Kindling in the Fire

              Carl Townsend tossed the paper into the blackness of the unlit porch.  He heard the familiar plop, skhhh of the paper sliding on the cement, another successful pitch.  He turned and walked out the driveway between the Saturn and the Chevy Tahoe, careful not to touch either with his lean body, his jacket, or his delivery bag for fear of setting off an alarm.  He had been doing this route for the last six years of his adult life and no longer needed a map to inform him of who was next.  He liked it when he had multiple houses in a row, as he did now.  He could enjoy the silence and stillness of the pre-dawn darkness interrupted only by an occasional barking dog or the neighborhood morning jogger.  He glanced toward the sky.  A thin sliver of a moon was showing as he moved on to the next house.  He pulled a paper from his bag, slung his arm, plop, skhhh.  He moved on.
         Up ahead, near the end of the road, he saw a car parked along the curb with its inside light on.  Two young men sat in it.  They looked as though they were talking.  One smoked.  He didn’t recognize them, or the car.  “Could be visiting family members,” he thought to himself.  He continued up the street delivering his papers.  As he approached the car, a red Chevy Camaro, the two young men got out and leaned against the vehicle on the side near the sidewalk.  They both were of average height, like Carl, but about eighteen years younger than him.  One was Caucasian, the other, seemed to Carl, to be a blend of more than one race, “Probably African American and Caucasian,” he thought. 
              He said good morning as he passed them.  They simply stared at him.  In fact, they stared quite intensely, their faces flat and emotionless.  Carl delivered a paper at the house where they were parked.  Plop, skhhh.  He looked at them again as he returned down the driveway; they were still staring.  Carl ran his forefinger along his thick, slightly graying mustache nervously.  Then the one who appeared to be of mixed race smiled.  The hair on the nape of Carl’s neck stood up as the face became familiar.  Adrenalin flushed his body and the nerves in his hands began to tingle.  Carl felt an overwhelming sense of danger.
            He moved on to the next house.  The paper was thrown with no concern of where it landed.  The man wanted to run, but, somehow, he knew that would be the worst thing to do.  He could feel their eyes on him as he moved on along the sidewalk.  Skipping the next house, Carl entered the first apartment complex of which he delivered.  He walked straight through with no paper deliveries; he was concerned about his safety, not newspapers.  He dumped his bag of papers in a corner, then, running quietly, he cut through the next complex.  He jumped a fence and entered a backyard.  No dog, thank goodness!  Carl went through the gate and crossed the street.  He had to get to his car, but it was parked on the street where he had been delivering papers, the street that ran parallel to this one, the street where those young men were.
            Carl heard a car coming.  He hid in the dark porch of 1716 Pierce Street, one of his customers.  He got on his knees and tried to hide behind the small red brick wall that separated their yard and porch.  As the car neared, Carl put his head down to the cement and prayed.  “Oh, lord, haven’t I suffered enough for my improprieties?  How many years and how much loss must I endure?” He whispered.  The car drove by slowly; it seemed like an eternity.  Carl heard young men’s voices coming from the vehicle.  “They’re looking for me!” He thought.  The drone of the automobile’s engine faded.  Carl looked up; he saw nothing.  He moved out from the porch and sidled along the yards of people’s homes, trying to stay hidden as much as possible.  He made it to the corner of Pierce and Harper.  His car was one block over on the corner of Harper and McGraw, about a hundred yards from where he stood.  There was no protection on his side of Harper, though, only the straight, open sidewalk and fencing of people’s back yards.  Carl peered across the street.  There were houses on that side of Harper.  Carl looked around; he saw nothing, no car; no movement.  He made a mad dash across Harper and hid behind a Ford Bronco. He looked around for movement; there was none. 
          He began moving across the yards of the homes on Harper, darting from bushes to trees and staying in the darkness.  Now, only fifty yards from his car, he moved into a yard where a large dog behind the backyard fence began barking, alerting the neighborhood of his presence.  Carl burst from his cover and ran hard to his car, his keys already in his hands. 
          He unlocked the door and almost tore it off its hinges opening it.  He jumped in, shut the door, and slipped the keys into the ignition.  Then he heard the drone of the Camaro’s engine getting louder as it approached.  Carl ducked down.  The dog was still barking while the Camaro came closer.  Carl realized the light inside his car was on; it always stayed on for a moment to allow time for the driver to place the key in the ignition.  When Carl bought the car he thought it was wonderful to have this convenience.  Now, he thought it might get him killed.  The light went off.  The Camaro came up beside his car and stopped.  Carl slowly slunk down as far as possible, heart madly pounding, perspiration pouring down his face.  He prayed they wouldn’t get out to investigate closer.  The Camaro sat idling for a few moments, and then moved on. 
        Carl stayed slid down and under the steering wheel until he could no longer hear the Camaro, then he slowly rose up.  Suddenly, a shadow came between his car and a street lamp.  Carl looked up to see a bright flash and hear a loud cracking noise; the window on the driver’s side shattered into a thousand pieces.  Carl felt searing pain at the top of his inner right thigh as glass fragments from the blast tore at the skin of his face, neck, and ears.  He folded over and began to lose consciousness.
“I said I wanted to do that.  It’s taken some time, but now I did it.  How do you like that, Mr. Townsend?” a voice said.
        The sound of footsteps running away was the last thing Carl heard before everything went black.