Shadows Ablaze

Chapter 8- Jaxon

Heat waves slither across the cracked pavement, thick and intense under the early afternoon sun. A heavy smog settles on the crumbling city today, causing many of its inhabitants to stay indoors. But that isn't a luxury I have.

The metal chain-link fence lining the sidewalk breaks, allowing me to turn and enter the property it attempts to protect. I glance at the building's dusty red facade. The signs hangs high above the front door, the 'o' and 'r' still dangle upside down, just like they did the last time I was here. Zieb had asked me why I hadn't filled out an application and my reasoning had been simple: I had no interest in working with the other boys from Justice Haven. But, after some thought, I figured I'd at least try to get an interview. I need a job in two months when I turn eighteen and am forced to leave Justice Haven. And as far as I can tell, this may be my only opportunity. If I end up having to work with Bear or another idiot boy I don't like, I'll do what I always do, ignore them and hope they know to stay out of my way.

I walk into the building, grateful for the cooler temperature. A short, middle-aged man approaches, staring at me through foggy eyes. "Can I help you?" he grumbles. The golden badge on his uniform reads 'Sheriff.' He scowls, displaying that despite the title, he isn't happy to be here.

"You here for interviews?" his gruff voice asks.

I nod.

He walks to the reception desk and lifts a pile of papers. "Name?"

"Jaxon Debul," I answer. "But, uh, I never filled out an application."

The man looks up at me from beneath thick, greying eyebrows. I could swear he gives me a disapproving grunt, but I choose to ignore it. He reaches under the counter and plucks a packet from the shelf before placing it on the counter with a pen. I begin scribbling words on the forms, gradually filling it out as the Sheriff hovers over me.

When I'm halfway done, the shriek of the door opening cascades through the building. The Sheriff moves to greet the newcomer.

"Oh man! Look who it is!" the voice exclaims.

I don't have to turn to know there's a smug smile on the boy's round, chunky face. I can envision his beady, dark eyes watching me from beneath bushy brown eyebrows. A chubby hand lands on my shoulder, giving it a shake.

"We could have walked here together had you told me you were coming," the boy adds, the smirk still present in his words.

I turn slowly, placing the pen on the counter as I do. "Bear," I greet, as even-toned as I can muster. "I suggest you remove your hand." I pause, waiting for him to follow instructions, but he never does.

"Aw come on, you don't want to cause a scene now, do you?"

I side-eye him, resisting the urge to slap his hand. I glare down at it before lifting my attention to his large frame. "I don't, but you seem to. Let me repeat myself. I suggest you remove your hand."

Bear and I stare at each other for a couple long, silent moments. The Sheriff clears his throat, his eyes skipping between us as he observes the interaction. "What is your name?" the Sheriff asks, examining.

"Harper Fernsby."

I begin coughing to hide the laughter that erupts. I'm so used to calling him Bear that I forget the name the orphanage gave him. It's so unfitting.

Bear tosses me an evil eye before returning to the Sheriff, who shuffles through the stack and pulls out one of the papers. He looks it over quickly, nodding as he goes. "You can follow me, Mr. Fernsby," the Sheriff states, strolling to the back of the lobby. Bear follows him through a narrow wooden doorway, where they both disappear.