Burning of the Beast

Chapter 1

Red. It was the color that drew him to her in the first place. He should've known it'd be that color that'd do him in. River wiped a hand down his face, the pads of his fingers catching across the raised and puckered skin. He thumbed his bottom lip as he walked the dark tunnel, trailing behind the slow, limping figure ahead.

She came to mind every time he went to collect. It wasn't for sentiment. It was for the anger it beckoned. Thinking of her awakened the fire, and awakening the fire finished the job. But truth was, he thought about her every day, and there wasn't a second he didn't burn.

The tunnel opened into a cobblestone path that led through an alley, the only light a flickering orange streetlamp next to a worn-down building. As the man began to struggle up the small incline, River figured he'd save him the breath.

"Charles Whitley, you have a debt to pay," he called. The old man's cane and feet came to a halt in the middle of the dark alley, "You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting."

The withered man slowly turned his way, his breathing haggard. He adjusted his glasses with shaky hands as he took in the hellish sight that stood before him. Flames whipped the cobblestone where River stood, and his fingertips sizzled from the fire kindling over his skin. The scar over his face burned red like a searing iron.

"Lord, grant me the strength." The old man's eyes watered.

"Don't call for him now. He's not here." River closed the distance and gripped the man by the wrist. "Where you're going, he can't help you."

Beads of sweat formed on the old man's face as his veins ran red. His labored breathing became a choke for air.

"May the devil have pity on you," he gave a slight nod, "because I don't."

In a split second, the body of Charles Whitley became a violent fire on the side of the alley. River stepped back, dusted his hands, and observed his work. He shook his head as—for the thousandth time—the legs failed to burn all the way through. Someone would claim spontaneous combustion again.

He walked away from the smoking remains, pulling a paper from out of his black jacket. A new address had appeared. He squinted and gritted his teeth, crumpling the paper in his hand.

The even footsteps behind him let him know he wasn't alone.

"You said I was done," he muttered, walking back into the darkness of the tunnel.

"You are," said a voice he knew too well. He stopped and twisted around, his eyes seeing through the darkness and clashing with hazel eyes that matched his own. "Thought I'd give my son a going away gift."

"I don't want your goddamn gift."

Lu smiled, the vicious three deep scars slashed across his face scrunched as well. "Believe me, you want this one."

"You told me that last time. It only led me to Dom."

His father scowled at the name. "And you didn't do a damn thing to him."

"He's my brother."

"Don't play that sentimental bullshit. He watched you burn alive."

River's eyes glared. "You did too."

Lu's lips curled. "Touché."

"He had a lot to say, especially about you."

"And?"

River switched the subject. "What'd you do to make him slice your face up? Hmm?" He took a step toward the man. "What did you do to make him nearly kill you?"