My tiny feet moved faster as one of the boys pushed Miriam, her back slamming against the barn.
"Stop!" I screamed as I ran between him and my sister.
"Oh, look who is here: the freak's baby brother," the same boy who'd pushed her sneered.
"My sister is not a freak!" I kept shouting. "She's just sick."
I felt Miriam place her hand on my shoulder.
"Cal, let's just go," she pleaded from behind me.
"You'll go when I let you, freak," the same boy - obviously the leader in their group of three - took a step towards us.
I pushed him back with all the strength that the six year old me could muster. The teenager didn't budge, he just slapped my hand away as if chasing an annoying insect.
"Calvin, please." Miriam pulled on my sleeve as she moved aside. "It's not worth it," she added, the wind blowing strands of her dark brown hair in her tear-stained face.
"You made my sister cry," I uttered slowly, reaching out to rub away the wetness on her cheeks.
"You made my sister cry!" I then bellowed, turning around and swinging at the boy's face.
He pushed my arm away before it made contact with its target while his own fist collided with my jaw. Pain shot through me mouth, accompanied by the taste of blood.
"Hold him," he ordered and the two other boys grabbed my shoulders as he moved towards Miriam. With each step the boy took forward, she moved a step back until, once again, her back hit the outside of the barn. I thrashed and thrashed, but the two henchmen held me in place.
"Let's here you moo, you spotted cow," the leader demanded. "Come on!" He struck her shoulder.
"No!" I screamed.
"Let's hear you go moo." This time he slapped Miriam on the side of her head. Her knees buckled and she slid on the damp ground.
"Leave her alone! Leave my sister alone!" I kept screaming while trying to wriggle myself out of the hold of the two older, bigger boys. They dug their fingers into my shoulders, but I ignored the ache their actions caused and continued to struggle.
"Come on!" The leader kicked Miriam's outer thigh. "Come on, come on, come on..."
"No!" I kept screaming and thrashing about.
And then the flames rose.
My eyes opened and I stared at the darkness in my room.
There were no flames, but I could still feel the heat. It was over three decades later and I still felt the heat rushing through my veins as if the fire had come out of me and not from inside my grandparents' barn.
A few seconds passed and I began to cool down. I sat up in my bed and rubbed my eyes before looking at my alarm clock:
04:38 AM
Not two hours since I'd gone to sleep and I was now wide awake, the nightmare reminding me of one of my least favorite childhood memories.
It took me less than a minute to cross from one side of my tiny bedsit to the other where the fridge and cupboards were. I opened one of the cupboards and took out two of the few items inside - a whiskey bottle and a whiskey glass. I filled the glass with the desired liquid and took three big gulps. The alcohol slid down my throat and into my stomach, leaving a fiery trail in its wake.
Fire.
Like I needed another reminder of one of the many times Miriam was bullied because of her skin disease. As if the vitiligo and the discolored spots on her skin in which it manifested itself somehow made her a bad person. A freak.
My grip around the glass tightened and I took another gulp.
So many times she'd come home in tears because of how her classmates had treated her. From insults written on her desk, to stealing her things for her to later find them in the trash, to actually hitting her - my sister had gone through Hell and all that because of a disease and a bunch of stupid children.
It had made her strong though. Thick-skinned. She was still the kind-hearted girl she'd been when we were kids, but she wasn't taking shit from no one anymore.
It had made me stronger too.
Perhaps bitter as well, but definitely stronger.
I'd learned to fight so I could protect her. I'd learned to throw a punch and to take a punch so when someone pushed her again, I'd be there to pay them ten times back.
Sure, it got me into trouble with parents, and teachers, and even the police, but Miriam was safe and that was all that mattered.
I was ready to go through all of mom's chastising because of that, to endure all of dad's punishments, and all the times Kate would shake her head at me and sigh, and be glad that our sister was alright, but also be upset that I, her precious little brother, had gotten in trouble once more.
The eldest of us, Kate had always been like a second mother to Miriam and me.
Our lovely and stern older sister Kate; where would I be without her guidance?
Without her locking me in my room and refusing to let me out until my homework was done - homework that she always helped me with; without making sure there was order in the house when mom and dad were working; without showing me that sometimes you needed to take a deep breath and think before you acted?
The last one was a great help in my career, even if it went against my fiery nature.
And there it was again: fire.
More whiskey made its way into my system as memories of that day rushed into my head.
The flames had exploded over the barn wall, miraculously missing Miriam. The small gang's leader hadn't been so lucky. They'd lashed at his arms and face, leaving scars that never went away.
Marked as he was, he's never made fun of Miriam again.
I still felt a sick pleasure from that notion.
I'd even told Miriam about it and she's admonished me, insisting that he'd just been a foolish teenage boy and he hadn't deserved to be burned because he'd made fun of her.
I admired her mercy, but I still felt the boy had gotten what he'd deserved. He'd bullied not only my sister, but many other children. I knew people could change, but I also knew that not everyone would.
I'd seen the malice in his eyes, the twisted delight when others were suffering by his hands. That boy would've stayed the same if it wasn't for the accident.
I snorted.
An accident.
That was how they'd ruled it out although no one knew for sure how the fire had started.
My grandparents had used gas lanterns to light the barn back in the day and those were the most likely culprit. Someone had lit one and forgotten about it, and when Miriam was slammed against the wall, it fell down and started the fire.
It was unlikely, but made enough sense to end up on the official report of that day.
And yet, I'd never been truly satisfied with that explanation.
The fire hadn't just caught on; it exploded. Suddenly, powerfully and missing the closest person to the burst, the flames aiming for the bully instead.
And that was exactly how I remembered it: the flames actually targeting the boy.
But, then again, I'd been young.
Barely six years old, panicked, begging some divine force to intervene and save my sister because I'd been helpless to do so.
And no one else had seen it in that way. They just remember the flames. No details, just that. Flames, and screams, and burned flesh.
No divine hand lifting a finger to punish a teenage bully.
I drained the rest of my whiskey, poured myself a new one and slumped on the couch, turning the TV on. I wasn't paying attention to what was going on behind the screen, I simply needed some background noise. The remote control and glass were placed on the cheap, low coffee table - the only table in the bedsit - as I pulled a thick blanket on top of my legs and began to rub my hands.
My fingers were cold again. Freezing even. I didn't know why I bothered to rub them; that never helped. It's been that way since I'd been a kid. It was like some vampire was constantly stalking me, feeding on my warmth instead of my blood.
I frowned.
With all these odd creatures that I'd been introduced to the last few years, perhaps there was one that could suck the heat out of you.
Not a vampire, but a Gifted; they had some weird abilities.
My frown deepened, the voice of a teenage bully screaming 'weirdo' in my mind.
Yes, Gifteds had weird abilities, but that didn't make them weirdoes.
The Sentinels I'd met so far had even earned my respect. Except for that Dayer, Sasha; she was too much of a lose canon for the serious position she'd been given.
And a vampire.
I'd met them, but I still couldn't wrap my mind around how they and the Gifteds, and the shifters existed without it being common knowledge.
The vampires fed on us, for Christ's sake!
The shifters, at least, seemed satisfied to live in their own communities. And they were not sucking our blood; that was definitely a plus.
And they were loyal - so very, very loyal - to their packs. That was something I admired in a man or woman, regardless of species.
I took another trip down Memory lane, this time to a more recent date.
I'd been sitting in the living room of my house at the edge of Woodville - the place I could no longer afford so I'd move here instead - when I'd heard the noise. I'd picked up one of my shotguns, made sure that it had been loaded and gone out on the porch.
And then: a wolf.
With thick brown fur and eyes that stared intently into mine. I didn't even realize I'd taken aim and fired until I'd heard the bang. I'd missed and the wolf had hidden itself amongst the trees.
I wouldn't usually shoot at a wolf, but the way that one had fixated on me, had made my heart race. Perhaps it had also made my hands shake as I wouldn't usually miss a shot from that distance. But thank God that I did as I later found out the wolf had been Keri's brother Anthony. His uncle had sent him to observe me, to see if I was worthy to learn of their secret.
Somehow the previous Silver Bullets Alpha had decided that I was and that was when I'd been slam dunked into the world of the supernatural. A world that I could no longer get away from now that I knew it existed.
I had to be a part of it.
I couldn't go back to solving human-committed crimes, then reading in the papers about an odd case and wondering if maybe the killer was something that most would say didn't exist.
I had to be a part of those cases.
I had to know what was going on, I had to protect ordinary people from these extraordinary creatures... And I had to protect the innocent extraordinary creatures from others - not so innocent - of their kind.
And if along the way I found out how a barn wall could burst into flames that hungered for one person, and only that one person, then perhaps I would sleep a little bit better.
The case of the mysterious flames: do you think our beloved Detective could solve it after thirty-four years?
And is there even a case or was it all in the head of a distressed six-year old child?
To the detectives amongst you: if it wasn't all in his head, what could it be?
Okay, TRIVIA TIME: this chapter was supposed to be about Keri. I thought that maybe it would turn out too short so I decided to include Callum's dream. Before I knew it, the dream and his musings were a chapter of their own!
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