Blue Sheep || ONGOING

Chapter 11

Fyrgebraec;

the distinct, sharp crackling or breaking sound made by fire.

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They drove in silence. Charise's question still lingering in the air like a cloud of smoke above a sailor's head. She honestly thought Danny would ask about her drifting frantic state, but she was glad he didn't.

The car abruptly halted to a stop, as if the realization that they were pointlessly driving had only now struck Danny. Now not even the sound of the pebbles striking the tires could fill the awkward silence.

As Charise scanned the filed of corn that grew on the right hand side of the road, she thought about a way to ask her question again. She didn't want to sound as evasive as last time, when her mind was clouded with sudden panic. She was much calmer now, the memory of her nightmare was starting to become numb. Not quite six-feet-under, but in the midst of being buried.

"Danny," she began, her gaze still perplexed on the sturdy stems of the corn. "How come you were there? In your car? Driving towards the end- Jason's plane? Did you know I was there? That we left?" She stopped herself. Partly because she was running out of breath and partly because the expression on her brother's face remainder unmoved.

"I did know." his voice was a strange blend of guilt and uncertainty. A kind of tone she'd never heard before, suddenly making Danny sound more like a stranger. "And at first I was okay with it, or at least I tried to convince myself..."

he trailed off, knowing that Charise didn't have a single clue about what he was talking about. Her head was slightly cocked to one side (an old childish habit), and her eyes finally free from those stupid vegetables. She was intently focused on him, her brows furrowed, her lips pressed together - an expression their father would make when he was listening. Really listening. He only did so on rare occasions, and that's when you know the words about to come out of your mouth were dead serious.

"Mum wants you to marry Jason." he knew he sounded stupid and blunt. It was as if he was telling a story with an incoherent plot, just a big mumble jumble of thoughts. "And, uh, the Sawyer- Benjamin and Jennifer for sure, want that too-"

"Why? I mean why on earth would the Sawyers have any interest in us?" she really did sound like a detective, the expression on her face unreadable.

"It would look good in the papers," he replied, finally getting a grasp at his speech. "'Ex-con Jason Sawyer helps struggling artist Charise Sinclair reach her goals, has he changed for good?'"

Charise's expression slowly darkened, like a flickering light bulb that has finally met its end. "What?" she said quietly, her voice impressively steady.

Thoughts, like scattered puzzle pieces, penetrated her mind. All at once, she felt incredibly foolish, just as she felt on the train. Only this time, she also felt a sense of betrayal, like a stiff rod was shoved down her throat.

Ex-con? Did I hear that right? Surely not. My mother would never want me to marry a criminal. another, more harsh voice in her head retorted, No other word sounds like "ex-con". Your mother never believed in you, not really, and you can't blame her. Look what you've become!

"I didn't mind at first. Maybe you'd get married and finally have the chance, to well, be happy," he continued. "But then I thought the same as you, why have any interest in us? Mum told me he made some "poor choices" back in New York. Honestly, I don't think she knew any better. So I went to see Ted, the one by the parlor, asked him if he could fetch me some New York papers. Anything he could find on the Sawyers. Turns out Jason has a history with... fire."

"Fire?" 

"In '74 he burnt down a grocery shop. In '75 he blew up some banker's care, which landed him in Juvie for 6 months. In '78 he set a shoe factory on fire. Nobody got hurt, but a couple of grand worth of shoes were destroyed along with most of the 50,000 square feet building. Landed him 18 months in prison-"

A recent memory that felt like centuries ago arose in Charise's mind. She was in the cafe the other day, stopping for a cup of coffee before hopping on a taxi and heading home. She had picked up the most recent newspaper, with the (now chilling) headline - "Fire at St. Ester School". A tight knot appeared in her esophagus, forcing her natural instinct to swallow. It came out as a gulp. That was when Danny stopped as if reading his sister's mind. He nodded.

"It could've been him," he said. "No, it was most definitely him." his voice was flat, expressionless.

As if a heavy rock was dropped onto her stomach, Charise hugged her legs to her body protectively. That school was where her brightest memories came from. It was unusual for a kid to like school, but Charise found a sense of comfort when she was sitting in the classroom, only half-listening to what the teacher was saying. She was a big day-dreamer and the soft rustle of the trees outside accompanied by the melodic whistle of the wind made it perfect for her mind to wander. She tried to picture the school now, dressed in a black funeral gown of ash and torched wood. Only a few lonely brick walls and stone columns would be left, mourning the once cheerful voices of young girls.

Anger began to build up in her. An emotion she wasn't very familiar with, probably because she'd often push it away and dismiss it as "inappropriate". It's very much appropriate now! that new, harsh voice screamed. Her fingers curled into tight fists.

Who does he think he is that rich asshole? Thinks he can just waltz in here and burn everything in his sight? Selfish- the voice interrupted itself, once it had latched onto another idea. And why would she do that?  Who gives away their own daughter for some money in their pocket? Who cares if he burns her down too, right? Insurance ought to cover that!

As the voice yelled louder and louder in her head, she unknowingly buried her face deeper and deeper into space between her chest and legs, each time feeling her heart break more and more.