Free Fury's Fire by Lisa Papademetriou

officer—Tejada, her name tag read—typed some numbers into the computer, then waited. She smiled at them apologetically. “Slow,” she explained.
    “Take your time,” Carl said, leaning against the reception desk.
    A soft insect-like sound hummed in Will’s ears. He didn’t pay much attention until he noticed his uncle’s head snap up.
    Will watched as Carl turned. There was a holding cell a few feet away, up the hall in the opposite direction from which Gretchen had gone. A figure sat, hunched in the corner, unmoving.
    Will heard the sound again. It was a long, singsong note.
    Horror flashed across Will’s uncle’s face as the figure slowly, slowly lifted his head. Will didn’t know the man, but the look in his eyes was terrifying as he sang on.
    “Hey, shut up,” Officer Tejada snapped.
    Will grabbed his uncle’s elbow. “Are you okay?”
    Carl’s eyes were wide, and for a moment he stared at Will as if he had no idea who he was. Then he blinked. “I think … can you handle this, Will?” Carl gestured to Officer Tejada. “I need some air.”
    “Do you know that guy?” Will asked. Will looked over at the man. Pockmarked face, flashing eyes—it wasn’t anyone he’d seen before.
    “No.” Carl’s voice was a whisper as he stepped past Will.
    Will stared, and the man stared back. A smile slithered across his face, twisting like the branch of a poison tree. His eyes gleamed golden and then, suddenly, the fire in them disappeared. It was as if he had been lit by a momentary spark that had flared and then died out.
    “Okay,” Officer Tejada said at last, frowning at the computer screen. “As long as this is paid off, there shouldn’t be a problem with your uncle’s record. Are you prepared to pay it now?” She looked up at Will with dark eyes.
    It took a long moment for her words to fall into place, and for Will to find the meaning in them. “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, I can pay it.” He cast a furtive glance at the man in the holding cell, but he had turned back to the wall.
    Will took care of the ticket, then waited for Gretchen in the hallway. When she came out of Barry’s office, Will hurried to her side.
    “Ugh. That was painful,” Gretchen said. “Everything taken care of at your end?”
    “Yeah.” Will held her arm gently, making sure to guide her as far away from the holding cell as possible. But there was no sound from the suspect. Will cast a glance over his shoulder as they walked toward the front door. The rain had picked up, and the fat drops hit them as they hurried to the truck.
    Carl was waiting for them, seated behind the wheel.
    “Thanks again, Carl,” Gretchen said as she climbed inside after Will. “That wasn’t fun; I’m glad I had some company.”
    Carl didn’t reply—he just nodded as he turned the key in the ignition and brought the truck to life. The blood seemed to have drained out of him.
    “Let’s get out of here,” Will said. They pulled away from the curb, and he watched the police station in the rearview mirror until it was out of sight.
    The scene at the station had disquieted him, and now—hours later—he replayed the scene with the dog in an endless loop in his mind. Over and over, he saw the flash of bared teeth, the tense muscles spring forward; he felt his heart drop as the Lab knocked Gretchen to the ground. He’d been consumed by fear, rage and fear, and in the fury that consumed him, he would have killed the animal.
    He had seen the dog, seen it attack, but it had reminded Will of a sailboat, invisible wind driving it forward. What had made it go momentarily mad? He looked out his window at the house across the creek. The sky was darkening into gray twilight and Gretchen’s room cast a yellow glow onto the almost-changing leaves of the maple tree that framed her window. She wasn’t in her room, but Will was comforted that he was able to watch her home from his perch on his bed. She was inside the old farmhouse, safe.
    He looked