Page 13 of Torched Spades
“Of what?”
“Rebirth. You were born here, innocent and free of sin. It makes sense that subconsciously, you’d return to recreate that.”
I chuckle. “I’m not that deep, Doc. Just not into being a living headline.”
“For what?” she asks evenly. “Setting fire to that office building, or for being one of the firemen called to put it out?”
I shrug. “Dealer’s choice.”
Becca just stares at me as if waiting for me to elaborate, but I’ve already exited this confessional. Eventually, enough seconds pass, and she eases her finger off the trigger, only to reload for another round.
“So, tell me, Mr. Malone, after fifteen years on the job, what changed? What made fire devolve from a hazard to a compulsion?”
I could avoid answering with another pointless distraction, but it’s just a short-term solution for a long-term problem. I agreed to two more weeks of this, and Becca doesn’t strike me as the type not to recognize a defense tactic when she sees one.
So like it or not, I’ll have to hand over a somewhat diluted version of the truth. Still, I have to be careful. From the little I’ve pieced together, Becca and her father have been estranged for sixteen years. But I’ve learned never to take anything at face value.
Especially when it comes to family.
“You’re a psychiatrist, Doc… I’m sure you know all abouthero complexes. You know, the civil servant who doesn’t feel in control of his own life. Outside his uniform, shit’s spiraling, delivering one kick in the dick after another. He doesn’t even know who he is anymore. But fire”—I smirk, raising my index finger—“that he knows. It lives and dies under his command. So one night, instead of extinguishing a flame, he ignites one. Then another. Then another. Pretty soon, it’s all he can think about, but just like any drug, the high wears off, so he ups the stakes.”
“You set the fires so you could put them out,” she admonishes, her keen stare never leaving my face. “You compensated for the lack of control over your life by controlling others.”
I spread my arms wide. “The hero giveth, and he taketh away.”
“It’s interesting you still refer to yourself as a hero.”
I’m no longer smirking. “You ever hear of sarcasm, Doc?”
“You ever hear of karma, Mr. Malone?” she challenges. “Giveth and taketh away? Even now, you’re still tempting fate. To quote your own words from last week, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’”
Son of a bitch…
I have to give it to her, no one’s been able to get under my skin like that in a very long time. Holding her iron stare, I give her a slow clap. “Well played, Doc. I may have underestimated you. But don’t worry. Once we get to the good part, you’ll just be the third in what we both know will be a long line of psychiatrists who’ll tip-toe around the judge’s fucked-up sense of humor.”
“I don’t find anything funny about this.”
“Whatdoyou find about it, Becca?”
Her gaze narrows. “It’s Dr. Brennan, and I find forcing you to face the compulsive persona you’re hiding behind by including a psychiatric clause in your probation terms to be rather brilliant.”
“Impressive. Unfortunately, I’m not fluent in pretentious bullshit.”
She barely stifles the dirty look pulling at her face. “According to your file, you suffer from a rare case of pyrophilia. Not only are you compelled to start fires, you—”
“Become sexually aroused by them,” I drawl, rolling my neck with disinterest. “Heard this song before, Doc. You’re my third psychiatrist, remember?”
“Yes, well, your first one noted you claimed to feel remorse for your compulsion. But I’m not sure I buy into it.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m capable of remorse?”
“I don’t think you’re capable of separating the gratification of the act from the destruction. I think if faced with a similar situation, evenyou’reunsure you could replace the erotic fantasy of fire with its harsh reality.”
Oh, sweet, Becca. You have no fucking idea.
I say nothing, letting her have her moment of glory before giving her a curt nod. “That’s quite a theory.”
“It’s not a theory. It’s a professional observation.”
