexual. They’d look at me with pity, like I was missing something essential. They didn’t grasp that what burned in me was more pure, more primal than sexual desire. Sex was just bodies, friction and fluid. Messy and mundane. But fire? Fire was transformation, creation, and destruction all rolled into one.

I dragged the flame across Thackery’s jawline, watching his skin blister in its wake. “The Ryerson family died first,” I whispered, barely hearing my own voice. My pulse rushed in my ears, throbbing, pounding. The fire had me now, had pulled me into its hypnotic dance. “Your missing smoke alarms might’ve saved him, you know. Instead, Julia died trying to escape through the window you’d bolted shut.”

I pressed the flame harder to a spot beneath his ear, holding him while he flailed. The spot darkened, blackened, flesh curling away from the heat in perfect submission. My hands trembled. People chased highs in all sorts of ways—drugs, sex, adrenaline. But none of them compared to this, to the power of holding creation and destruction between two fingers and getting to decide which one to unleash.

“Jesus Christ, please!” he gasped, tears cutting clean trails through the sweat on his face.

“Fourteen people, Richard,” I snarled, forcing myself to focus. “You let fourteen people die and now you’re going to pay the price.”

I released him and stood over him while he sobbed. Then I stomped on his ankle, breaking it. His cries got even more pathetic, but I didn’t care.

“Your victims tried to escape,” I said, snapping the other ankle with another stomp. “Crawling through smoke, blind and terrified. They deserved the chance you never gave them. You handicapped them. So I’m going to handicap you. And I’ll tell you what, Richard. If you can get out, if you can escape, I’ll let you live.” I pulled several zip ties from my pocket.

Despite his broken bones, he tried to wriggle away. He didn’t get very far before I kicked him onto his stomach and zip tied his hands behind his back.

“Why are you doing this? Who are you? Why do you care about some broke nobodys who died in a few house fires?”

I crouched beside him, bringing my face level with his. "Why do I care?" The lighter's flame reflected in his tear-filled eyes as I reopened it. "That's the wrong question, Richard. The right question is why didn't you?"

He stared, uncomprehending. Of course he didn't understand. Men like Thackery never did.

He tried a different approach. "What are you, some kind of vigilante? Playing Batman? You think killing me changes anything?"

"I'm not a hero, Richard." The words came out softer than I intended. Almost gentle. "Heroes save people. I just balance the scales."

I stood, surveying the room. His desperate attempts to understand me were predictable. People always sought patterns, explanations. They needed to categorize the monster before them. Vigilante. Serial killer. Psychopath. As if labels could contain what I was, what I represented. As if understanding would somehow save them.

I left him there, bound and broken, on his expensive carpet. From the perimeter of the property, I watched as my preparations ignited. The basement first, flames licking up through the foundation, finding paths through the walls. The first floor surrendered next, windows glowing orange from within like malevolent eyes opening.

Through binoculars, I tracked the fire's progress, imagined the smoke reaching him, filling his lungs with the same toxic darkness that had claimed his tenants. Imagined the moment he realized there was no escape, no reprieve, no last-minute salvation.

The top floor ignited, flames shooting through the roof in a glorious crown of justice. The heat pressed against my face even from this distance, calling to something primal within me. Something that understood fire wasn't just destruction, but transformation. Balance in its purest form.

By the time sirens pierced the night, I was already walking away, satisfaction settling deep in my bones. Behind me, the fire painted the sky in shades of vengeance, claiming what it was owed. What I had offered it in return for its partnership.

Some monsters needed to be stopped. Some lessons needed to be taught.

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