Speak to the king within the man...

Millie paused a moment, caught her breath, and stepped inside. She closed the heavy red door behind her and leaned against it, folding her arms, closing her eyes, smiling from deep within. Lost in her emotions, she failed to realize that she wasn’t alone. Mr. Snyder stood in the entry to the dining room, with his hands clasped behind his back, watching her.

Millie sighed and opened her eyes, sensing then seeing her father. He looked stern, eliciting a concern that Millie recognized right away. She bowed her head, removed her eyes from his penetrating gaze, and walked quickly over to the staircase.

“So, you don’t want to talk to your father?” he asked, stepping into the foyer.

She stopped on the fifth step, paused for a moment then turned to him. “What about? Do you want to lecture me on how the Snyder’s don’t mingle with poor folk?”

He bit back. “Millie Snyder, don’t you go putting words in my mouth.” It was a soft bite that held little if any ferocity. He was as a proud man, and never allowed anyone to speak condescendingly toward him without recourse, anyone except Millie. She was allowed to tread where few would dare, simply because she was his little girl.

“What? We just talked. He invited me to go out for a burger tomorrow. That’s it.”

“You’re not to see him again. I thought we had that clear.”

“Well, we didn’t. And it will never be clear.” Millie was on the verge of overstepping his good graces. She could see the redness rise up from under his collar, consuming his neck.

He took a hard breath and held it for a moment. “It’s not Creed I’m concerned with, Millie.” He continued, “It’s that Lombard boy, that whole Lombard family. They’re no good, and I don’t want you anywhere near them. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if Creed didn’t run with Magnet.”

Millie exhaled loudly and rolled her head back in disapproval. “Get over it. Until now, Magnet was the only friend Creed had. Besides, they’re only friends because they live by each other, and Creed is decent enough to talk to him. Money doesn’t matter to him, Daddy, and it shouldn’t matter to you.”

“It’s not the money, and don’t ever accuse me of that again!” He was livid, shaking his finger at her. His chest was noticeably rising and falling, as rage consumed his usually calm demeanor. No words were spoken for the next heavy moments, allowing Mr. Snyder to gain composure and cool the fire within.

Millie broke the silence. “Well, is that it?”

He put his hands in his pockets and spoke softly. “You can see Creed on one condition; I don’t want Magnet anywhere near you. That is fair.”

“But—“

“That is fair.”

“Fine.” Mille turned hard and stomped up the curved staircase, stormed down the hall and into her room, slamming the door behind her.

*****

It was dusk. The sun had descended below the horizon, yet had enough luster to barely illuminate the trees along Johnson Hill Road, the only way out of town and into Milltown. Creed’s spirits soared high as he hummed Skyball Paint and bopped up and down, swaying to the music in his mind. The apprehension and confusion he had felt prior to arriving at the Snyder’s had vanished. He now felt a confidence like never before, and through all of the excitement he had forgotten about the gift that had haunted him for the past three years. He felt something for the first time, a feeling that everything was right in his world. He had always considered himself blessed; having a loving family, a home, and a truck to call his own. But the only thing he felt he missed was a social life outside of Milltown. Now he had found it in Millie. Yes, everything was good in Creed Lindens world.

Creed pushed the pedal hard and accelerated. He needed all the momentum the truck could muster for the climb ahead. The first time he attempted the climb on Johnson Hill, Yeti had come to a crawl before peaking, almost failing to reach the top. The hill was steep, with a slight bend to the north at the crest. Once on top, the view was breathtakingly vast, stretching across Milltown and almost to the Tennessee border.

The engine howled as his speed increased, steady and sure, forty, forty-five, fifty, and finally fifty-five. Yeti wailed under the hood and shook something fierce, just as he reached the base of the hill. He pushed upward, feeling the whine of the motor throughout his body. Quickly, the truck slowed, as the hill started to win the battle, forty, thirty-five, thirty. “Come on Yeti, you pile of junk. Up you go.
Don’t fail me now,” he urged. “That’s it, almost there. That’s it.”

Finally, as the trucks speedometer fell to fifteen, the hill leveled off and he made the turn to the north. Creed breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as the valley he called home opened up before him. He never tired of the magnificent view, but something was different. He noticed it before he made the turn. A smell tickled his senses, the sweet odor of burning wood. As he gazed across the valley, his attention was immediately diverted to a billowing charcoal cloud, pluming upward into the purple sky. Looks like it’s coming from home, he thought.

In that moment, the feelings that consumed him just minutes earlier were chased away by a dark, vile impression. The warmth inside, the sense of belonging, the feeling of sure joy; it was gone, replaced by a ripe fear, a painful hole in his stomach that grew with each uncertain second.

“No!” he cried, as he mashed the gas pedal to the floor, barreling down the road. The descent was dangerously bent with blind turns and narrow stretches, but Creed took it at a reckless speed and little caution. As he closed the distance between himself and home, he became more certain of what burned in the distance. “No, please no!” he screamed. “No!” His face was a pale yellow, and his hands dampened with sweat, gripping to the wheel. Nausea filled the deep hole in his stomach and he could feel his legs become weak and achy.

He rounded the final turn, entering the gravel driveway. By now he could see the small residual flames biting at the night sky, and he knew his home, the home built by his father, had been consumed by the glowing devastation. He reached the house, screeching to a halt. He threw open the truck door leaving the engine running. He moved quickly around the fire truck, with its lights illuminating the scene. He frantically scanned the chaos, searching for his mom, Dandy, Jeter, Liz; any one of them. But his quick search came up empty. Without thought, he jogged toward the charred home, splashing through the water that had accumulated. But before he reached the smoldering porch, a big man donned in fire gear grabbed hold of him.
“Son! You need you to back away!”

He heard the voice and felt a strong arm wrap around his chest, pulling him away. Creed kicked and fought with all he had. “Where’s my family!”

The man’s grip tightened and Creed ceased his flailing.

“If I let you go, you promise to stay away?”

Creed replied instantly, “Yeah, just let me be.”
He let go and Creed stepped away, looking hard at the fireman and breathing heavily.
“You live hear?” the man asked.

“Yeah! Where is everyone?”

The man put his big arm over Creed. “Follow me,” he said softly, and led him to the back of the latter engine. He sat him down on the bumper, and then removed his coat and gloves. He knelt in front of Creed in a crouch, resting his forearms on his knees. “What’s your name son?” His voice was soft yet stern.

“Creed Linden. Please tell me everyone is alright.”

“Do you know where your father is?”

Creed looked back at his smoldering home, and then faced the man again. He was in no mind to answer questions. He only wanted answers. “Dead,” he replied. “He died a few years back.”

The man ran his hands through his sweat soaked hair, and for the first time, Creed saw a look of sympathy on the stout man’s blackened face. Creed knew what was coming.
“We haven’t…,” he stopped, gained composure, and then continued. “We haven’t found any survivors.”

“No!” he whimpered. His head fell hard into his chest, meeting his trembling hands. He sobbed, as the anguish rushed out with no barrier. Just like that, his world and all he lived for, was shattered. It was too much to believe, too much to comprehend.

Gently, the man put his hand on Creeds shoulder. “I will be with you as long as you need me.” His voice was broken with emotion.

Creed didn’t respond, too overcome to speak. His sobbing continued for a time. His surroundings slowly dissipated, starting with his peripheral view and moving inward. His gaze was hard, transfixed forward on nothing in particular. The only life that existed at that moment lived within his mind. The outside world came to an abrupt end, and though the noise of sirens and shouting men reverberated off his ears, he was completely alone in his consciousness.

He thought of his mom’s smiling face as he drove off for school that morning. She had been smashing blackberries for her jam, and had some of it smeared on her apron. The strong smell of berries lingered in his mind. She had always smelt of jam, and that scent held strong emotions that were tied directly to his mother. He had just seen her that morning. He had just talked to her on the phone a few hours before, and now she was gone. His family was gone joining his father in another realm.
His mind released the painful thoughts, and he became aware of his surroundings. The ordeal started to feel dreamlike, and Creed felt he needed tangible proof to seal the horror.

He lifted his head and spoke. “Where are they? I want to see.”

The man’s eyes bore concern. “I don’t think that’s—

“I want to see for myself,” he said, forcing his words through the emotion.
The man paused as he contemplated Creed’s petition. After a moment, he stood from his crouch and spoke. “That is your right.”

Together, they walked across the front lawn and over to where an ambulance was parked with its passenger side tires resting on an embankment. As they approached the vehicle, Creed slowed then came to a stop, distancing himself from the fireman. He had second thoughts crowding in. However, it was too late. He had come to close to the ambulance and by accident spotted a row of four black bags lying prostrate on the ground in front. He had seen enough. The color was gone from his clammy face, and he felt as if all the strength within his being had faded. His legs refused to hold his body upright. He staggered sideways, and then fell onto the long handmade bench sitting just feet from him. He caught himself with his hands and twisted to an upright position.

Sitting there, he let his gaze fall to the ground, and felt the trembling inside grow. His intense sadness morphed into a numbness that moved throughout his body. He felt a stinging sensation run up his neck. It cascaded over his scalp, as his hair seemed to stand on end. His hands found his hair and he pulled it back, gripping clumps between his fingers. Freely, his tears trickled down his face, rolling onto his neck and dampening his shirt at the collar.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man dressed in a tie and slacks. He stepped out of the rubble carrying a burnt can of sorts. He approached another man similarly dressed and held the can upward pointing to it. Creed was too far away to hear the words exchanged between them, but he could tell they were words spoken with confusion. He also surmised that the charred container had to be a gas can.

Instantly, Creed had a horrifying thought as he watched the men communicate.

The fireman, who had also observed the men, confirmed the thought. “Arson,” he said through his clenched teeth.

“Who would do that,” Creed said softly. “Why.” He fell into a wrenching cry, and the fireman took a seat beside him on the bench. The sun had vanished from this part of the world as the dark night fell on the Linden home.