The Arsonist

Five

Driving was always a great way for Gray to think, something about the monotone whirl caused by the wind going through the cracks of her windows, made her gears turn. Her car was centuries old. The widows didn't seem to close all the way.

While in the parking garage one day, Gray forgot to lock her doors. Someone had come in and stole her radio, causing her to ride in painful silence.

Throughout the car ride to her mothers, the only think Gray thought about was his name. Lyle. Lyle. Lyle. Something about it was painfully familiar. Like maybe one time she'd have seen him in the halls in high school, or served him coffee when she worked at a small cafe to pay for her tuition. She had heard it before, not from anyone at the hospital, it was an older memory than that. Something? Anything? Any clue?

Maybe Gordon knew him. Maybe he was a lab partner or something? But wasn't that Quinn? Quinn, Gordon met her because they were lab partners. They dated for five years. Until Gordon got bad. Even then she still cared for Gray. She still cared for Gordon. Quinn had sat with Gray at the funeral.

Why was Lyle Conley familiar?

Gray swung into her mother's drive and rested her head down on the steering wheel, looking at the wires sticking out of the empty place where the radio used to be. Tears suffocated her as she clenched her teeth, making it nearly impossible for one to find it's way out. Nothing's impossible; despite her wishes a single tear ran down Gray's face and onto her hand. More followed causing a flood of sobs.

She wanted Lyle. If he saw her like this he'd hug her. Tell her it'd be okay and wouldn't let her go until everything was fixed. He'd read to her, or sing softly to her happy songs, or tell her jokes just to make her smile like he loved. He'd pet her hair and kiss her forehead and finally make her feel like she actually belonged somewhere. Not in St. Joan's, or in a lecture hall, or the last one in a funeral home coming to terms with the fact that she was now all alone. She belonged in his arms. She belonged with him.

Reguardless of the redness in her cheeks from the tears, Gray got out of her car and walked into her mother's house.

It was a big house. The one Gray grew up in her whole life, stuck in the middle of a suburb.

Gray removed her shoes, the family ritual, and was surprised to see her mother walking towards her in the hallway.

"Milly? Why are you crying?"

Her short, elderly, mother walked over to her in the door way and wiped one of the dry tears from her face.

"Mom? It's Gray...?"

"Come here, Milly. You must be freezing. I've made a casserole."

"Mom. It's Gray." Her voice was firm now. Gray was getting scared. She couldn't have lost her mother now. She could have sworn she had more pills. Her mother had more time.

"Oh. Oh, hi Graycie. Come in."

Gray sighed in relief. Not yet.

Milly was Gray's aunt Mildred. Mildred died when her mother was graduating high school. Leukemia.

"Okay, now tell me why you're so upset," her mother reprimanded.

"It's the man I was telling you about. I want so desperately to love him, but I can't. It's unprofessional," Gray explained.

"Oh yea wasn't his name uh Micky?" She asked.

"Ly- I mean Micah," Gray answered remembering the made up story she had told her mother earlier.

"Do you want some casserole?"

"No, mom I have a question," Gray stated, trying to build up courage.