Wayward Boys (BoyxBoy)

I

Nolan.

At night Nolan dreams of fire. He dreams that he actually, consciously, set the one that killed his best friend. In those dreams, he pictures his fingertips on the lighter: flick, flick, flick. And then there is a flame, which he holds to the curtains at the lake cottage. And as he watches the blaze ignite, he hears Daniel's voice, calling out to him: Why would you do this to me, Nolan? I thought you loved me.

He jolts awake every time, his sheets a swampy mass of sweat, his cheeks red hot and streaked with tears, his throat hoarse from screaming out Daniel's name and the large burn scar that extended from behind his left ear down to his collar bone alive with pain. The only thing that changes is the night, the dream is persistent. His life had become an endless cycle of flame-engulfed nightmares, and no matter how many hugs be received from his sister, or supportive pats on the back from her fiancée, or skype conversations with his brother in Iraq, they never went away. Not even his sessions with Dr. Francis had helped, and he was the leading grief counsellor in the country.

It was this everlasting, sleep-deprived, terror-induced guilt, that had pushed Nolan to this point: standing in front of St Helena's School for Wayward Boys. He was there on his own accord, his sister and guardian, Rosalie, wasn't even aware he had left home at all. He had planned that very carefully, catching a bus the minute she had left for work that morning, and making the two hour journey from their house to the school on his own.

Nolan was both impressed and terrified by the gargantuan iron gates that rose from the ground at the entrance to the campus. They were like something out of a old-school horror movie, down to the half-dead trees accompanying them and the winding gravel pathway that extended beyond them and into a churchyard.

Despite the age of the gates, they were rigged with a large, rectangular postbox and a buzzer-intercom combination. Nolan pressed the buzzer timidly, which produced a loud humming noise before a woman's voice crackled through the intercom.

"St Helenas School for Wayward Boys. You are speaking to Miss Eugenia Featherly."

"Hello? I'm, uh, here to enrol. My name is Nolan Pritchard." He said back to the voice, heart racing with anticipation. Now that he was here, he felt as though his decision had become final. This place would be his home until he got better.

"Did you say... enrolment?" Featherly's voice was incredulous.

"Yes. I read on your website that you allow enrolment of people over sixteen without parental permission."

"Um... um yes we do... let me buzz you through, just give me a minute to inform Principal Hathaway." The speaker cut out with a final crackle and a mournful hum. Nolan was left in front of the school grounds, duffel bag over his shoulder, converse planted in the pea gravel.

It was ten minutes before a tall, lanky man appeared on the other side of the gate. He was weathered in appearance, with a gaunt, leathery face and a swoop of pigeon grey hair. He crunched down the gravel, emerging from behind the petite gothic church and through the churchyard - which was overgrown with ivy and dotted with crumbling tombstones.

"Nolan Pritchard?" The man called out as he neared, hands tucked in the pockets of his brown corduroys, which clashed terribly with his green-and-grey argyle sweater.

Nolan nodded in agreement and stepped back to make room for the gates to open. The man produced a set of keys and unlocked the gates. They swung open with a squeal.

"I'm Principal Hathaway. My secretary, Miss Featherly, tells me you plan to enrol yourself here at St Helena's?" His voice had the kind of english accent that reminded Nolan of posh butlers in old spy movies.