The Strange Boy

Chapter One

Conner
"As I opened my eyes from my mom and dad putting me to sleep from a bed time story, all I see is light. burning light. Next thing I know, I'm sitting on a firetruck watching my house burn down, waiting for my parents." I said taking a deep breath before continuing.

"But they never came out. I was too young to ever understand what fire was. I was too young to even understand what death was." I said as the therapist wrote down notes.

"AND I FEEL LIKE ITS ALL MY FAULT!"

"Connor calm down. That's what I'm here for, for me to help with problems from your past. I'm here for you." The 20 year old therapist said as she put her hand on top of mine.

I couldn't believe she said she's here for me. Like I'm an idiot. I'm going to open up and she's going to tell me that everything is alright. Easy for her to say, She's never been in my position. She has know idea how I feel.

She's only saying this because it's her job to. She probably thinks I'm crazy or hoping I will just hurry up and get over it.

"No I'm tired of this!" I yelled loudly as I looked over at my therapist shocked and scared expression. What am I doing? I'm getting too out of hand.

"I'm sorry for yelling, but I'm just tired of people saying that their, there for me. But they leave when I need them the most." I said managing my anger.

"If you think staying here talking about it is going to help then your wrong." I said staring her in the eyes.

"If your feeling uncomfortable talking to me, you can finish this session early and you may leave. I'm not allowed to stop you." She said calmly.

When I get home, I feel exhausted.
So I go upstairs, brush my teeth and change into a white shirt and sweatpants.

As I lay in my bed I think of what my therapist was telling me. Is she right?
Am I just being paranoid? The police did say that the fire looked like it was an accident.

They said that the oven was left on.
As I close my eyes I drift to sleep. I had the same nightmare I had every night. I'm at home with my dad. We're watching television.

My mom comes home. She brought takeout. We eat and laugh together at the table. They tuck me in.

Next thing I know we're trying to get out of the house. The fire is spreading. A piece of the ceiling falls down separating me from my parents.

They beg me to run out of the house. The firefighters came. They run in while the other firefighters are putting the fire out. My parents.
Their dead.

My eyes snap open, breathing heavily. I sit there for a while with my shirt drenched in sweat. That's when it finally hits me.

The question that I should have asked myself back when I was 11. Why? Why is this just now hitting me? Why not back then when I was younger? The question that should have let me know that my parent's death was not an accident.

Why was the stove on when we didn't use it that night?

As I started thinking more about it. I just made myself more confused. How was the oven on? How was this possible? What if it wasn't an accident? What if I wasn't supposed to survive during that fire? Who would want us dead?