Fighting Fire With Fire

Arson is never the solution, especially to win over women, but Jason believed so.

Jason never believed in true love, nor love at first sight, but from the moment he met Ophelia, he knew that he needed her. They’d been close friends for just over a year, but he loved her, and Jason believed that maybe she felt the same way too. Ophelia’s lovely blue eyes always lit up whenever they would talk together and she would stand so close to him during their strolls in the park, so close that their shoulders would brush against each other. She was so warm and full of life, and Jason simply adored everything about her. Her soft, shy, and contagious smiles; the way her auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders when she wore it down, and how it caught the sun’s rays; the skip in her step (even more than usual) that she got whenever she was talking about the new types of flowers she was going to plant. 

The only thing he did not simply adore was that she had a husband and two children, whom she loved to death. Well, he didn’t mind the children, he was actually quite fond of the spirited little boys. Ophelia’s sons were the spitting image of her, and they reminded Jason of himself when he was younger. All he needed was to get Ophelia’s husband out of the picture.

This was why Jason was out at four thirty-two in the morning, early enough that the sun had not yet blessed the sky with its golden rays. He was in front of Ophelia’s house. The white picket fence was bright in contrast to the house’s dull, faded yellow siding. Flower beds surround the fence like a moat of lovingly planted hydrangeas, forsythias, petunias, and daffodils. Jason gazed at the sea of blue, gold, and white, musing that maybe someday Ophelia could spruce up his drab yard with an arrangement like this. 

Cautiously swinging open the gate, which to Jason’s relief, did not creak, he entered the yard, keeping his head down. Circling to the back of the house, he ran his free hand along the wooden siding and the porch steps. What a shame. It’s all so flammable, Jason joked to himself with a quiet, slightly maniacal laugh. In his other hand, he held a rusted canister of gasoline. He doused the steps with gasoline and tucked the canister into the house’s shed. Shoving a hand into his pocket, he fished out a matchbox. He gingerly slid open the box and pulled out a match. Taking several steps back, Jason struck the match on the box, and once it lit, he tossed it onto the porch. A flame blossomed from it immediately; a new garden, a garden of vermillion, orange, yellow, and amber. It was beautiful, but he liked Ophelia’s better.

Jason bounded out of the yard and got into his beat-up Chrysler K-car, speeding off, the back of his head pressed hard against his seat. He had to get to work before the fire spread too much. 

It was 4:41 when he got to the fire station. 

“Good morning, Chief,” one of his coworkers said with a polite wave.

Like a queue, the alarm sounded off right then. Everyone there raced to the garage, jumping into their uniforms and loading into the truck as they’d trained to do for so long. 

The fire had engulfed almost half of the house already, and while Jason knew that the fire would spread quickly, he didn’t anticipate this.

Jason shouted orders at the others and they broke down the front door after entering through the gate; Nobody had gotten out of the house yet.

Ophelia was standing to the side in her living room, trembling. Her normally fair skin was caked with ash, but trails of the tears streaming down her face broke through. While the other firefighters headed upstairs, Jason rushed to Ophelia’s side, and he could smell the smoke in the air, even through his helmet. 

“Ophelia, what happened? Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing her shoulders, “You need to get out of here, the fire is spreading fast and you’re going to inhale too much smoke.”

She shook her head, persistently staying rooted to the ground. “Michael said he was going to get the kids, but he hasn’t come down yet. I need to know that they’re okay,” she sobbed, waving her arm in the direction of the stairs. 

“The other firefighters are going to get them--”

“Uh, Chief...?” one called, coming back down the stairs, gripping the railing tight, “...The rest of the family didn’t... they didn’t make it out.” This was their polite way of saying that someone burned to a terrible, fiery death.

Jason froze, his gaze drifting up to the bellowing flames from the corridor at the top of the stairs. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought to himself, panicked and pained by the unfortunate news. He looked to Ophelia for her reaction; she was in pure shock, and was wide-eyed and petrified, like a deer in headlights.

The other firefighters poured down the stairs and left the house, while Jason continued to try to coerce Ophelia to leave as well.

“They’re dead, oh my God, they’re dead,” Ophelia wailed, sinking to her knees, crying nearly enough tears to put out the fire. Her sobs blocked out the sound of the fire crackling, but it didn’t silence the sound of parts of the home collapsing on the opposite side, bringing more trails of fire to them.

“Ophelia, we need to get out now, come on,” Jason pleaded, kneeling down next to her.

“T-They’re gone,” she sobbed, “I’m not leaving.”

“I’m sorry, the kids should’ve been fine, but you need to get out now,” Jason quickly stated, helping her back up.

Ophelia furrowed her thin brows, looking up at him. “What do you mean, ‘The kids should’ve been fine’?” she asked, her voice still breaking with each word, both from the smoke and her cries.

Jason paused, taking a sharp breath, only to get smoke-filled air catapulting into his lungs. He coughed, but once he was able to catch his breath, he replied with, “Nothing, come on, you need to get out,” and he took her hand. His hands were shaking as well, now. He knew that Ophelia was smart, while he was an awful liar; there was no easy way out of this.

  Taken aback by her realization, she pulled her hand away from his, edging away. “Oh, God... What have you done?” she barely managed to say.

“Ophelia--” Jason starts.

“No, Jason, don’t try to explain yourself, you can’t,” she snaps, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

Jason paused again, trying hard to come up with something, anything, to possibly redeem himself in Ophelia’s eyes. Alas, there was no escaping what he’d done. Now he had to decide what to do about Ophelia: He knew that if he saved her, she’d tell people what he did, that he killed her family. But if he didn’t save her... He shuddered at the mere thought of a world without her. He had to save her. 

At least I’ll see her in court.

By the time he decided, Jason had to shout over the sound of the fire and the house’s foundation crumbling and snapping above. “Ophelia, please, for at least do this for yourself. You need to get out before--”

“Shut up, Jason!” Ophelia screamed, despite the smoke in her airway, “I don’t want to hear your voice anymore! You’re going to burn, but you’re going to burn in Hell!”

She backed further away from him, and he reached out to pull her away from the flames.

“Please, I--”

The ceiling directly above them began to creak, growing heavy from the quickly depleting support. “Ophelia--!”

The ceiling caved in. 

Only Jason made it out.

�-�     �-�     �-�

The room was cold and uncannily clean. Jason’s restraints were too tight, but he knew deserved it.

“So...” started the investigator. He was a tall, spindly man, who was responsible for the room’s cleanliness, “On the seventeenth of May, at five in the morning, what happened?”

Jason laughed a sad laugh. “I burned them to a crisp.”