“Tibby is that you?” Mom drooled on the couch, a still lit cig burning between her half-limp fingers.
“I had to pee, Mom, go back to sleep,” Wendy replied.
“Where… what time is it?”
“Midnight”
“Go back to bed” the old-bat ordered.
“Yes, mother,” Wendy’s lip parted in a mischievous smile.
She scrambled up the stair, ran into her bedroom, and with reckless abandon, dove on to her bed giddy as a baby.
Staring up at her ceiling, Wendy went back to the doghouse burning, picturing the long dancing flames, so graceful, so hot, so beautiful. Pure power at the flick of a lighter. A power that she could never have weaved without Charlie. Through him she felt the power that it gave her.
The power of creation. The power to destroy.
As she fell asleep, she imagined what could come next. There were so many possibilities; perhaps even her own house.
Mother drank so much, she would never see it coming. Besides that, Wendy would never miss her; not for one day.
Smiling, she resolved to tell Charlie about it in the morning.