4

There is something beautiful about the way fire destroys. Flames twist like boneless arms reaching to no fixed length. White light engulfed inside an orange body simmers calmly as if daring something to block it.

The ignition sparks at the movement of my thumb, a single tear-drop of fire flickering to life.

"Tilley!" I fight the urge to groan aloud at Emersyn's shrewd yell. "Tilley stop!" My thumb slips and the flame is gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"Hey Em," I greet the frenzied eyed Emersyn, clad in pink spotted track pants.

"Stop setting fire to the ants, Tills!" Em orders, snatching the lighter from my hand, a wry scowl twisting across her thin lips.

I allow a loud huff to escape my mouth, folding my arms over my knees. The tiny six-legged bodies hardly ever catch alight. For years, Tyler and I had been trying to uncover an effectual method for killing ants. Tyler had always refused to squish them as he'd claimed that the ant's last kick at revenge would be to sink its tiny pincers into the tip of his finger.

"Dad made lunch," Em tells me, stretching one arm out in front of her to help me stand. "And it's super hot out here, let's go inside."

I accept Em's outstretched hand, stealing one last glance towards the disjointed trail of ants below me as she pulls me to my feet. Every so often, I'd been unable to protect my younger brother from my father. By Dad's hand, I'd be rendered unconscious or sedentary, and subsequently, he'd progressed onto Tyler. Tyler would sit with me once our father had finished with him, and shortly after I'd regained mobility, we'd find our way into the darkened outdoors, set on unearthing a new way to eradicate the green ants. We'd never exchange words. We'd simply pick up from where we'd left off each time.

Em's father stands at nearly a head shorter than both his wife and daughter. His back is to us as he works in one corner of the horse-shoe shaped laminate bench top, piling home fried chicken cloaked in lettuce and tomato between palm sized bread rolls. Sunlight filters in through the creamy white shutters that line the window panes stretching along the back length of the countertop. The hairless patch invading the wisps of greying brown hair upon Evan's head seizes the sun's rays like a mirror, casting them in our direction. I almost have to squint to see past the intensely reflective bald spot.

"Found her, Dad," Em says, moving to lean against the bench next to where her father stands.

He swats her hand away as she attempts to swipe a slice of tomato from his chopping board. "Try that again and there will be no lunch for you." Em sends her flawlessly perfected eye roll in Evan's direction. "You sleep alright, Tilley?" he says to me, his ever red cheeks claimed by an amicable smile as he slips a glance in my direction.

I force a nod, my eyes sliding to the floor. Upon returning to Em's place after my visit to the burnt remains of mine, the two of us and Lilo had settled into Em's single bed, in the hopes that sleep would soon arrive. Well, maybe Em had hoped for sleep. I, on the other hand, didn't want to let my eyes shut. If I close them, sleep will contend with the tired strands of my brain, and darkness will take its place. If I fall asleep I will have to wake up. My eyes will open to the reality that this is not a dream.

"One or two, Tilley?"

"Sorry?" I croak, my gaze snapping back to Evan's sympathy stained eyes.

"Just give her one," Em quietly murmurs to her father. He places a sandwich on a small ceramic plate, handing it Em, who passes it along to me.

"Thanks," I tell her, accepting the plate.

Em sets her own plate laden with two sandwiches down on the painted black circular table in the middle of the kitchen, pulling up a matching chair. My teeth sink into the sandwich before i even reach the table. Food hasn't crossed my mind since the fire, but my stomach hasn't given up thundering inside me.

"Hey Tilley?" Evan's head peeks around the wall separating the kitchen from the main foyer. "The police are here looking for you."

I swallow my mouthful of food, setting my half devoured sandwich back on my plate. "I literally haven't done anything this time."

Em's grass coloured eyes flicker towards the door, before glancing back to me. "I feel like you're not in trouble."

"Yeah," I mutter, bringing myself to my feet. I can feel my appetite dwindling away inside me, not quite yet ready to face another day. "Probably just here to ask me how I started the fucking fire."

As I make my way towards the front door, Lilo's paws pad softly over to me from wherever she's been sleeping, and she fits her nose into the hand hanging limply by my side. Her simple action is always repeated when dread mists across my insides. My knees bend marginally as I run my fingers down the back of Lilo's neck.

"Hey Tilley."

I pause abruptly at the voice, my back straightening immediately. My eyes land on the tall, black clad figure blocking the doorway. "Mateo?"

Mateo shoots me a sheepish smile as he fixes the sleeves of his navy blue bomber jacket. "I'm sure you remember Detective Ricci," he states, the slightest hint of hostility creeping into his tone. His countenance doesn't falter, however, as he steps aside to make way for the shorter square faced man to his left. Ricci nods grimly in my direction, his sharp nose and prying eyes tilted downwards. "We'd like to have a quick word with you," Mateo explains, eyes skirting from Evan, to Lilo, and then finally to me.

"Okay," I concede softly. Unless they can tell me that my siblings have survived, their words are simply more waste piling onto the boat that is my mind. I'm not sure how much more weight it can take.

Mateo takes a seat on the wiry metal chair that is poised to face the sun when it rises. In the light, his neatly clipped dark curls are streaked by coffee brown strands that emulate the colour of his eyes. I'd slipped out of his house into the early hours of the morning before we'd had a chance to exchange any words. Somehow, the thought that I'd be in his company again in the near future had not befallen me.

Ricci, however, remains with his feet planted firmly on the wooden deck, his back rigid and arms stuck to his sides as if he's tied to a plank of wood. "Look, kid," Ricci begins, his tone polished by contrition. It's a dramatic change from the previous night's vindictive attitude. "We believe that the fire was instigated by a candle burning towards the back of the house. We've located your father who claims that one of the children must've knocked it over whilst sleeping."

My body seems to absorb Ricci's words before my brain does. All sensation in my arms is abruptly lost and my legs turn to deadweights beneath me. "What?"

"It was an accident, Tilley," Mateo gently intercedes.

Sluggishly, my heart thumps against my ribcage, every beat echoing through my eardrums. "An accident?" I iterate, my words escaping hollowly from my lips.

In my mind, I'd gone through each and every possibility that could've conducted the preceding night's events. My father could've spilt alcohol into the light of his candle and brought the flames to life. In a drunken rage he could've smashed the candle into the wall and scurried from the house as flames began to lick at the walls. He could've decided that he wanted to rid himself of his children once and for all, and deliberately set the wooden walls alight.

"We've no reason to believe otherwise," Ricci concludes, his hands clasping together in front of him.

Inside me, words twirl. Retorts erupt in sentences, begging to be forced out into the open. A scream tugs at my vocal cords, imploring me to send it hurtling into Ricci and Mateo's grim faces. But my lips are sealed shut.

"Your father is being held down at the precinct on account of several other charges, so in the meantime, is there anywhere else that you can stay?" Ricci's stony grey eyes struggle to pin down my gaze as he speaks. "Here, perhaps?"

I swallow hard, my eyes darting between the two cops. There is no hope written in the lines across their faces. Their eyes hold no signs of optimism. "My brother." The syllables resound off my tongue as if caught between clashing symbols.

Em's father had already waived volunteering at his youngest child's primary school to ensure that I was okay. Between little Leo, middle schooler Alec, and Emersyn, Evan's full time job as a father demands his undivided attention to duty at all times. Yet today, he'd set that aside for me. Em had abandoned one of her tutorials at university to tend to my needs. But Charlie had relinquished nothing to suit me. Charlie had never been willing to put anything on hold in my interest. It is exactly why i solicited his hostelry in this instance. The very last thing I want is people running themselves around the bend attempting to compensate for events that had nothing to do with them.

"Are you okay, Tilley?" It's Mateo this time.

"I can stay with my brother," I repeat, the words broadcasting through my head like a song on repeat.

My eyelids won't flicker shut as the world spins around me, combining with the whirlwind launching inside my head.

Burning rage piques the bottom of my lungs, making them swell like leaden clouds gathering before torrential rain. Every beat of my heart electrifies my brain, transmitting fury through every fibre of my being. Realisation rolls across my chest, snarling as it thunders to a stop. I don't care if it was an accident.

"Tilley?"

My eyes latch onto Mateo's as a smile whips across my expression. It isn't a mild display of emotion, though. My gaze frosts to the very corners of my eyesight, and my smile twists like a grin on the ghost of a criminal. Whatever is said next is lost in my wake as I turn from the detectives, falling once again into a steady pace along the asphalt. The wind propels its way into my lungs as if compelling me to run faster.

The world has had its fun with me.