Next to the Fire

         He'd watched her beginning last spring. He had been mowing the lawn in the morning, before the sun had heated the Texas land to an almost unbearable degree. He'd heard a car coming from the ranch road across the street and thought nothing of it. He heard the gate opening. He stopped the mower for a drink and casually looked over the hedges at the vehicle leaving the Devaney ranch. The big white van seemed out of place on the pot hole infested dirt tract. He went over to the hedge and picked up his water bottle. When he glanced over at the gate again, it was being heaved shut.
         He lost his bearings on the world at that precise moment.
         His water bottle dropped to the ground. He stared in awe at the girl pushing frantically at the heavy pipe gate fence. She was attired in simple blue jeans and blue t-shirt. Her hair was pulled into a bun high on her head. But what really drew his attention was the face of this angel.
         Her skin was pale and littered with dozens of freckles whose sole purpose seemed to be to liven the face with touches of color. Her lips were perfect, a true red that could never be imitated by cosmetic companies. Her eyes were clear and beautiful even from this distance. He could not see the color, but could tell that it was deep though by no means dark or light. He prayed they were not simply brown, though even that color would be beautiful when set in that face.
         She finished closing the gate and returned to monstrous van. Before getting in she did something he did not expect. She reached up and released her hair from the tight bun and finger combed it til it was in a suitable position.
         He had not known her true beauty til this instant. Her golden hair flowed about that perfect face and she looked beyond angelic. His prayers would now be to Her.
         She gracefully jumped into the driver's seat of the van and put the vehicle into gear. He regretted that she was leaving his sight so quickly.
         But she was not yet gone. Her lights signaled that her foot was hard pressed on the brake. The vehicle was still. She was not. A look of utter despair filled her perfect face and tears flowed before she could stop them. With one slender finger she wiped what she could away. He ached at the sight. He could see through the windshield that she set her jaw in denial of emotions too powerful to be released just yet. He could see, even from this distance, that this was not a passing phase, a bad day. He could see in that face that her pain had been born young. It had been silently fed throughout countless years to mature into a despair quite ripe with desolation.
         He wanted nothing more than to save her.
         She wiped one last errant tear from her eye and let the van roll forward. She pulled into the road and drove away from the ranch. He watched til the vehicle was out of sight.
         He had steadily watched her since that day, that moment. She was a Devaney, Caroline Devaney and she was but 18.
         He could do nothing but watch her, first whenever she opened the gate, then through high powered binoculars whenever she was within view in the yard. But always he kept his distance, afraid that he might push her toward a horrid collapse.
         She was so close. Not much longer. She was standing so close to the fire, right beside it, already feeling the warmth, already being burnt. Soon it would devour her, feeding on her tormented soul. He wanted nothing more than to save her from herself.
         He knew it was next to impossible. He was next to his own fire: his past. Prison had done much to change him, almost as much as making that conscious decision to kill his brother 10 years ago. He had been her age then, that terribly tender age for the mind.
         He was horrified the day he witnessed her packing to go to college. As she left, he saw more peace in that face than he had ever seen. He ached to touch it, feel the warmth. But she was leaving.
         Those months without her were desolate and dead. She rarely graced his eyes with her presence. When she returned for the Christmas break, he celebrated so much his mother was astonished. When she left again for the next semester he sunk into a deep depression from which he did not rise for a month.
         He came across the realization that he must do something. He must act. He must save her. His resolve was set. When she returned, he would find a way to meet her, speak with her, let her know she wasn't alone. He began spending his time locked in his room planning conversations in which the two of them would participate, a timeline of action, even a chronicle of his surveillance of her.
         His mother, upon learning of his lost job and seeing the constant locked door to his private room, began to berate him in the same manner she used to before he had shot her other son. It was indeed obvious where his brother had gotten his demeaning attitude. When he was not staring fixedly at a picture of his Caroline that he had taken using his mother's high resolution zoom lens, he was thinking of ways to kill his mother and escape another bout of jail. If he was caught again, he might not be let out. They were both family members and the law seemed harsher for that.
         The day finally arrived when his Caroline returned for the summer months to the ranch. He was once again ecstatic. However, his elation soon soured into dismay when she left after a week and did not return for another month and a half. When she returned this time, her face was more worn with an extra heavy burden of excruciating emotional pain that he ached intensely to save her right then and there. But the time was not right. He must be patient. He must wait for Fate to lead her to him.
         However, Fate was not being kind. It was close to the end of summer. His mother's constant berage of belittling remarks bit into him as his worry for his beautiful Caroline increased exponentially by the day. She was so close to the fire now. She was almost consumed. He sensed that she would seek to end her pain eternally soon.
         It was during the first week of August that Fate sent his world tumbling into the land of chaos. His envelope stuffing job dumped him when he didn't make a single shipment after 5 weeks. His required meeting with the prison officials had gone badly. They had never trusted him. Also, his mother was now aware of his vigilant surveillance of Caroline. She laughed at his refusal to accept that she would never be his to save. She laughed so hideously at him.
         On the night of August the 4th, his mother made her big mistake. She insulted his Beauty. She attacked Caroline. Without thought of the consequences, reacting only instead to the wound upon his beloved's name, he grabbed a nearby knife. She never even had a chance to scream. When he realized she was dead, he panicked. So much blood everywhere. So much evidence. Though he regretted his mother's death, he thought she had deserved as much. He only hoped he wouldn't go back to jail for it and therefore be unable to catch his angel when she finally fell from the sky.
         An inkling of an idea began to form in his mind on the disposal of the evidence and changing the crime scene to look like a batched burglary. He acted fast, changing some things, making a mental list of what he needed to do, and checking things off as they occurred. When he finished doing all that he could, he started toward the door and suddenly halted in front of a mirror. His clothing was stained with his mother's belittling blood. This would not do. He needed to get rid of them. He returned to his room and grabbed new clothing. As he reached to untie his boots, he had a sudden spark of an idea. If he cut across the Devaney's front field, he could get to the abadoned water well in the back of their property. He considered changing his clothing but decided against it. Instead he put an old sweater over his blood stained tshirt, only to hide the signs of his sin. The way to the well was not easy and he was likely to rip his new clothing. He packed another change of clothing, his tattered work garments for the trail back. When he returned to clearer land, he could change into his nicer outfit and head into town and so establish his alibi.
         He put the backpack on and began his trek to the well. He crossed the road and barb wire fence without much trouble and began his way through the semi clear field that comprised the "front" of the Devaney ranch. He could see their two squat trailors sitting there to his left and kept away from their lights. He was doing good. Almost past the residences. However, something made him stop and flatten to the ground. He looked to his left. The second trailor was set parallel to his trek and blocked off all the light from the big sodium vapor lamp that lighted the remainder of the yard for quite some ways in the back. The result was a pitch black field behind the second trailor, where his beautiful Caroline lived. He stared into that abyss and tried to pick apart the inky blackness and discover the source of his unease.
         He wasn't alone. In the quiet of the night, he heard the sound again. A match against a striker. A quiet stiffled sob.
         A sudden light in the inky darkness proved his hearing was not faulty. The light began to grow as more fuel was added to the bonfire. The firelight pushed the blackness away, though it still was present where the light hadn't yet reached.
         There she stood, his beautiful Caroline. She was wearing pajamas and flip flops, strange attire for a night in a country field. At first his mind faltered, seeing her beauty in the strange firelight overcoming his senses with a tidal wave of love and admiration. However, then he noticed her stature. Her shoulders were drooped considerably. Her face stared intently into the fire, watching the flames lick the fuel hungrily and pursue more. She kneeled to pick up more limbs and feed its hunger. She tossed the sticks into the hot light and he saw the glow reflected in her face. Her face. How aweful. She was now in the deep grips of the desolation and despair that had been in her since the beginning of time. This was the face of one defeated. This was the face of one whom was prepared to take her own life if it would steal her pain away. This was the face of a lost and tortured soul ready to embrace Death.
         He stood up in his own darkness.
         She bent down again and this time picked up not a stick for the fire but a shiny metallic object. The meaning became instantly clear. Her intentions were now achingly obvious to him in his murder addled brain. She absently brought the object to her wrists as she stared into the fierce fire. She took a step forward and her almost bare feet were grazed by flame. He saw that rivers of tears now claimed her cheeks. He knew these tears were only partly from the heat on her legs, but also from the thought that it was necessary to do such a thing to stop the thoughts in her mind. The metal object in her hand caught the light of the fire and the sharp edge shined brilliantly. Fiercely.
         His angel was falling. She was no longer standing next to the fire. She was letting it devour her.
         Forgetting everything about his mother lying dead in his house, he followed Fate's direction. He crossed the distance quickly, caring not for anything in his path.
         "Caroline," he said smoothly, caressing the name as he wished to caress her.
She seemed to not have heard.
         "Caroline," he said louder while he continued toward the light.
         She turned suddenly toward him, her golden hair seemingly ablaze with firelight. Her face was shocked and yet, too despondent to really truly care.
         She turned toward the fire and took another step into it. He knew her feet must surely be burnt by now. Soon it would be hard for her to continue standing.
         "Don't do it, Caroline. Please."
         "Who are you?" she asked with pain.
         "No one. Someone. I've been watching you. Please don't do it Caroline. Let me save you. Let me take care of you."
         She watched him with an incredible amount of emotion. She was still clutching the blade. So close to that delicate wrist.
         He took a step closer. She didn't move. Her cheeks were emotionally scarred with the endless tracks of her tears. The pain of the fire surely must be consuming her.
         "Caroline, Love, please step out of the fire."
         He held out his arms, forgetting his bloody shirt beneath his sweater.
         Her demeanor changed drastically.
         "Can't you see I can't? There is nothing left for me. There is nothing but pain, my own mind turned against me, my own emotions too strong to be contained. No more. I have to end it. I must."
         Her words were becoming weaker by the second. She was stumbling now in the fire. Before she could fall, he ran to her side and dragged her backwards. He dropped to his knees and laid her in his lap, within the light of the fire but away from the tempting heat. He examined her feet and calves with his untrained eyes and knew that help must be sought. Soon. But first her mind. Something must be done to save her beautiful, tortured mind. She must be convinced to grab the lifeline he was extending to her.
         She had dropped the metal blade when she had begun to stumble. He ensured that it was beyond her reach. Then he began his work. He encapsulated her in a solid embrace, ensuring that she would not escape and cause further harm to herself, as well as attempting to provide her emotional support through as much contact as possible.
         "Let me save you. Let me help you," he repeated continuously while he softly kissed her neck and shoulders.
         "Let me DIE."
         "Let me save you...let me love you."
         She stopped some of her weak fighting and he knew that she was holding her breath.
         "Fate put us here, to take care of each other, Caroline. I knew that from the instant I saw you. Let me help you. Let me save you. Please, Caroline, you are too beautiful to die like this. Let me love you."
         She was crying again, her tears hot with shame and more conflicting emotion.
         "You know as well as I do that it's not supposed to end this way."
         She had halfway turned into his embrace and was using his chest to hide her face.
         His hands began lightly tracing patterns of safety on her back and arms.
         "I can't take it anymore. I can't live like this," she sobbed from his chest.
         "Of course not, love, that's why I'm here. You don't ever have to feel alone again. Let me take care of you. Please."
         With one hand he lifted her head from his chest and looked into her eyes. They were not brown but an astonishing golden color, almost matching the tint of her hair. He softly kissed her wet cheek.
         "Listen honey, things are set to happen now. I'm probably going to jail, I kind of killed my mother today. But know this: I will always love you. All that happened before you came into my life."
         She stared at him dumbfounded, not quite sure what to feel. She was almost drained of all response. The pain in her feet was surely getting to her, now that her deadly emotions were no longer shouting. He needed to get her to a hospital soon.
         "Let me save you, okay?"
         She nodded.
         He laid her on the earth and after standing and stretching, knelt and picked her up. He began walking away from the fire. His mind was running wild on ideas, on thoughts. The time for standing in the fire was over. Never again would he kill. Never again would he run. Now was his time to face his past and be rid of it. For his future was at stake. She was at stake. This girl unconscious from pain and grief in his arms was what he had to live for now.
         As he carried her through the darkness away from the glowing fire, he kissed her cool forehead. He would save her and she would save him. She would awake with scars and he would be punished. But they would still save each other, day after day. He knew this.
         Fate was crazy like that.