It would be a lie saying that that night wasn't a turning point. For any outsider this was most likely just bad parenting, allowing a teenager pick up such a nasty, addicting habit while being fully aware of the consequences.

But, that was just it - an outsider will most likely not be aware of Thomas' arguably nastier habit of lighting things on fire, a habit that almost cost him the use of his hands, and would have probably gotten more serious over time if it wasn't for that talk.

It took me about another month to really notice the difference, slowly picking up on some changes. He stopped coming home late, or at least not as often, and his overall cold and distant demeanor seemed to have softened a little, though he was still not very talkative. Not to mention that even with my damaged sense of smell, I could tell that his dealing with flammable materials has dropped to a record low. Whether it could be attributed to the accident or him starting to smoke, there was no telling, really, but it was clearly a step in the right direction.

I could see that he was changing for the better, but I still couldn't completely shake off the uneasy feeling around him. As opposed to the ever present chill I felt around him before, it was now reduced to this feeling of something clutching at my chest, creeping up on me every now and then, but it could easily be smoked off these times.

As time went by - almost I year later, if memory serves - this arrangement proved to make a responsible kid out of him. Once I realized the amount of cigarettes he was smoking was steadily increasing, I brought it up to him, saying that I still don't mind him smoking, but if this keeps up he'll have to get money to buy his own stock. Preferably by means of getting a paying job.

He made no issue about it, agreeing so fast that I was willing to help him find some part-time thing that will allow him to combine school and work while maintaining a decent-and-above performance at both.

Took some looking around until we found something fitting. Thomas wasn't too keen on taking jobs with constant human interaction - a choice I could deeply respect - while I was crossing off anything that had to do with flammable substances.

After a few days of looking up various openings, Thomas eventually settled on helping out at a local pet store. A questionable decision, mostly since I've never seen him interacting with animals of any kind, but the fact that there were likely to be more animals than people there in any given time had more than likely contributed to this decision.

He landed a job interview the next day, and within a week he already had his first shifts scheduled. Just like with his grief counseling, that was long over, he didn't talk about it even when I tried asking, but he seemed pretty content with the part. Considering he hasn't come back with any bites and scratch marks, I think he's doing well for now.

A month later when his first paycheck arrived, just as we agreed on, he started buying his own packs of cigarettes, several different kinds. Hate to admit it, but he reminded me of myself when I started smoking. Wasn't much older than he was, and trying to find my own taste. Or maybe it's something every smoker goes through?

That thought bothered me more than I'd like to admit. That the one member of the family that I wanted the least to do with and got pretty much stuck with, is the one that's the most like myself.

Sure explains why no one else offered to take responsibility for him.

The kid's job has been going well and steady for another couple of months, and the fact that no calls were made from the place about spontaneous fires or lizards being turned into dragons spoke volumes in his favor.

But good things tend to come to an end. Especially when you start letting your guard down.

"Is that kerosene?" the flammable scent felt so pungent when Thomas came back from work one evening, either because I was so used to it being present only in gas-stations, or the kid was drenched in it. "What did you burn?"

"Nothing." he answered without missing a bit. No twitch in his eyes, no shaking to his voice.

There was an equal chance he was lying to me to that he was telling the truth.

"You don't drive, why do you smell like a gas-stop?" I questioned, stopping him as he was about to go to his room. "The hell, kid? I thought letting you smoke was supposed to stop you from doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Setting things on fire!"

"What makes you think I did that?"

"I...-" honestly had nothing more than a gut feeling. "Alright then. So why do you smell like that?"

"This lady's car got stuck close to the store and she came in to ask for help." he explained, raising his gloved hands, as if to show me there are no ash marks on them. "I finished my tasks, so I volunteered to go out and help. There was some issue with the engine, maybe the oils and the fumes and smoke soaked into my clothes."

Ooh, good one. "Since when do you know how to work with cars?"

He shrugged. "I picked up some bits and pieces." his voice sounded as if this should be obvious. "Thought it's something that will be beneficial to know in the future."

Something was off. "Regardless, it's impossible that you walk around like a gas-tank got emptied on you."

"It's not that bad." he seemed indifferent, taking a quick sniff at his own jacket to confirm. "It won't even transfer to the rest of the clothes in the laundry."

"But-"

"It's just in your head, Kevin."

Cementing the last words in this conversation, he turned again and walked to his room, taking off the dirtied clothes.

Feeling my chest tighten, I stormed out to the porch, shutting the door behind me. Frustrated, I struggled with picking a single cigarette out of the box, barely starting a flame with the lighter. Once it started burning, I took a breath so deep that it felt like I might finish the entire smoke with just one breath.

I gritted my teeth around the butt of the cigarette, almost biting it clean off. I knew he was lying to my face. I don't know how or why, but there was nothing in his reasons that I could grasp to justify my suspicions.

It couldn't have been just me feeling a little paranoid.

It couldn't have been that he just suddenly knows how to work with cars and willingly helping people.

It couldn't have all just been in my head.

Could it?

I pressed my fingers against my shut eyelids, rubbing them in vague hope that it'll help to clear my mind faster, since a single smoke wasn't doing a very good job at that moment.

Just when I thought things are turning up for the better. Everything I've ever felt about this kid, even since before the fire, came back like a bad heartburn. That smell brought back every image and video I've seen of that fire, flashing behind my eyes like the most morbid slide-show that's been constantly playing in a dark room at the back of my mind.

My head felt like it was burning all of a sudden, and I realized that I still held my breath. I let the smoke out with a choked cough, wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes before running my hands through my hair.

It felt like a bad dream, all over again.

Feeling weak in the knees, I stepped away from the railing and sat down in the rickety chair next to the table, grateful for it not collapsing along with me. Taking another couple of slow drags, I closed my eyes and tried to let things fall into place.

I really wanted to believe he didn't cause that fire.

I really did.

But it made so much sense that he caused it.

It couldn't have just been an accident.

There had to be something beyond that. Or behind it.

I couldn't believe I had lost the only family I cared about for random chance.

I refused to believe that.

The next thing I knew, a cold shiver ran down my spine, almost having me jumping out of my chair with the feeling of someone staring at my back. I made a sharp turn to the door inside, expecting to see Thomas there, but he wasn't.

Only then I realized that it got dark outside.

Did I fall asleep?

I rubbed my eyes and turned back to the chair, seeing what's left of my smoke next to it, with a hint of charred marks around it, decorating the ceramic tile. Looks like it slipped out of my hand when I was out cold.

Just an accident, huh?

That conversation was never brought up again by either of us, and we kept with our daily routines, effectively starting to avoid any sort of interaction unless absolutely necessary.

Another year or so went just about the same, until Thomas decided to leave his job at the pet shop. As always, he never gave me a reason, but already had another job interview, this time at a local auto-shop, taking what he had learned in his pastime as a starting point.

His job interview went flawlessly and he soon got a job at helping around the shop, until he'll have some professional training.

Once he started working there, the smell of motor oil and gasoline became a presence I had to get used to, although Thomas constantly washed his uniform to not let the smell linger around the house.

Knowing nothing will come out of asking this time around, I simply kept quiet. He appeared satisfied with the new job, kept doing well at school, so I had no legit reason to meddle in his affairs.

There was nothing much that was worth mentioning since he got that new job, as he was busy as any other student around the time of his finals. I only mentioned to him that I'm willing to assist if he needs any help studying, but he never addressed my offer.

Thomas kept working and studying throughout the year, finishing high-school as a top student, and even getting a congratulatory bonus on that month for being a dedicated, hard worker.

I wasn't surprised seeing that none of that seemed to matter to him, and as soon as the school year was officially over he started packing. For once he accepted my help when I helped him pack, and even then we hardly talked other than making sure which box some things go into.

He wouldn't tell me where he was moving, how's the rent or if he's moving with partners. Being of legal age now, he had no obligation to tell me either, and I really didn't want to know. Doubt there will be any cause for a visit any time in the future.

A week later the movers arrived in the morning, taking whatever boxes we packed down to the moving van, leaving Thomas with his own bags.

"See ya, Thomas." I called when he was at the door and he turned around to look at me.

Everything looked so familiar. It was even the same bag that was hanging off his shoulder several years ago when he first got here, only now he gained some height and body mass, especially after working at the shop. But that cold, ember glare never changed.

"What, no 'kid'?" he wondered, resting his bag to his side.

I ran my hand over the back of my neck, shrugging. "Can't stay a kid forever."

He cracked a smile, looking ever so slightly impressed. "Guess not." he agreed and turned to the door again. "Been a nice time."

"Wait."

Thomas stopped and turned towards me again, waiting.

"There's something I have to ask." I stopped, taking a deep breath, staring straight back into his eyes. "That fire at your parents' home...Did you have anything to do with it?"

He remained quiet for one eternal moment, his hint of a smile gone. "Been on your mind for a while now, wasn't it? A long while."

I just kept staring back at him. This was one question I had no intention of letting him walk around, and he got the hint fast.

"Of course I had nothing to do with the fire, it was as much of a surprise to you as it was for me." he simply answered, giving the direct response I was hoping for, but perhaps not the answer I was hoping for. He picked up his bag again and added, "What kind of heartless monster could just kill their parents for no reason?"

I couldn't tell what it was, whether it was what he said or the way he said it, but it struck me with a spine-rocking chill.

He grabbed the rest of his bags and walked out the door.

"See ya, Kev."

Years have passed, and I haven't heard a word from Thomas, or about him.

It sometimes felt as if these past years he was around never happened. Maybe they didn't, who knows? Maybe it was all just some trauma and stress induced hallucination, or some really bad smokes.

But just a glance at the spare bedroom he inhabited kept reminding me that this was all real. I never re-purposed that room nor have I stayed there myself. Never even set a foot in there since he left. Hopefully there will be a day when I'll forget why I have neglected this room.

One morning I was sitting on my porch, having a cup of coffee and a quick smoke before work starts and briefing over the newspaper to check the news.

Skimming through the titles, as usual, something caught my eyes, almost forcefully drawing me to it.

"Arson Cases Suspected To Be the Work of a Serial Murderer"

"A second case of arson where a charred body was found within the debris, similar to another cases that occurred just a month ago, had the police department suspecting this is the methodical work of a new serial killer in the area. Citizens are advised to take caution."

I rubbed my temple, letting out a cloud of smoke with a sigh.

"...Nah. He wouldn't."

Right?