Sulfur & Tealights

Patience

Carl and Laura sent Mel home with leftover peas and one-fourth of the catfish after several last-minute individual and group hugs goodbye. She thought of them as she flung open her apartment door, apprehension twisting in her stomach. Being away from Ba'al so long concerned her. Who knows what he could have done while out of her sight?

But, whatever she got herself into, there was no running away. Her relationship with Laura was not an easy one to forge, and it was something she was proud to have. Even if she could not thank Carl for sabotaging her plans, she was grateful he stopped her from ruining both her and Laura's hard work in a moment of impulsivity. Then there was the honor Carl bestowed upon her with his earlier confession and vulnerability, which may have been forced by circumstances but was no less valuable. Her backpack hung by a strap from her shoulder. Neither of her friends ever asked about it. Their trust in her – that, or their respect for her privacy – felt a little overwhelming. Her whole day had been overwhelming.

Early evening daylight illuminated her dark room. Nothing looked out of place. The fluffy rug lay beside her bed, the mismatching blankets piled on the mattress, exposing the colorful milk crates full of books underneath, and the white walls and light, laminate wood flooring remained untarnished. The only notable difference was the window. She assumed Ba'al closed it, so he was somewhere in the house. Deciding her nerves acted up for no reason, or perhaps as a remnant of events earlier that afternoon, she closed the door and stuck the leftovers in the fridge.

"Long day?"

Ba'al's voice behind her almost made her jump. "Deep breaths," she thought to herself.

"Yes." She turned to face Ba'al, or where it sounded like he was. Her brow furrowed. "Where are you?"

"I am here." His voice came from in front of her again. "I do not want you to see me right now."

"I figured, but why." It was not his fault she was losing patience, but his behavior perplexed her. Did he get in a fight and want to cover up the evidence? That could not be right.

"Remember my mention of 'a fiery lake of burning sulfur'? The body mimics the soul, and, unfortunately, I went on an 'excursion' to a lower precinct, where the fire is more copious, right before you summoned me. Not that my old scars were attractive, but you would prefer them over this," he explained, his distaste for the situation evident.

Mel crossed her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. "Why didn't the burns show up earlier?"

Ba'al sighed. "My soul needed time to grow accustomed to a physical body. As soon as I regain my strength, I will create an illusion."

"Regain" his strength? The wording sounded odd, but maybe materializing his form took more from him than she thought. Regardless, there were more important things to discuss.

"I looked you up today." She pulled out a seat for him to sit at, if he wanted, and sat in the chair next to it. A sudden worry interrupted her new train of thought. "Are you in pain?" Hopefully not. She had no idea how to help burns as bad as he must have. The concern also assumed part of his nervous system became functional while he was out.

"Not right now." A brief silenced ensued before she understood that was all he would say on the matter.

Relieved, she cleared her throat. "I'm glad. Anyway, I looked you up, and you sound pretty dodgy. I want to hear your side of the story." Her eyes focused on him, or where she thought he was, intently.

"Melinda—"

"Mel," she corrected.

"Mel," he dragged her name out mockingly, "recount the day's events for me."