Free Lady in Flames by Ian Lewis Page A

floor feels as cold as the snow.
    The layout’s just like I remember it. The paint spattered, analog radio, the lumpy brown couch, the wood-burning stove, the greasy refrigerator. So dead now.
    Doppler once told me there was always going to be outsiders. That’s just the way society is. People want a scapegoat or a reason to feel like they’re better than you. He’d always sit me down on that couch and tell me how it was.
    He might as well have been my dad. Hell, he was my dad for what it’s worth. Buck could never appreciate that. His dad’s still alive; the old crotchety bastard is holed up in the nursing home across town.
    Rumor is that he always gives Buck an earful when he goes to visit. He’s supposed to be as big a loudmouth as Buck ever was. Suppose Buck were to lose his father? What then? How would he feel? Alone? An outsider?
    I’ll bet Buck’s never suffered one bit. He’s a taker, always used to having his own way. Why should he get off the hook when everyone else has to own up? Why shouldn’t he have to pay for once? Why shouldn’t he be the one to feel like he’s got nothing else in the world?
    My shin still aches from those gas cans. Those gas cans…

The Driver Intervenes
    February 27 th , 2002 2:19 PM
    The Driver outside the Shoreline Motel
    Grimley looks up at me from his place in the dirt, eyes begging me to tell him the rest of the story. “What happened next?”
    The soul rests before him like a dim firefly in the glare of the daylight. I swear I can make out a shallow visage, mouth gaping in a silent scream.
    I keep my eye on it, half wanting to snatch it away. The lure of the physical world tugs at my will. I know I could be back in Halgraeve in a matter of minutes if I just grab the soul and run.
    Grimley’s innocent curiosity gets the better of me and his rapt attentiveness to whether the good guy wins earns my appreciation. I lean back from my crouch and find a seat on the ground before continuing.
    “Still on his knees, Mason pleaded with Sinclane to remain calm and to think things through. It didn’t have to go down like this. When Sinclane shoved the barrel deeper into the back of his neck, he tried to appeal to his humanity or any shred of decency he might have.
    “Having Mason on his knees fueled some kind of sick fascination in Sinclane. He gloried in being in control, the one calling the shots. Mason’s fate rested in his hands and he relished every second of it.
    “Mason groveled. He was never more scared in his life. The only thing he could focus on was what might happen to his family if he was gone.
    “Sinclane wouldn’t budge. He told himself he was unstoppable. No one else was around to see or hear it, and so he pulled the trigger as easy as if he was starting his car. No thought, no deliberation, just a casual flick of his finger.”
    Grimley’s mouth quivers and his eyes turn down as if he might cry. He chokes back a few tearless sobs. “Why? Why did he do it? Why did Mason have to die?”
    Not meaning to have upset him, I hesitate. I can’t conjure up a decent answer and so I shrug and tell him I don’t know. There’s no way to soften it up for him now, but I feel like I need to redeem myself for having laid it on him in such a blunt fashion.
    “The story doesn’t end there. Do you want me to keep going?”
    Grimley doesn’t answer at first. After a few seconds’ silence, he says, “Yeah, I guess.” His shoulders droop as if he’s giving in.
    “Alright. Well, Sinclane stood over Mason’s body for several seconds, letting the moment settle. He knew he crossed a line, but instead of being filled with remorse or panic, he felt consumed with a new-found power. He sped away from the scene without a care in the world.
    “It was a long time coming, but the tipping point that was necessary to push him into moral oblivion arrived. Sinclane breathed deep the path of destruction laid out before him. He looked forward to savoring the fruits of his wanton