12 years ago

  Pinn stumbled through the door of his home, the events of the evening running through his mind in a blur. Immediately, he found his mother, Serena, standing in his way with arms crossed. Long brown hair hung frazzled over her face and she blew it out from in front of her glasses. Her lips curved down over her small chin, adding lines to her otherwise smooth face. Pinn realized just how late he must have been because she had dressed up in her work shirt and overalls, possibly to go out in search of him. But not too urgently, because she still had her fluffy slippers on.

  “Do you have any idea what time it is? I have been worried sick, where have you…”

  All the words stalled, her face frozen on the bleeding cuts on his skin. Pinn forced a smile and held up his arms in surrender. His mother’s lips twitched in horror.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Pinn said when she didn’t continue speaking.

  “Rocky, get in here! Pinny, what happened? Are you okay? We need to take you to the hospital! Where did this happen? I knew this neighborhood was no good, we need to leave! Stay here, I’m going to get you some bandages! Don’t move!” Serena rushed off, scuttling in her home slippers.

  Waiting awkwardly, Pinn wasn’t even sure whether he should take off his shoes. Stomping around the corner, his father, Rockwell, assessed his son. He was a large man, more round than tall, with unkempt, graying hair, a stout nose, and round glasses. His short beard was treated better than his hair, its gray color trimmed close to his face. Like his wife, Rockwell was wearing overalls, but more likely because he was too tired to take them off after he got home. As usual, his face was stoic, even in the sight of blood covering his son’s upper body.

  Staring at the cuts for a second at a time, he scanned over Pinn. Pinn looked down at himself, the moment being the first time he could get a good look at himself in the light. Cuts and blood ran all the way through his shirt, looking like he dumped a bottle of pomegranate juice over himself. With a flat look, Rockwell tilted his head as he glanced up to Pinn’s eyes.

  “Is it worse than it looks? You need a doctor?” Rockwell asked.

  “No. Don’t think so.”

  Rockwell nodded in simple acknowledgement. Pinn couldn’t read any emotion behind the movement, whether he was worried or grateful to see his son safe.

  “Muggers?” Rockwell asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Fought back?”

  “Yes.”

  Rockwell nodded again, stepping aside. Serena rushed back with bandages, gauze, towels, bottles of water, rubbing alcohol, and a blanket piled in her arms. Pinn flinched, recoiling away from his mother.

  “Here, let me do it myself,” Pinn offered, reaching a bloody arm out.

  “Don’t you turn away from me! You’re hurt! Let me fix you up then you can go sulk! Just like your father. Let people help you!” Serena said, tearing off a long piece of gauze from the roll.

  “No, Ma. I’m just concerned for you.”

  “Concerned for me? Are you hearing this, Rocky?” Serena sounded appalled. She twisted back to look at Rockwell in bafflement. Rockwell remained stone-faced and Serena turned back to her injured son. “See? Even your father thinks you’re acting hysterical! Let me at least clean you up.” Twisting the cap, she popped open a bottle of water and raised it to spill over Pinn’s face.

  Pinn’s head ignited in searing white flame and he reeled back. Serena screamed and threw more water at him, all of it evaporating before touching him. Pinn’s father’s eyes widened slightly, the closest thing to shock on his face. Frozen in fear, the three stared in silence until the flame shut itself off a moment later. From the upturned bottle, water flowed from Serena’s frozen hand until it was empty.

  Pinn stood frozen, worried that any wrong motion would trigger the next flame.

  “You okay, son?” Rockwell asked, an ounce of emotion in his voice. Concern? Maybe fear, Pinn couldn’t place it.

  “Yes. The fire doesn’t hurt me.”

  “The fire?” Serena said. “You’re familiar with it? What is it?”

  “I don’t ?really know. It showed up when the muggers—”

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  “Muggers!?” Serena exploded. “I knew this neighborhood was no good! Call the movers, Rocky! We need to get out of here! For God’s sake, Pinn, clean up your wounds, I can’t stand to see you bleeding at the front door! I’ll go get you some fresh clothes!”

  She dumped the pile of items from her hand and rushed away, tears welling in her eyes. Gingerly, Pinn kneeled down and took off his shoes, followed by his shirt and began wiping himself down. Most of the wounds needed little more than a single adhesive, but he was cut all over his arms. His dad watched passively, quietly tracking Pinn and making no offers to help. Even in the silence, Pinn found his presence comforting.

  “Did you use that on them?” Rockwell asked.

  Pinn didn’t have to ask what he meant. Burned wood of the scorched front door stunk the air.

  “Yes. They…” Pinn glanced up to make sure his mother was out of earshot. “They tried to cut my face. My head melted their knife. And then I burned them.”

  “They see your face?”

  “Can you see my face behind the fire?”

  “No.”

  “Then, no.”

  Rockwell hesitated before asking his next question. It was unlike him, but Pinn guessed that maybe his father was as uneasy as he felt.

  “Any dead?” Rockwell asked, his voice low.

  “No.”

  Rockwell pulled off his glasses and cleaned the lenses on his shirt, something he often did when lost in thought. Pinn continued to clean himself up, tying the last strip of gauze on a cut to his forearm. None of the cuts were lethal, but one more stab could have been the end of him. And a few more shallow slashes could have led to death from a thousand cuts. He paused, the trembling in his body a stark revelation. He could have died. Would have, if it wasn’t for the flames.

  “I take it you can’t control it?” Rockwell set the glasses back on his head.

  “Not even a little.”

  “Work on that. You’ll hurt someone.”

  Pinn looked away from his father and focused his emotions. Of course the flaming power was dangerous, he didn’t need to be told that. He wanted help controlling it, not an order to do so. Regardless, he breathed out slowly, making sure he didn’t frown. A frown could mean further ridicule. Or worse, a lecture.

  “Here, honey,” Serena came back inside with a pair of Pinn’s pajamas, holding them out in hands now covered in oven mitts. Pinn’s lips quirked into an amused smile.

  “You think it’s funny I’m trying to make sure you don’t cook me?” Serena asked, but there was a hint of humor. Shaken as she was, she was trying to lighten Pinn’s mood.

  “Thanks, Ma. But as far as I know, it’s just my head that goes on fire,” Pinn said gratefully, taking the clothes.

  “As far as you know,” Rockwell said skeptically.

  “When did this start happening?” Serena asked.

  “Just tonight. Never felt anything like it before.”

  “Did you want a shower? To clean yourself up before putting on fresh PJs?” Serena asked.

  “I just put all this on,” Pinn complained, presenting the bandages running up his torso and arms.

  “I know! I’m scared, okay? Muggers and blood and a flaming head. I can’t think of everything at once! Do you feel sick? We need to take you to a doctor!” Serena said in a spray of anxiety.

  “He says he’s fine,” Rockwell informed her.

  “Let Pinn speak for himself!” Serena snapped.

  “I’m fine, Ma.”

  “Yeah, what do you know!” Serena yelled, throwing up her arms. Lowering her arms in frustration, she rubbed her eye under her glasses and gave an exasperated sigh. “We can’t take you to a doctor. Not yet. They’ll turn you into a science experiment. Or some kind of weapon. I don’t know… We need to figure this out ourselves. But we are going to figure this out, okay Pinny? You, me, and your Pa. We’ll make sure your head doesn’t go on fire anymore.”

  “That fire saved his life. Let him get away from the muggers without his face being seen,” Rockwell said.

  Serena pointed a stiff mitt at Rockwell’s face. “Fine! Then we’ll make sure your head only goes on fire to save your life! No more burning the ceiling. Just protective fire. But don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want those lowlives figuring out who you are. You got a beacon in you now, don’t attract attention you don’t need.”

  Pinn looked up and saw the smoldering black spot in the ceiling. He hadn’t realized just how high the fire rose from him. Patting his head lightly, he double checked that none of his hair had burned off. Miraculously, everything was still in place. The fire didn’t hurt him.

  “Rocky! Clean up the pool first thing in the morning. We’re gonna get Pinny in there and see if we can’t get this thing under control in an afternoon.”

  Rockwell grunted in disappointment, having to cancel the plans he had of sitting on the couch the next morning. With a scratch of his beard, he left the hallway and went to his room.

  “Pinn, you get yourself a good night’s sleep. Remember, this may be scary, but everything is good for those with the right perspective. It’s a blessing. If it were anyone else, they may have died in that mugging. We’re thankful for your… ability. Not scared. We shouldn’t be afraid of this. You were given a gift, so we’re gonna make sure it doesn’t go to waste,” Serena said sincerely. Getting control of her shakes, she even placed her oven-mitted hands cautiously on his shoulders, the closest thing to a hug while she was worried about the flame.

  “Thanks Ma,” Pinn said, immensely grateful for his mother. He granted her a rare smile. She smiled back, collecting the bloody clothes and making her way to the laundry machine.

  “But don’t go using that gift before tomorrow. I already have to repaint the ceiling, I don’t wanna have to buy you a new pillow as well,” Serena said as a joke while she left him.

  “You got it, Ma,” Pinn agreed.

  Then, his head exploded in tall white flames.