THE ART OF BURNING

V: WE NEED TO WADDLE-DADDLE

[ ━━ ❝ ✧˚⋆｡☾✩˚⋆｡࿐❞ ━━ ]
LUCA

LUCA DIDN'T USED TO BE the type to panic.

He didn't panic when he was sixteen-years-old and impregnated his girlfriend of the past two months. He didn't panic when both their families abandoned them, leaving two teenagers to raise a child completely on their own. He didn't panic when his son was six months old and his girlfriend shot and killed six police officers. He didn't panic when they gave her a life sentence, even though he found himself more alone than he'd ever been before.

Luca didn't used to be the type to panic, because, you see, hardly a month after Marieka Zhou, the mother of his child, was arrested, he met the girl he swore he was going to marry. And, well, he didn't exactly meet her then, per ce—they'd gone to the same synagogue since they were children. She was the only other Jewish-Chinese Italian he'd ever met, but they'd never been exactly close, and when he'd left home, they'd lost touch. It wasn't until then, hardly a month after Marieka Zhou, the mother of his child, was arrested, that he really met Emi Ruan.

Luca didn't used to be the type to panic, because with Emi, he didn't have to. She was intelligent and virtuous, almost to the point of being biddable. She evened him out and kept him on his toes, and, in return, he helped loosen her up a little. Luca didn't used to be the type to panic, because it was a year into his relationship with Emi Ruan when she got pregnant. He was seventeen by then, she two years older and a university student. She was studying medicine. He had a job in retail. Everything was fine, really, except for one tiny little thing, because, as you see, four months earlier, he'd killed someone for the first time. And he knew it wouldn't be the last.

Luca didn't used to be the type to panic, because Emi stuck around with him for three years after their daughter was born. But all good things have to come to an end, and, well, he kind of let the whole murder thing slip to her. She was gone the next day, but Luca still didn't panic, because he had a plan. He left for America right after she left, needing a clean state and a fresh start. Not for himself—for his children.

Luca didn't used to be the type to panic, and that was a good thing, because finding a job wasn't easy. Maybe it was because he was an illegal immigrant. Maybe it was because he didn't speak any English. Maybe it was because he lacked so much as a high school degree. Maybe it was because he had two young kids to look out for, or maybe it was because of his criminal record. Whatever the case, the only job he could find was as a domestic worker under the employment of a multi-millionaire in a cute little New England town.

Luca didn't used to be the type to panic, and that was a good thing, because murder is best committed with a clear head. He worked for the man for a little over six months, taking small sums of money out of his account every time he got the chance. And when the rich bastard dropped dead from a supposed heart attack, nobody suspected his poor little domestic worker, because there wasn't any suspects at all. His death had been ruled a natural one.