Page 9 of Watch Me Burn

“God damn murderer should have gone back to his own town. We have enough scum in Boston,” Sam hollered.

“What if he didn’t do it? The guy could have just fallen,” I countered, pulling my hoodie even lower.

“Nah. I saw it on the news all those years ago. The killer’s own girlfriend testified that she heard her dad yelling at the killer right before he fell.”

Of course, I already knew about this. Again and again, I had tormented myself with the very sentence that had sealed my fate, the one sentence that Anna had testified to in court, the sentence that had transformed me from a kid into a labeled murderer:

“What you gonna do about it, huh?”

Anna’s dad had yelled this at someone right before I discovered him by the yard’s porch stairs, blood gushing from an open head wound, his eyes empty and staring at me, lifeless.

“What you gonna do about it, huh?” I mumbled these words, as if summoning the devil, unable to relax even after they’d left my lips.

“What was that?” the oily man asked.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I hope the bastard who did this rots in hell,” I added sincerely—as it wasn’t me.

The bar jeered in agreement.

Everyone hated killers, no exceptions. And so did I. Especially the one who killed Anna’s dad. Her dad was a good man—a teacher, a true family man. His family had taken me in as if I were their own son, and I had been as close to Anna’s brother as a biological sibling. So why would I deprive the kind-hearted family I loved of Mr. Hudson? Why would I do that out of nowhere? For no reason?

It was complete bullshit. But the police made me look like I was a poor, disturbed kid waiting to blow up at any time and kill. What they needed was a scapegoat, someone to release their frustrations on while the real killer was out there hurting God-knows-who. I’d spent fifteen years, since I was thirteen years old, rotting in a prison cell while a stain on humanity must’ve been prancing in the open without worry.

“Here’s your breakfast, boy.” Sam slid me my plate of sausages and the soggiest spinach I’d ever seen. Better than prison food. No complaints here.

“Thanks,” I said firmly while taking my plate to a far table. Seated next to a window, I got a prime view onto the park that looked like the one where Anna and I used to play. I remembered rescuing an injured bird with her. That day, I felt like a hero. I’d always hated people who preyed on the weak. Being born into a shitty family, I understood what it was like to have no safe ground to fall back on. So, when I saw those boys acting like their abuse was the funniest shit ever, I made sure to give them a good lesson with my knuckles.

Was that the best way to go about things? Probably not. But by now it was the only way I knew. And being the biggest guy in the room sure as hell helped with that approach.

I must’ve been chomping my bitter spinach forever, because by the time I got up, I was the only guy left at Sam’s. The clatter of Sam stuffing his pots and pans into his cupboard jolted me, and with a nod, I walked out his diner door and onto the bustling streets.

A group of teenagers were walking by. This was the time of day when all those small neighborhood stores were closing.

My legs trudged to the front of my halfway house. When I reached the street right across from it, I noticed two older women pumping signs.

“WE WANT HIM OUT!” the heavier one screamed. How was this possible? This was Boston! Like every other major city, it was filled with ex-cons and criminals.

Dropping my eyes to the floor, I progressed forward.

“You!” the older woman screamed. “Mr. Hudson was my teacher! How can you live with yourself!”

I said nothing, my eyes darting across the pebbled sidewalk. There had to be an escape for me somewhere, right? The other woman, identifiable by the same long nose as the daughter, crouched to peer under my hoodie, shaking a finger in my face, and spat, “You MURDERER!”

I sprinted for the front door, jamming my key in the lock before thrusting myself inside. Jack was not around, but the kitchen was spotless.

CRACK!

My eyes shot to my right. A splatter of yolk dirtied the window beside me, followed by an onslaught of several more.

Raking fingers through my black hair, I joked, “Jack will have to clean that too now. A little work won’t kill him.”

I pulled the flip phone out of my pocket and called the number of my social worker. It was hard to focus on the ringtone with all the threats being slung outside by the two women, but the line was thankfully picked up quickly.

“Hello?” Mr. Rashid said lazily. A soft hum filled the background of the call.

“Just wondering, if I find a place on my own, can I change apartments or do I have to live here?”

“You can live wherever the hell you want, as long as it’s in the state and you show up to all of your appointments.”

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