Page 3 of Hotter than Wildfire

Rod finally focused on Harry, who’d put Crissy behind him. She was clutching the back of his legs, completely quiet now. She never made a sound when Rod was in this mood. Rod was breathing heavily, already somehow in a rage.

“What’s that brat hiding?” Rod’s head thrust forward, like a bull ready to rush. “Hmm? What the fuck’s she got in her hand?”

Rod lumbered forward and Harry stepped in front of him. He could feel Crissy following him, holding on to his jeans.

“Nothing. She doesn’t have anything. Leave her alone.”

Rod lifted his eyes to Harry, more a creature of the night than a human. Harry was only 12 years old, but he knew he was looking evil right in the face.

Rod leaned down and Harry tried not to flinch at the smell of his breath. This close, he could also smell the sweat and the grease and the craziness. It was a terrifying smell.

“So what the fuck she hiding?” Rod screamed, punching Harry in the chest. Harry stepped back, didn’t fall.

A movement to his right. Harry looked down. A small hand held out the doll. Harry’s heart twisted. Crissy was sacrificing her Barbie to the monster, to save her brother.

Harry tried to push her little hand back but it was too late. Rod’s eyes lit up with a wild light. He snatched the doll. It looked ridiculously small and frilly in his huge paw.

He looked at it the way a monkey would, holding it this way and that. Harry could almost see the steam rising in Rod’s crazy brain as he worked himself up into a rage.

He shook the doll in Harry’s face. “So where the fuck did you find the money to buy this? You been holding out on me?” His voice rose with each word until he was nearly howling. It raised the hairs on Harry’s neck.

The monster stepped back, still dangling the forgotten doll by his hand. He lurched, rocked unsteadily, then found his balance again.

“You got money in here! I know it!” Fuckhead bellowed and ripped the head off the Barbie, then the two arms and legs. He tried to poke a huge finger into the holes, couldn’t do it, tossed the trunk of the doll away. He looked around, eyes narrowing when he saw Harry’s baseball bat. He picked it up, gave it a few experimental slaps against his left hand.

Harry backed slowly away, heart hammering.

Fuckhead stepped forward, giving a swing through the air with the bat. The whoosh of displaced air sounded loud in the room.

“What else you hiding from me, you little shit? I’ll bet you got lots of stuff, you’re not as stupid as you look. I’ll bet you got just shitloads of stuff that you’re hiding from me!” The last said in a bellow, as he turned and brought the bat down heavily on the rectangle of particle board resting on two trestles that served as Harry’s desk.

The rectangle pulverized in an instant, dust rising in the room.

Fuckhead poked around the ruins for a moment with the tip of the bat.

“Nothing here,” he growled and swung the bat into the crates where Harry and Crissy kept their meagre belongings. The crates exploded, tossing up jeans and hoodies and tiny tee shirts and shoes.

He turned to look Harry in the face. His eyes went down to Crissy then back up. He smiled into Harry’s eyes.

“I know what’ll make you talk. Take a bat to that little brat and you’re talking, oh yeah.” He swung it suddenly, viciously, against the wall, gouging a hole in the crumbly cement.

“Like that, punk?” he yelled. “What’s the little bitch’s head gonna look like, huh? Like a fucking watermelon that’s dropped on the ground, that’s what. You tell me where you’ve got your fucking stuff now! Now! Now! Now!!”

He was screaming, slashing the bat viciously through the air, walking slowly forward. Harry stepped back, almost tripping over Crissy who was clinging to his legs. He could feel her wild trembling. He didn’t dare pick her up, didn’t dare even acknowledge her existence. Fuckhead seemed to have forgotten about Crissy for the moment and Harry wanted to keep it that way.

“What you hiding boy?” Thwack! Another huge hole gouged into the wall. “You tell me now!” Another swing, barely missing Harry.

“Rod?” Harry’s mom stood in the doorway, unsteady. Her eyes were glassy. “What’s all the commotion?”

Harry had never been able to figure it out. His mom lived like a junkie—was a junkie, though it hurt his heart to admit it because despite everything he loved her—but she spoke like a real lady.

The monster stopped, turned slowly around, thought processes almost painfully clear.

He smiled, baring his rotted teeth. “Your shitty son. He’s hiding stuff from me, and I want it. He’s got some money hidden somewhere, just for himself. What the fuck does he care about us? About our needs? All he cares about is the little brat.”

Harry’s mom was trying to process this through the fog in her head. “Harry?” she said slowly. She looked around the bare room. “Hiding something? What? Where?”

The monster seemed to swell with rage as he advanced on Harry’s mom.