Incandescent (15-Chapter Excerpt)

Incandescent: Chapter Two

Chapter Two

  

Using her key, Anna let herself into the silent, dark house. Without turning on the lights, she locked the front door's deadbolt, then climbed the stairs. She paused at the top of the landing, listening to her father's soft snores. Then she went into her old bedroom and put her handbag on the dresser. She wanted to take a quick shower before talking to her father, not wanting to smell of smoke and deep-fryer grease any longer than necessary. She kept extra clothes at the house and pulled a pair of sweatpants and a small T-shirt out of the dresser drawer before entering her personal bathroom.

She brushed her teeth with her finger and a bit of paste, and then took a shower. Steam enveloped her, filling the small room with the scent of citrus shampoo. She lathered her long, brown hair, then rinsed. Squeezing more shampoo into her palms, she washed her body and made a mental note to buy soap and new toiletries.

After toweling dry, she slipped into the clean clothes. She found an ancient jar of moisturizer and slathered it on her face and elbows. Then she combed her long hair. Without a dryer, it was already morphing into curly waves instead of her preferred straight style. 

She scowled at her reflection, remembering her two best friends and their sweet, yet half-assed, attempt to celebrate her birthday. To top it off, they stuck her with the bill.

She opened her bedroom door and stumbled over Fred, the family's aging Golden Retriever. The lazy sentinel recognized her upon entry and was content to doze outside the door until she opened it.

"Hey, big boy! Did you miss me?" She crouched and fluffed his fur, scratching his belly when he rolled over. "Yes, you did, didn't you, Freddie boy."

The dog's large tail thumped against the carpeted floor. Anna stroked his soft ears before heading for her father's bedroom door. Although it was midnight, Anna knew she could knock and he would be alert, although he slept like a rock through normal noises such as doors opening and closing, showers turning on and off, toilets flushing.

"Papa." Anna knocked softly.

"What ... Anna, is that you?"

She opened the door a few inches waiting for his invitation.

"Come on in, sweetheart. Happy birthday," he said, struggling into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. James Braddock Johnson patted the covers. "Have a seat."

Anna sat in her usual spot at the foot of the bed. It was a large, lonely bed since her mother had died. With a grunt, Fred bounced onto the mattress, then stretched out next to her. She crossed her legs and raked the dog's long, furry tail. Fred groaned his content.

"How's work? Are you getting many assignments?"

"Yes. I'm not crazy about working for a newspaper, but it's part-time. There's not a lot of creativity in it, you know what I mean?"

"Are you getting many side jobs?"

"Well, I've done a couple of weddings this month, and I did a brochure for the new bookstore, East of Eaton. I have a steady gig with Jack Frey at Peachy's. He's soliciting new businesses for the mall he wants to build, so each time someone signs up, I add them to the Internet site. I have a couple of Web design jobs and Riverview Advertising has asked for a logo. I guess it's coming along."

"Your mother would have been so proud of you."

"I'm not sure about that, Dad. My income hasn't improved and if I weren't able to live with Lacey, I'd have to move back home."

"You know the door is always open. And your mother didn't judge success by money."

"No? She fooled me."

"Anna, you have to cut yourself some slack. She never measured you by her own standard."

"She left a giant shadow, Dad."

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad."

"You didn't. It's been five years. I'm content with my life and I know she's at peace."

Anna patted her father's foot. "Well, I'm going to bed. I'm a bit tired. Do you want to go out for brunch tomorrow?"

"I've done some shopping and I plan to cook breakfast. I've bought bagels and orange juice for mimosas."

"Great, Dad. Then we can watch cartoons, like in the old days."

She gave her father a quick hug. "Do you want the hall light off?"

"No. Leave it on. Fred can't see well anymore, so I leave the light on for him."

"OK. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, baby."

 * * *

In a cabin along the Juniata River near Harrisburg, Aaron Tahir slept fitfully, kicking the covers off his long, muscled legs. Since childhood, the same dream tormented him. Fire consumed the decrepit woodshed behind the abandoned house and he ran, frightened and guilty, from the scene. Memories of flames, loud voices, sirens and angry men in uniforms flashed through his nightmare. They found him and dragged him from his hiding place, shouting at him while tears streamed down his cheeks. He was seven years old and had started his first fire.

Aaron woke in a sweat, his heart racing. He flung aside the covers as the night terror tore at his soul. He paced the room, rubbing his eyes before running his hands through his short, black hair. Still shaking, he went into the bathroom, flipped the light switch and turned the handle of the faucet. He filled a glass with ice-cold well water and gulped it. He raised deep-set green eyes to the mirror, searching for traces of the frightened little boy. Instead, he saw winged, black eyebrows, a large, blade-like nose and a small goatee. Some people said he looked Satanic. He didn't mind. It helped when intimidating people, which he did every day. 

He splashed cold water on his face and dried it with an old T-shirt. Then he left his bedroom and, after a detour to the kitchen for a beer, went into his office and turned on his computer.

He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, so he decided to work. He clicked an icon and the homepage for the State Fire Marshal's office opened. After logging in, he searched the national arson bureau's database trying to find a profile that fit the firebug burning his way through central Pennsylvania.