Free Ashes by Estevan Vega Page B

possible?”
    â€œIt begins here, Stephen.” The doctor nudged his index finger up against his forehead. “Once you realize this, the rest is cake.”
    A short pause walked between them.
    â€œSpeaking of cake, why don’t we call it an afternoon? But I want those assignments, along with the reading, completed by the next time we meet. So keep busy.” The doctor signaled his guard to bring in a slice of cake. “I snuck one in for you. It was mine, but we’ll keep this our little secret.”
    Arson’s face changed slightly. He nodded, slicing the fork through the moist triangle. “Your grandmother used to make carrot cake, didn’t she?”
    Arson remembered the taste of something similar. His brain flashed pictures of one of his birthdays, when he was much younger. The bitter face Grandpa made when Grandma forced him to eat it, even though he didn’t want to. There weren’t kids around to celebrate, no party to speak of. He must’ve been four or something, but the image was so hazy, he couldn’t be sure. The taste of this cake helped recreate the static images briefly.
    â€œI think so,” Arson finally answered.
    â€œWell, I wouldn’t dare compare your grandmother’s baking to this.” A grin climbed up the side of Carraway’s mouth, as he stood up. “But try to enjoy it. I’m not much of a cake person.”
    Neither was Grandpa , Arson thought. He shoved another bite down his throat and took a sip of water. “Please tell me what happened to my grandmother, Dr. Carraway. I need to know,” he said sternly, eyes peeled and narrowed with anticipation. “How did she die?”
    â€œI don’t think that’s something you’re ready to hear yet.”
    â€œPlease! Tell me.”
    Dr. Carraway looked at the guard, an air of uncertainty mixed with deliberate pause. He placed his hands on his waist, locking eyes with Arson. “It was a fire. She was asleep, the police believe, when the house went up in smoke. I’ll spare you the details, but I’m afraid your grandmother didn’t make it out alive. In fact, there was nothing left of your home.”
    Arson put his fork down. He suddenly felt very sick. A thick cloud hovered over his mind. He stared at the guard then back at the doctor. None of this was right. What kind of man would lie like that? Make up some kind of twisted story? Was he toying with Arson’s emotions for the thrill of it? He couldn’t take this charade any longer. Enraged, Arson got up and grabbed Dr. Carraway by the throat. “Get me outta here!” he shouted. “I wanna see for myself.”
    â€œStephen, you’re choking me. I’m here to help you. Remember?” the doctor said calmly, face blistering red. “Let go of me!”
    â€œNo more lies! None of this makes any sense,” Arson said, his hands swelling hot around the doctor’s neck.
    â€œIt will,” the doctor struggled. “Your mind continues to remain unwilling…to accept…truth.”
    â€œLiar!” Arson screamed, before everything suddenly went black.
    Arson’s body thudded hard against the floor, unconscious.
    â€œThank you,” the doctor said, looking at the guard who had knocked his patient out. Gasping for air, he reached up to touch his throat. It stung. The skin was burned.     
    â€œNo way,” the guard pointed out with big eyes. “Look at your neck. That little runt burned you.”
    Carraway rubbed his throat one last time. It stung. “I think this afternoon’s session went slightly better than expected.” He grinned, torn between concern and unbelief. These sessions had no end in sight. He wondered how long the boy’s mind could take it all, if he could take it all.
    The doctor reached down on the floor to grab his pen and notepad, staring one last time at the boy on the floor. “It seems the arson is back