Page 29 of Burn

I’ve spun away from her and am cursing myself when I hear the old door creak open and her soft voice call out, “Wait.” I pause, not ready to face her again. I consider sprinting away when she quietly says, “I was listening to music in my room. I guess you can join me if you want.”

When I turn to face her, and our eyes meet, her expression has shifted. Her eyes are brighter, and she looks curious and a little excited. I, however, am sweating. I didn’t think about this and assumed this girl was nice, but I don’t know anything about her. I amble up the stairs and pause when I reach the open door. She’s standing inside the house, up another step, but even still, she is significantly shorter than I am. She steps aside, holding the door and allowing me to step past her.

The house is so dark. Thick, dark floor-length curtains block out the light in the main room. The room is cluttered but not dirty, as if there is simply not enough space for all the furniture. As we pass, I peer into the kitchen, my gaze lingering on the assortment of pill bottles lined up on the counter. They’re in rows, descending from largest to smallest, looking like a ruler was used to set them. As we reach the living room, I turn my head and nearly jump out of my skin when I spot a heavyset woman sitting in the middle of the couch. She remains completely still and silent, with the only sign of life being the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she takes long, slow breaths.

Without thinking, I gasp, “Oh fuck.”

She looks like a ghost. Her skin is pale, and her hair is wild, as if she just rolled out of bed. She reminds me of my childhood best friend’s mother, Darlene.Thatwoman was a terrible alcoholic, and after an awful binge, she would seal the windows, submerging the house in darkness and silence.Thatwoman was dangerous. When she blacked out, she would trash the house, hit my friend and her sister, and say the vilest things. My mother cut contact with them after a family trip ended with Darlene, while obliterated, refusing to give my mother the address to her aunt’s house where my friend and I were staying while they went out.

Somehow, I know this woman isn’t like Darlene. She doesn’t seem dangerous, or violent, or hostile. She seems… haunted. Her eyes are on me, but they’re almost vacant and unfixed. My heart thumps in my chest, but I force myself to smile and say, “I’m sorry. Hi, I’m Morgan.”

The woman smiles, just barely, but says nothing. I’m not sure she’s even looking at me.

“That’s my mom, Tracy. My room’s in the basement,” the girl says without turning back or stopping.

I’m still staring at the ghost on the couch when I hear the girl take the first few steps downstairs and realize I’m alone with her. I pry my eyes away and rush after the girl, my skin crawling. The whole scene is so fucking spooky; the dark, crammed living space, the pill bottles neatly lined up on the counter, and the ghost-like woman.

I chance one more glance over my shoulder, and confirm the woman still sits in the exact same position, eyes fixed on the same spot on the wall.

Destroyed

Adrian

16 Years Old

“You know, Mr. Liberty, it’s rare that I have a case that disappoints me to this extent.” The judge pushes his glasses up his nose and shifts in his seat, looking from the documents before him to me. “You have so much potential. Such a bright future ahead of you. Seems a shame to have it destroyed because of one bad decision.”

He holds my stare and is silent for so long that I feel he must be waiting for me to reply, so I say, “Yes, sir.”

I clasp my hands together in front of me and bow my head slightly. Next to me, John, the attorney my parents hired, stands tall with his eyes forward. The judge sighs, shuffling through papers.

“Promising hockey career.” He’s shaking his head mournfully. “Your father is one of the finest police officers I’ve had the pleasure of working with. I’m hesitant to sentence you in a way that would destroy any hopes you may have of a good future.”

I try not to let his words get my hopes up. When I met with John and my dad last week, John told me there is a real chance I could be sentenced as an adult, meaning a permanent criminal record. Goodbye future. The best-case scenario is that I’m sentenced as a youth, and the judge commenting on my bright future has my stomach flipping and hope blossoming through my chest.

“So, that’s where I’m at. On one hand, you have a bright and promising future that I’d be remiss to destroy. On the otherhand, you’ve committed a serious offense, leaving another youth in critical condition with potentially lifelong side effects. The severity of your actions cannot be understated. That boy is lucky to be alive.” He rubs his brows with both hands. “Do you have anything you wish to add, Mr. Allen?”

John grabs a binder off the desk and briefly scans it. “Your honor, we completely agree with everything you’ve said. If you would allow it, Adrian wanted to address the court.” I look at John. His voice is strong and steady, but from my position next to him, I can see the perspiration at his hairline, the only outward symptom of his nerves.

The judge waves his hand, and John passes the binder to me. I stare down at the paper. My shaky handwriting looks like fucking hieroglyphs under the tension of the situation. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes while my lungs fill with air. When I slowly exhale, I look at the paper. Still completely illegible.

Fuck it.

I set the book down, and reach up to adjust my tie, which suddenly feels like it’s suffocating me. When I release it, my hands tremble, and I return them to a clasped position in front of me. My throat feels like sandpaper, and when I try to speak, I choke and sputter. John hands me a glass of water. It’s stale and warm and does little to help.

Pull yourself together, man.

“Your honor,” I start, my voice cracks and shakes, “I prepared some words, but if I’m honest, they might as well be in another language. I can’t read them. So, instead, I’m going to speak from my heart, if that’s ok.” When I pause, he nods, urging me to continue. My brain scrambles to find the words that will convince this man not to put me away for a decade. “I want to first thank you for listening to my case with such an open mind. You could have easily written me off as a lost case,and it means a lot that you’re willing to consider the options. Next, I want to accept full responsibility for my actions. I made the choice to go to that party, knowing the likely outcome. I should have stayed home.” The words pour out of me, and I feel John stiffen beside me. We agreed on what I would say, and this isn’t it.

I continue, “Mostly, I want to apologize to Jordan — Mr. Ellis for what I did. I wish I could go back and undo it. I think about him every day, about what he must have gone through and what he has endured since then. He didn’t deserve it.” I take a deep breath, filling my belly with air, knowing the next part will be so fucking bitter, but needs to be said. “I also want to say that I’m sorry to Claire. I behaved as if I had some sick type of ownership over her. In my rage, I hurt her too.” John puts a hand on my arm at the mention of Claire, who didn’t press charges, but I shake him off. “No, John. I need to get this out. I was so hurt that I went out to bring others down to my level, and I never meant to hurt her. Lastly, I want to apologize to my parents.”

I swallow thickly, turning to look at them. My mother’s face is stone; she’s always been so strong. My dad’s face breaks a piece of me apart; he looks gutted. “My parents are the best people I know. I was raised to be good and respectful. I think out of everything, that’s what I’m most remorseful for. I let my parents down. I hope they will forgive me, and, Your Honor, I hope I have a chance to show them I can still become the son they raised me to be.”

When I finish, I suck in a ragged breath. My heart feels fragmented. It beats so hard and fast that I’m certain the entire court can hear it. There is a prolonged silence, and when I realize I’m looking down, I force my eyes up to the judge. His expression is unreadable. After what feels like an eternity, heshifts his eyes to the other attorney who represents the prosecution and asks, “Anything to add?”

She flips through some papers before shaking her head and saying, “No, Your Honor. I agree that Mr. Liberty has a bright future. I’m not here to suggest we disregard that. I feel there are options that will allow him to atone for his actions and reach his full potential as an adult.”

“Thank you, Ms. McLean,” the judge replies before returning his attention to me. “Adrian Liberty, I’m impressed by your willingness to accept responsibility for your actions. I rarely see that type of ownership from adults in my courtroom. It is unexpected from a sixteen-year-old. You didn’t try to pass off blame or suggest you were provoked, which in my opinion would have been a justified comment, given the case details.” He makes a note on his papers, then rises to his feet. “Mr. Liberty, you will be sentenced as a minor. I hope you understand the importance of this,” I nod as he speaks. “You will spend twelve months in Brookside Juvenile Detention Center. I realize this will take you through the remainder of high school. You will attend daily classes and receive your diploma through the center. Upon release, you will be under probation until your eighteenth birthday. At that time, this will be sealed in your record. You will be free to apply for college and live a good life. You must not attempt contact, physical or otherwise, with Mr. Ellis and Miss. Randall. Do you understand?”

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