Before the Silent Scream.

  “A cigar?” the policeman asked Rockwell, tipping his blue hat upward with a suspicious gaze. His badge read McNaulty.

  Rockwell said nothing. It was a leading question, even if it was just clarification. The officer wanted further explanation. He would receive none.

  “I’m just a little confused as to how a cigar gets tossed at the front door,” Officer McNaulty said, looking at the scorched marks surrounding and above Rockwell’s home. The morning sunlight filtered through the smoldered ends of the door. “Not flicked out the window? And even in the case that a lit cigar touched the door, I would have a hard time thinking it would spread into a flame big enough for your neighbors to give us a call. You didn’t have a chance to stop it from spreading so far?”

  Rockwell said nothing, staring into the cop’s eyes without a hint of reserve. McNaulty broke eye contact, moving to inspect the frame.

  “You want me to check around on the inside to make sure it wasn’t something else?”

  “No.”

  “What’s the harm of just a little check?” The officer looked up at Rockwell with a small smile, trying to look approachable.

  Rockwell again said nothing, staring the cop down. Scoffing, Officer McNaulty pulled his hat back down over his head. He held up a small plastic baggie with a cigar within.

  “All right, sir, I’ll just take this into the lab and see if we can find anything interesting,” McNaulty promised him.

  “I want it recorded on the police report that I did not consent to the seizure of my property,” Rockwell said firmly, his arms crossed.

  “Seizure of property? A little burnt piece of garbage?” the officer asked, waving it like it was pathetic.

  “As far as I’m concerned, I have a right to everything on my property, even if little pieces of scum end up on my front porch,” Rockwell said firmly.

  Officer McNaulty’s mouth turned into a thin line.

  “I’ll be back to let you know what I find,” he said, sounding more like a threat than a promise.

  Rockwell said nothing, watching him leave with folded arms. McNaulty walked to his cruiser slowly, scanning Rockwell’s driveway. He leaned over and picked up a stray stone, looking at Rockwell as he did so. Rockwell said nothing; as much as he wanted to object to more of his property being seized, he knew what the response would be. With a final smirk and wave to Rockwell, the officer entered his vehicle and drove off.

  Rockwell continued to watch until he turned down the street, away from the neighborhood. With a light grunt, he turned and entered his home, closing the door gently. A slam could leave lasting marks on the fragile, scorched frame. Even his faintest shift to the door caused a scattering of black flakes; they drifted to the floor like dark snow.

  Poor Pinn tried to contain his last explosion of flame the night before, but nothing short of dumping his head in the bathtub would help. He started a small fire that Rockwell worked quickly to put out. He even burned a cigar and threw it at the foot of his door to make for an explanation. But Rockwell wasn’t much of a smoker and he didn’t even cut the cap before setting it aflame. As the officer made clear, it wasn’t a very convincing story.

  Striding to the back of his home, he slid the backdoor open to where Pinn and Serena sat, nervously waiting. They watched Rockwell for any sign that something had gone wrong. Instead, Rockwell nodded to the pool. Relief spilling over his face, Pinn nodded and dove into the water.

  “What happened?” Serena grilled him, walking right up to him.

  “An officer stayed behind. McNaulty. Suspicious type.”

  “Oh, no! He knew Pinny caused the fire? What did he say about his head? Did he mention anything about the color of the fire?” her eyes went wide and she lowered her voice. “Are we under surveillance?”

  Rockwell gave her a look.

  “Oh, what? You give no answers and I’m the problem for asking questions?” Serena asked, slightly offended.

  “He’s doing it.” Rockwell’s eyes lay on the pool.

  Fanning his arms up to remain underwater, Pinn’s head was in a small circle of white flame. Steam wafted over the pool in light tendrils. The fire sputtered out, and he pushed up to the surface, heaving for air.

  “Did it come out of the water this time?” Pinn asked.

  “No, you did great, Pinny!” Serena said, beaming at him. “Are you getting a hang of it?”

  “I think so. It’s a…” Pinn thought about it for a second, looking up as he treaded water. “Like a third arm. But in my head.” Pinn looked to his father, embarrassed at his explanation.

  Rockwell nodded sharply, accepting the description without derision.

  “Again. Turn it on and off twice in one try,” Rockwell said.

  “Let me just catch my breath,” Pinn said. “Takes a lot to both swim and use this thing. The fire drains me.”

  “Does it get easier when you do it more?” Rockwell asked, wondering if it was something that could be trained like a muscle.

  “Think so.”

  “Then get back at it and you’ll get better.”

  “All right, Pa,” Pinn said reluctantly, dipping below the water again.

  Serena turned to Rockwell with a frown. Rockwell said nothing, but closed his eyes to brace for the impact of the admonishment coming his way.

  “At least give him some support, Rocky,” Serena said sharply.

  “I am.”

  “That was not support! That was a teacher telling his failing student that he should pay more attention in class!”

  “That sounds like good advice for a failing kid.”

  “Unless the teacher is bad at teaching,” Serena said pointedly.

  Rockwell opened his eyes to see her smiling at him warmly. Despite himself, he smiled back, only a crack at one end of his mouth. The most anyone could get out of him. Serena knew how to talk circles around him, and she was right more often than he liked to admit. Looking together, they watched as Pinn put on a flame around his head. Spinning in place, he was quick to turn off the flame, but was flailing his arms around to turn it back on.

  “Am I pushing him too hard?” Rockwell asked quietly.

  “I want him to get in control of this as much as you do. But we can be gentle about it.”

  Rockwell grunted lightly as Pinn sprang out of the water, gasping for air. He looked disheartened.

  “I don’t know where to begin. Starting and stopping, sure. But doing it twice?” Pinn heaved, looking to his father.

  Rockwell watched him with a stern, fixed gaze. He hesitated, trying to choose the best words.

  “Again. Better.”

  Pinn lowered his head, seeming slightly confused.

  “Did you mean I did better or you want me to try again and do better?”

  Rockwell didn’t answer. He meant the latter, but his silence might mean Pinn would take it as the former. With another few seconds to catch his breath, Pinn dove back underwater to try again.

  “Rocky!” Serena said as soon as Pinn was out of earshot.

  “What? I’m trying!”

  “I know! I’m just dealing with the fact I got two boys in this house that got screwy things going on in their heads,” Serena said, patting her husband’s chest lightly.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Grunting, Rockwell returned his gaze on Pinn, watching him closely. Desperately, he wished for his son to be able to control this power. He felt out of sorts, watching his own flesh and blood burst into spontaneous flame. Control. Pinn needed control. And so did Rockwell.

  The air split with a thundering screech, like a giant chalkboard scratched against the sky. Eyes wide, Rockwell threw his head in the direction he believed the sound to be coming from, a few blocks south of their neighborhood. His eyes met a cloud of dry dust billowing into the sky, where something scraped and fell in a neighboring construction yard.

  “It’s falling,” Rockwell said to Serena, turning his way back into the home.

  “What?” she screamed, uncovering her ears from the agonizing screeching metal sound that had passed.

  “I’m going to help,” Rockwell said, sliding the door open.

  “What was that?” Pinn asked, popping out of the water. “Where’s Pa going?”

  Rockwell was already at the front door, pulling on his work boots. Standing quickly, he pulled open a closet and rummaged inside to pull out a gas mask before heading out.

  “Get back here. You can’t go out like that!” Serena screeched.

  Rockwell strode outside. As soon as he was on the sidewalk, he was moving briskly. Rockwell hadn’t so much as jogged in ages, but he knew that sound too well to move slow. He’d worked on construction yards for years. A botched job meant hurt. And sometimes the only thing between someone living and dying in an accident was seconds of difference. Fortunately, he knew where he was going. Jackhammers and chop saws woke him up early in the morning for months. Not that he minded. Waking up to hard work was a good way to live.

  Dust filled the air like a layer of fog ahead of him, and onlookers stood at the edge, trying to peer within. Without missing a beat, Rockwell strapped the gas mask to his face and continued his way into the opaque fray, squinting to keep his eyes open between the spinning particles. His heart thudded quietly as he heard the faint cry of men screaming from ahead of him. Injuries. Bad ones.

  Moving faster, Rockwell got a view of the scene and slowed to a stop in shock. An entire section of scaffolding had folded and crumbled atop several men in construction caps. The sight was out of another world to Rockwell. He couldn’t imagine what kind of flagrant disregard for safety would cause multiple floors of steel plating to fall so far. It was so baffling that Rockwell didn’t let it sit that it was a simple mistake. It was either deliberately designed to fall apart over time, which would be absurd, or someone tampered with the site.

  Moving quickly, Rockwell rushed to the nearest point of the massive metal beam holding men down. Feet squared, he heaved, unable to move it even an inch. Maybe the massive piece on its own he could budge, but there were hundreds of pounds of material holding it down.

  “Help! Get help!” one of the pinned men coughed. One of the few that remained conscious.

  “Forklift? Leverage? What do you have?” Rockwell demanded, pulling harder on the steel beam.

  “Help!” he screamed again, his face caked in dirt. Blood spilled down one side of his face, and his eyes looked out of sorts. A concussion? Talking to him would be difficult.

  A white light shined around them, and Rockwell was surprised how fast helicopter spotlights were deployed for this rescue. Maybe McNaulty was quick to turn around.

  Light filled the space, cutting through the tiny errant particles of dust and giving Rockwell a better view of the collapse. The injured man’s eyes went wide with fear.

  “What is that?”

  “Help’s on the way,” Rockwell assured him.

  He turned to find something to leverage the steel up, then froze when he saw the source of light.

  Pinn stood in front of him, his head engulfed in hot flames. He was wearing Rockwell’s bathrobe, likely thrown on by Serena seconds before he ran after his father. Staring, Rockwell didn’t know what to say.

  “Sir,” Pinn said formally, his voice sounding odd. Was he disguising his voice or just nervous? “I am here to help. Please direct me to where I can be… of help.”

  “Can you burn through that?” Rockwell pointed to the metal beam immediately. If they could cut off the part with the most weight on it, they might be able to shift it free.

  Rockwell couldn’t see Pinn’s expression and almost told him to go home before someone recognized him. But before he could, Pinn replied, sounding tense.

  “I can try!”

  Rockwell held a hand ahead of him before he ran toward them.

  “Are you sure? Won’t you hurt them?”

  Pinn hesitated. His flame danced between looking at his father and the injured men. Rockwell heard the agony of pained men behind him and winced.

  “Help me find something to cover them, then you try your best,” Rockwell said.

  Pinn’s flame nodded in response, and Rockwell spun back to the crew.

  “Fire blankets! Where?” Rockwell asked loudly.

  One held up a limp hand, and Pinn bolted to find them.

  “Hey!” The bleeding man coughed at Rockwell. “That other guy. Who is he? In the dust, it looks like his head’s a spiky floodlight!”

  Rockwell said nothing, looking over his shoulder and wondering what was taking so long.

  “You hear me?”

  “You’re gonna be okay,” Rockwell assured him.

  “That’s not what I was asking!”

  Pinn stumbled back into view, coughing and holding out the fire blankets to Rockwell. Taking the covers, it occurred to Rockwell that his son might be breathing in all the dust under the flame on his head. If that was possible. He padded the closest men tight with the fire blankets and stepped back to let Pinn work.

  Running, Pinn leaned his head forward to aim his flame. Clanging loudly, Pinn’s head hit the metal and he let out an audible groan, steadying himself with his free arm. His head hung backward and he massaged it with the other hand. The flames licked at his son’s hand, and Rockwell was still astonished to see no sign of pain or injury, only a strange, almost unnatural casualness to the movement.

  “What are you?” one of the construction workers asked Pinn, fearful.

  “Get on with it!” Rockwell said.

  Pinn nodded and leaned forward slowly, placing both of his hands on the metal to steady himself. The steel began burning a searing, furious red. With a yelp, Pinn let go of the steel and waved his hands. Rockwell found it interesting that Pinn could still feel the heat. Maybe because it traveled through the metal instead of having come directly from his head. In only a few moments, Pinn cut clean through the beam and leaned back, heaving from the effort. Doubled over, the fire above his head was flickering.

  “Help me get it off of them. Careful that the hot side doesn’t get near them,” Rockwell ordered, immediately rushing forward and pulling up on the beam.

  Pinn’s tall pointed flame bobbed in acknowledgement. Still panting from the effort, Pinn placed his arms on the beam. Rockwell grimaced as he braced himself against it. He would need at least ten men to get it up. Or an immense flood of adrenaline. But if they could just shift it enough for the men below to scramble out…

  “On three,” Rockwell said. “One… Two…”

  At the silent count of three, Pinn let out a stressed cry of effort and Rockwell pulled with all his might. To his surprise, the entire beam began to rise. Further to his shock, it continued to go up, leaving Rockwell’s grip entirely. Pinn held it up in both hands, his fiery head staring at the colossal weight in his hands.

  “You could do that this entire time?” Rockwell asked, irritated.

  “I didn’t know!”

  Suddenly, like a switch turned off, Pinn lost all his strength at once. Crying out in surprise, he collapsed backward as the steel fell to the side. When he crashed to the floor, the flames on his head extinguished in a billowing cloud of dust. Rockwell moved to check on him, but stopped when one of the injured men grabbed his leg desperately. What remained of the building’s structure groaned above them and Rockwell grit his teeth.

  “Whoever can stand, get up! Now!” Rockwell gathered arms of unconscious men with closed eyes and began dragging bodies out from the site as fast as he could muster, stomping his way free of the dust. Looking behind him, he confirmed everyone was either on their feet or being pulled away. Except for Pinn. No one even went to check on him. Rockwell kept moving, increasing his pace further.

  The scaffolding behind him groaned another deep warning that more would collapse. Straining with effort, Rockwell pulled four unconscious men to a sidewalk, safe from the area. He turned back to the site just in time to see a white light shine in the dust. Metal screamed against metal as more of the unfinished building slouched down, falling apart. Piece after piece of the top levels of the building skeleton fell apart, crashing down below. The white light blinked out.

  “Pinn?” Rockwell whispered. “Pinn!” he exploded.

  Eyes wide, he marched forward once more to save one last person from the disaster. Metal crashing in echoing blows didn’t so much as make him flinch. The dust curled around him like a never ending fog, taunting his efforts. He would lose yet another to an industrial accident. His own beloved son. Just as he was on the brink of the broken fence around the construction zone, he felt a hard tug on the back of his overalls. Without looking, he swatted it away.

  “Pa!”

  Rockwell stopped and wheeled around to look down at his son. To his immense relief, Pinn was uninjured, looking shaken and smelling of burned mud. His dirt-stained skin was bare from the chest up, scorch marks all over what used to be his robe. Beneath were his swimming trunks, having survived with no burns.

  “That was my favorite robe,” Rockwell said.

  “It got stuck under the thing I dropped. I had to burn it off,” Pinn explained apologetically.

  Rockwell carefully examined Pinn, searching for any new cuts or scrapes. Pinn’s injuries from the previous night’s mugging made the examination difficult, though they appeared to be healing much faster than he would have assumed. The perks of youth, Rockwell supposed. As Rockwell considered the events of the previous day, he frowned deeply in thought. Pinn’s eyes went to the floor, as though he was going to be ridiculed for the robe. Rockwell grunted, trying to be the man Serena wanted him to become.

  “Good. Get rid of the rest of it. Before people see you and ask questions,” Rockwell said.

  Pinn nodded with relief and coughed as he tore off the robe. Setting it aflame with a quick burst of his fire, he tossed it into the dust.

  Rockwell pulled off his mask and handed it to his son. “Put this on. It’ll block your face while I guide you home.”

  “Won’t it look weird that I’m wearing swim shorts when I get out of the dust?”

  “You’ll have to burn them when we get home. Can’t be seen wearing them anymore.”

  “They’re my favorite ones,” Pinn answered, trying to keep the emotion from his voice.

  “Then we’ve lost something in common,” Rockwell said firmly.

  To his surprise, that brought a smile to Pinn’s face before he put on the mask. Rockwell hoisted him onto his back, hoping to make him look like another dirty casualty being pulled from the wreckage. He moved quickly, but went the long way home, exiting the construction yard in a different direction than they went in. It took a few extra minutes, and Rockwell listened intently to the sounds of more metal falling as Pinn breathed heavily on his back.

  When he reached home, Rockwell had several questions for Pinn, but realized he had fallen asleep, utterly exhausted. He took him straight to his room and tucked him into bed.

  Staring at him, Rockwell watched his son’s chest move up and down steadily under the covers. Safe. No serious injuries. Pinn had saved lives. And lived through it, himself.

  One side of Rockwell’s lips shifted up.

  “Good job,” he whispered. Eyes lingering on his son as he moved to the door, he left the room to tell Serena what happened.

  The next morning, Rockwell skimmed the news and found reports of a savior at the disastrous wreckage. One with a crown made of pure light.

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