Page 39

Story: Pyre

Her jaw tightened as her fingers tightened around the phone. The glass spiderwebbed with cracks, the sharp edges biting into her palm. She barely noticed the blood blooming against her skin, her focus consumed by a fury so intense it drowned out rationality.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed under her breath. Still, she opened the rideshare app, every motion mechanical and precise, her body operating on autopilot while her mind churned with violent possibilities.

The wait for the car was excruciating. Each second dragged out like an eternity, every tick of the clock reminding her of the stakes. Finally, a sleek black Tesla rolled up to the curb, the interior lights flickering on as the back door opened.

“Ruby?” the driver asked, warm and polite, though a hint of unease flickered in his eyes as he glanced at her bloodied hand.

She nodded curtly and slid into the backseat. The car smelled faintly of bleach, sharp and sterile, a detail that set her even more on edge.

As they pulled away, the driver tried to engage her in conversation, his attempts at small talk laced with nervous energy. "Long night, huh? You need some gum? Helps keep you awake on these late rides." He held out a packet.

Ruby didn’t answer, her eyes fixed on the passing streetlights. She didn’t trust herself to speak. After a few awkward beats of silence, the driver gave up, humming softly to the low music playing through the car’s speakers.

When they finally arrived, the Tesla slowed to a stop at the edge of an empty parking lot. The driver leaned forward, peering out at the dark, desolate scene. "Are you sure this is the place?" he asked, concern etched into his features.

“Yes,” she said sharply, her lips pressing into a tight line.

He hesitated. “It just doesn’t—”

“Yes.” Her tone brooked no argument, and the driver nodded quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"Alright," he said, watching her with a furrowed brow as she climbed out. "Be careful."

Ruby didn’t respond, slamming the door behind her. She stood alone as the car’s taillights disappeared into the night.

A red bullseye glowed down at her from atop the Target sign, the only source of light in the empty lot. As she approached, she noticed a piece of paper taped to the glass doors. The words Closed for Deep Cleaning were scrawled in thick, uneven letters.

Her lip curled. "Deep cleaning," she muttered under her breath, grabbing a trash can from nearby. With a grunt, she hurled it through the doors. Glass exploded inward, the shattering sound echoing like gunfire in the quiet night.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the polished floors and neatly stocked shelves.

Mannequins in half-lit aisles stood like forgotten sentries, their plastic smiles eerie in the silence.

Edward’s voice slithered through the overhead speaker, a grating, mocking tone that made her stomach churn.

“If you can beat me,” he said, “are you going to enjoy it, Ruby? Watching me burn?”

She didn’t respond, her teeth grinding together as she moved deeper into the store, her footsteps crunching over shards of glass.

“I enjoyed watching your daughter burn,” Edward continued, his laugh like nails scraping against metal. “But not as much as I enjoyed watching Jonah burn.”

Her chest tightened like a vice. Jonah’s not dead , she told herself, repeating the mantra with every step. He’s fine. Edward’s lying. Jonah’s not dead.

But Edward’s words burrowed into her mind like worms.

“You wanna know what I think?” He crackled through the system, alive with sadistic glee. “You would’ve liked watching them burn too.”

Ruby shook her head violently. “I would never.”

“Oh, but you did,” Edward purred. “Bet you secretly loved being a TCA agent. A job well done. A villain put down. Innocent humans saved. Doesn’t that sound heroic?”

“Fuck you!” Her scream reverberated through the empty aisles, raw and feral.

Edward’s laugh spilled out of the speakers. “How eloquent.”

Her rage boiled over. She tore the management office’s door off its hinges and hurled it across the store. It collided with a shelf, sending cans clattering to the floor. Somewhere in the chaos, something spilled, the sound sticky and wet.

In the wreckage sat Edward, lounging behind a desk in the management office. His feet were propped up, a microphone in one hand, his other waving at her like a mischievous child caught in the act with a smug grin.

Ruby didn’t hesitate. She surged forward, her hand closing around his throat with crushing force.

“Why are you so weak?” she hissed, lifting him effortlessly before tossing him across the room. He crashed into a filing cabinet, the impact rattling the structure.

When she approached him again, he trembled. For one fleeting moment, she thought he might be scared. But as she drew closer, she realized his shoulders were convulsing with laughter. Tears streaked his face, but not from pain or terror.

He tilted his head back, still laughing, his eyes glinting with triumph.

Something inside Ruby snapped. Decades of therapy, of fighting to maintain her humanity, unraveled in an instant. Pure, unbridled rage coursed through her veins, hotter than any fire she’d ever conjured.

Ruby’s kick sent Edward flying backward, his laughter trailing off as he bounced off of a display rack. The sound of falling items and splintering wood filled the air, but he kept laughing, the grating sound cutting through her fury like a blade.

Without hesitation, she grabbed the nearest sharp object—an improvised weapon from the carnage she’d created—and lunged at him, pinning him to the ground. The blade pressed into his chest, drawing a thin line of blood.

“Where’s Jonah?” she demanded, squashing the desperation she felt with anger.

Edward’s head lolled to the side, his lips curling into a mocking grin. “Who?”

Her nostrils flared. Fury overtook her rationality, and she twisted the blade just enough to make him flinch. His body tensed, his lips twitching in what might have been pain—or amusement.

“Fight back!” she screamed, spittle spraying from her lips.

Edward tilted his head, his expression one of casual curiosity. “Should I?”

He made a half-hearted attempt to kick her, but she sidestepped it easily.

Her anger boiled over, and she slammed the weapon into him again. And again. The sound of his bones cracking beneath her strikes echoed through the empty store. “DO SOMETHING!”

Edward coughed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. Despite the damage, his voice remained steady, maddeningly calm. “What would you like me to do?” He gasped, his chest rattling, then added, “Should I tell you how I turn them? Let you in on the whole secret?”

“No!” she spat, her face inches from his. She hovered over him, her chest heaving with each labored breath. “I want this to end.”

Edward’s bloodied lips twisted into a grin. “Me too.”

Before she could react, he moved, swift and sharp, twisting out of her grasp just enough to knock her back a step.

"Unfortunately," he rasped, dripping with mockery, "that won’t happen."

Ruby snarled, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the nearest surface—a display rack for discounted swimwear. Metal hangers clattered to the floor, and a thong bikini bottom landed on Edward’s shoulder.

“Who else did you tell?” she growled, her fingers digging into his shirt as she shoved him harder against the rack.

Edward’s laugh broke into a wet cough as she grabbed a wire hanger and jammed it into his sternum, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain. “No one,” he wheezed. “My way should die with me. But thermophiles… they’ll keep popping up. That’s just nature.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Ruby snapped, yanking the hanger out and tossing it aside. “If you didn’t tell anyone, it ends with you. No more thermophiles!”

Her voice rose, trembling with barely restrained rage. “And where the fuck is Jonah?”

Edward’s silence hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, Ruby allowed herself to really look at him. This man—this monster—had haunted her every waking thought, murdered her daughter, and twisted her life into a nightmare.

But now, pinned beneath her, he didn’t look like the menacing figure she’d built up in her mind. His body was battered and bruised, his clothes torn and stained with blood and filth from the fight. His once-pristine appearance was gone, replaced by an image of vulnerability.

His hair, streaked with gray, clung damply to his forehead. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened as he grinned, but they weren’t lines of joy—they were the marks of a man who had lived far too long.

For the first time, Ruby saw what lay behind his madness. His grin faltered, revealing eyes filled with sorrow—eyes that carried decades of guilt, regret, and some twisted form of pride.

“Three bodies a day,” he simpered, “Maybe more. Almost every day. For decades.”

Tears glistened at the rims of his eyes as he looked up at her. “And look at you.” His expression softened and it made her stomach churn. “The strongest thermophile to ever exist. My perfect creation.”

His hand reached up slowly, trembling as he brushed a piece of her hair behind her ear. Ruby froze, her breath caught in her throat.

“You’ll finally put an end to all of this,” he whispered, expression tender in a way that made her skin crawl.

Before she could react, Edward pushed her back—not with strength, but with a resigned gentleness. “Your boyfriend is fine. You’ll need him in the future.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she declared.

“I would hope so.” He sat, plopping himself down on the laminated concrete. “I’ve been waiting decades.”

“I’m going to burn you.” she tried again.

He looked up at her, head cocked to the side. “Would you like some help?”

She blinked back at him. Everything she had fought for. All those who had been killed by this man. And he sat, a bikini top caught in his tie, sitting on his hands and waiting for his death.