Bentley Little - The Burning

She was worried and scared. She thought she should tell Chrissie, thought she should go to the emergency room at the hospital, but instead, irrationally, decided to sleep, telling herself that it would be all right in the morning, that everything would be fine. Angela finished showering, put on her pajamas, dashed into her bedroom and locked the door before climbing into bed and getting under the covers. "Good night!" she called out to Chrissie.

"Angela!"

"Good night!"

"Are you-"

"I'm tired! I'm going to bed! We'll talk about it in the morning!"

In the morning, the black spot on her skin was gone, but dark mold grew on each of the four corners of her top sheet in identical amoeba-like blobs. It seemed thicker than it had when it was on her skin, hairier mul somehow more malevolent. Disgusted, frightened, Angela kicked the covers off and dashed away from the bed. She quickly slipped on her robe, unlocked the door and called Chrissie, who came running into the room, obviously hearing the fear in her voice.

"What is it?" Chrissie demanded, but she saw even before she finished the sentence. Her eyes widened at the sight of the sheet's black corners. "Oh, my God!"

"Don't touch it!" Angela shouted.

But she was too late. The sheet was lying half on and half off the bed, tangled up with the comforter, and Chrissie reached for the corner closest to the edge. Her finger poked the black mold, then jerked away instantly. A look of revulsion transformed her face, and Chrissie backed toward the door as though she were being menaced by a slow-moving knife-wielding maniac.

"It was on my skin last night," Angela said. "The black stuff. I should've told you, I should've gone to the hospital, I should've ... I don't know. What do you think it is? It looks like some kind of mold. Should we take the sheet in to-"

"Bitch!" Chrissie shouted. And slammed the door.

What the hell? Angela hurried after her roommate, opening the door and following her into the sitting room. "Chrissie?"

Her friend turned, and the expression on her face was angry, threatening.

Black, she thought. They call that kind of look black.

She stared at Chrissie's pointing finger, looking for mold, but the skin was clear.

"Stay away from me, you stupid brown bitch," Chrissie ordered, and there was real venom in her voice. She shoved her way past a stunned Angela and returned to her own room.

The door closed.

Locked.

Eleven

Bear Flats, California

The kitchen smelled of bacon, eggs ... and booze.

Jolene's jaw clenched, the muscles under her ear hurting in that tight tense way she remembered from childhood. Her mother was sitting in her usual spot at the breakfast table, dipping toast into the last bit of yolk on her plate, smiling and humming softly to herself. Jolene remembered this from her childhood as well, the "good" time, as she'd always thought of it. This was her mom at her peak, not drunk enough to be abusive, not sober enough to be self-pitying, with just enough of a buzz on to make her feel calm, content, at ease. If her mother could have stayed this way throughout the day, perhaps life at home wouldn't have been so bad, but this stage was merely a respite between the desperate highs and lows, and although it was the best stage in the cycle, it was also the shortest.

"Hurry up and eat your breakfast," Jolene told Sky-lar. "We have a busy day."

The boy sat down silently at the table while Jolene got him a plate of bacon. He was still a little shy and nervous around his grandmother, and although Jolene pretended not to notice, she did.

And was grateful.

She didn't want him feeling too comfortable with her, getting too close. He would only end up being hurt.

"Here," she said, setting the plate down. "Orange juice or milk?"

"Milk," Skylar told her.

She was finally going to try and enroll him in third grade at Bear Flats Elementary this morning. It was strange to realize he would be attending the same school she'd gone to when she was his age. He was dreading the prospect because it meant that this was not just a vacation or hiatus but a permanent move, and she had mixed feelings for much the same reason.

If they really were going to relocate here, maybe it was time for her to start thinking seriously about finding a job.

Her mother must have read her mind. "You know," she said helpfully, "if you want to make yourself useful, Anna May Carter let out that she needs some help down at the historical society. Theo Frye up and bailed on her after all these years, and the new museum's set to open in a few months. I'm not sure how much it pays, but it's work."

Jolene had heard about the new museum. It was the talk of the town, although God knew why. It's not as if Bear Flats was a big tourist destination or a site of historical significance. In the real world, moving the museum from its small storefront downtown to the old Williams residence was as insignificant as the renovation of a Taco Bell bathroom in Tucson. But here in Bear Flats, residents were excited that the history of their community would finally be displayed in a venue more appropriately impressive.

As embarrassed as she was to admit it, Jolene, too, felt a sense of pride knowing that the town's historical artifacts would be housed in the former residence of its lone millionaire. She must be more of a yokel than she thought.

"Thanks, Mom," she said. "I'll check it out."

After breakfast, she and Skylar drove to the school. She'd been hoping and half expecting to get him in today-which was why they'd gone so early-but the principal informed her that there were forms to sign and process, and that Skylar could not start class until the transcripts from his previous school had been sent, faxed or e-mailed over. It would be another day or two at least.

In the school parking lot, she called Leslie from her cell phone. "Hey, it's me, Jolene."

"Jo!"

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor: watch Skylar for me while I meet with Anna May Carter for an hour or so."

"Sure. No problem." There was a pause. "Anna May?"

"My mother says she needs someone to help with the museum's move now that Theo Frye's gone. I think my mom talked to her about me."

"I'm sure I can find you something better than that."

"I don't know if I want anything better," Jolene admitted. "This sounds like a temp job or at least a job I wouldn't feel guilty about quitting, and I need to just sort some things out in my mind before I make any long-term commitments. I promise, though: if I decide to stay and look for permanent employment, you'll be the first person I'll hit up for a job."

Leslie laughed. "It's a deal."

Leslie wasn't working until three, so Jolene dropped Skylar off at her house. She felt guilty for doing so. The boy was obviously uncomfortable-even under the best of circumstances he had difficulty adjusting to new surroundings-but she couldn't very well take him on what was essentially a job interview, as casual as it might be. And he would definitely be better off with Leslie than with her mother. Jolene told him to be good, promised to be back as soon as possible and left quickly, before Skylar said something that would make her reconsider.

It would be good for him to get away from her, she told herself. It would be good for him to get to know Leslie.

As it happened, Anna May needed help right away and had a grant from the county that would allow her to pay nearly twice minimum wage for the estimated two-month transition period. "It's a part-time job," the old lady said, "but you won't find a higher-paying one anywhere in town. Or one that's so rich with interesting information. You'll earn and learn, I like to say."

The two of them met in the old museum, next to the Hallmark store on Main, and Jolene said that she would be willing to start today if she could get off in time to pick up her son before three.