Chapter One: The Fire

Death Valley, California, 1970

The soft, brown autumn leaves fell from their perches in the oak trees, wafting down to the ground as if they were puppets on invisible strings. An extra large, yellowish leaf landed on the slightly long, bronze hair of a ten year old boy as he sat on a tire swing in his back yard. Mark Calaway shook the brownish piece of flora from his head as he clung to the thick rope of the swing. Glenn, Mark's little brother, sat in the sandbox, completely content with playing in the sand, his floppy red hair billowing in the wind.

The back door to the funeral parlor opened and Mark and Glenn's mother came out, two large crates stacked in her arms, their contents jangling. Mark's eyebrow rose.

"Mark, sweetie, can you put these down the back with the rest of Daddy's things?" she asked, her red hair pinned back in a tight bun, loose curls flowing over her eyes.

Mark took a moment to study the cases before he jumped from the swing and walked over, grabbing the top case. In the little slots were empty and half-empty bottles of nitro glycerin and other chemicals used in preparing bodies for burial and cremation.

An idea struck Mark and a cruel smirk crossed his face just as Glenn came up beside him.

~X~

Sitting beside Glenn in the tree house, Mark stuffed a thin white strip of cotton into the top of the last jar of mixed chemicals. He and Glenn had spent the last few hours of the afternoon in the cramped confines making home-made Molotov cocktails.

Mark put the jar in a row beside the rest to admire his handiwork. Glenn's hands toyed with bit of cotton thread as he looked at his big brother.

"What do we do now, Marky?" asked the naïve eight year old. Mark looked at him, his mind going blank.

Even at ten years old, Mark was completely stupid. His idea of logic was pulling the wings off butterflies and watching them wiggle around, now flightless, insignificant insects. He had a sadistic tendency to him and it freaked his mother right the fuck out (his father didn't have time to deal with 'playful, stupid ten-year olds with the brains the size of a walnut'). Mark wasn't going to change for anyone, not yet at least; he was having way too much fun.

An idea struck him and he pulled a box of matches from his pocket. Glenn's blue eyes widened as Mark set one of the cotton strips in the jars alight. The fire burned down almost all the way down to the chemicals before Mark tossed it out the tree house window. The jar landed on the roof and shattered, spewing its burning contents over a small patch of dry leaves.

Glenn, being the goody-goody he was, ran back inside to warn his parents of his brother's psycho moment. As payback, Mark lit up another homemade grenade and flung it out the window and onto the roof. He continued to do this until the roof was consumed in flames.

Meanwhile, in the basement, a slither of flames from a jar that had landed through the cellar door (a misfire from Mark) ran across the ground on some oil and made its way to the leaky gas boiler. Once there, it caught the gas valve and exploded.

The explosion sent Mark flying as he stood watching the flames consume the life he loathed. He landed with a thud on the road, causing cars to screech to a halt. Mark rolled and the ground seemed to slip from beneath him and he fell down a dark hole…