Chapter 21: FIRST FIRE
The phone call came at 11:23 PM.
I was almost asleep—finally, after a long day of client work and Lily's interrogation—when my phone lit up with Mike's name. I answered with the groggy irritation of someone who had been three minutes away from unconsciousness.
"Mike?"
"She threw my PlayStation out the window."
I sat up. "What?"
"My PlayStation. The one I've had for two years. The one with all my saved games. She threw it out the window because it was 'blocking our chi.'" His voice cracked somewhere between fury and despair. "It's November, Ethan. That's a four-story drop. Into an alley."
In the background, I heard a smoke alarm. And what sounded like chanting.
"What is that noise?"
"Sage. She's burning sage. To 'cleanse the apartment of negative energy.'" Mike's whisper dropped even lower. "I think I made a mistake."
I was already putting on shoes. "I'm coming over."
"You don't have to—"
"Mike, your apartment is on fire with sage and your girlfriend threw a gaming console out a window. I'm coming over."
The subway at midnight was its own special kind of adventure, but I made it to Mike's building in under thirty minutes. The lobby smelled faintly of incense even from ground level, which was concerning.
Mike buzzed me up. His apartment door was open, smoke drifting into the hallway like a spiritual fog machine.
I stepped inside and immediately understood why the smoke alarm was screaming.
Brittany stood in the center of the living room, waving a bundle of burning sage at the television with the focused intensity of an exorcist. She wore what appeared to be a ceremonial robe—silk, purple, definitely not purchased at a normal clothing store. Her hair was loose and wild, and her eyes had the gleam of someone who believed absolutely in what she was doing.
Mike sat on the couch, head in his hands, surrounded by crystals that had been arranged in what I assumed was supposed to be a protective pattern.
"The sage is HEALING, Michael!" Brittany announced, apparently continuing an argument that had been going on for some time. "Your attachment to material possessions was creating a blockage in our love flow!"
"It wasn't a material possession—it was my PlayStation!"
"Same thing! The energy signature was toxic!"
"It was a GAMING CONSOLE!"
I stepped between them.
"Everyone sit down."
Brittany turned to me, recognition dawning. "You're the matchmaker! Finally, someone who understands energy dynamics. Tell him the PlayStation was absorbing our love!"
"The PlayStation was a gaming console," I said evenly.
"You don't understand energy either?" She sounded genuinely betrayed.
"I understand you're upset. I understand Mike is upset. And I understand that this conversation isn't going to resolve anything while there's sage smoke filling the apartment and a smoke alarm screaming." I located the alarm—standard ceiling mount, battery-operated—and used Mike's desk chair to reach it and remove the battery. Blessed silence descended.
"Thank you," Mike said quietly. "I've been listening to that for twenty minutes."
"You said you wanted to heal!" Brittany protested.
"I said I wanted to watch the game. You said you wanted to heal. Those are different sentences."
I held up both hands before the argument could escalate.
"Okay. Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to talk to each of you separately. Brittany, you wait in the bedroom. Mike, you stay here. No one throws anything out any windows. No one burns anything. Clear?"
They both looked at me like children being separated after a playground fight. But they nodded.
I started with Mike.
He slumped further into the couch once Brittany was out of earshot, the fight draining out of him and leaving behind something that looked a lot like exhaustion.
"I think I made a mistake," he said again.
"Tell me what happened. From the beginning."
"We were having a nice night. Really nice. She made dinner—some kind of quinoa thing, actually pretty good—and we talked about the future. Where we might travel, what we might do together. It was romantic." He paused. "And then she noticed my PlayStation."
"Had she not noticed it before?"
"I guess not? Or maybe she had but was waiting for the right time to address it? I don't know. She started talking about how the energy was stagnant in that corner of the room, and how electronic devices create blockages in the chi flow, and before I knew it she'd unplugged it and—" He made a throwing motion. "Out the window."
"Without asking."
"Without asking. Without warning. Just... whoosh."
I sat back, processing. This was exactly what I'd warned him about. Chronic lateness, financial instability, astrology-based decision making. The dealbreakers I'd documented. The waiver he'd signed with a heart over the 'i.'
But warning someone wasn't the same as helping them.
"Mike, do you still want to be with her?"
He looked up, surprised by the question. "What?"
"This is your call. Not mine. If you want to end this, I'll support that. If you want to try to make it work, I'll support that too. But you need to decide."
"I..." He trailed off, staring at the crystal arrangement on his coffee table. "The thing is, when it's good, it's incredible. She makes me see things differently. She challenges my assumptions. She drags me to weird restaurants and sunrise meditations and I actually enjoy it." A pause. "But this... I can't live like this. I can't come home wondering what she's thrown out the window today."
"Then tell her that."
"What if she leaves?"
"Then she leaves. And you'll find someone else. Someone whose chaos matches your tolerance." I leaned forward. "But what if she stays? What if she hears you, respects you, and adjusts? Isn't that worth finding out?"
Mike was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Okay. Send her in."
Brittany came out of the bedroom looking defensive, her arms crossed, her ceremonial robe somehow more imposing than it had been before.
"He doesn't understand energy," she said immediately. "His chakras are completely blocked."
"Sit down, Brittany."
She sat, but the defensiveness remained.
"Tell me why you threw the PlayStation out the window."
"I already told him. It was blocking our—"
"No, I mean really. Not the energy explanation. The actual reason."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Something shifted in her expression—the defensive wall cracking just slightly.
"It's always on," she said finally. "Every night. He comes home, says hello, and then it's hours of shooting aliens or driving cars or whatever. I moved in because I wanted to be with him, not watch him play video games."
"Did you tell him that?"
"I told him the energy was wrong."
"That's not the same thing."
Brittany looked at her hands. "I know."
"Why didn't you just say you wanted more quality time?"
"Because..." She trailed off. "Because saying it directly is scary. If I say 'I need more attention' and he doesn't give it, then what? But if I say 'the energy is wrong,' then it's not about me. It's about the universe."
I sat with that for a moment. It was surprisingly insightful for someone who made decisions based on planetary alignment.
"Brittany, your beliefs are your own. I'm not going to tell you astrology is wrong or that energy doesn't exist. But I am going to tell you that Mike isn't a mind reader. When you say 'chi flow' and 'energy blockage,' he hears criticism without solution. He doesn't know what you actually need."
"So what am I supposed to do?"
"Ask. Directly. Use words that don't require a spiritual translator." I paused. "And maybe, instead of throwing things out windows, consider having a conversation first."
"But the energy—"
"Was the energy really that urgent? Or were you frustrated and looking for a reason to act on it?"
She didn't answer. Which was answer enough.
I brought them back together. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, not touching, not talking. The crystals between them felt like a barrier.
"Here's what I know," I said. "You both care about each other. You both want this to work. But you're speaking different languages. Brittany, you communicate through metaphor and energy. Mike, you communicate through logic and directness. Neither of you is wrong—you're just different."
"So what do we do?" Mike asked.
"You meet in the middle. Brittany, when you're upset about something, try saying it plainly before reaching for the sage. Mike, when Brittany talks about energy, try hearing the emotion underneath the words instead of dismissing the framework."
They looked at each other. Something passed between them—not forgiveness, exactly, but the willingness to try.
"I'm sorry I threw your PlayStation," Brittany said quietly. "I should have talked to you first."
"I'm sorry I've been playing too much," Mike replied. "I didn't realize you felt ignored."
"I don't need you to stop entirely. I just... want to matter more than the aliens."
"You do. You matter more than all the aliens."
They were holding hands now. The crystals between them suddenly looked less like a barrier and more like a decoration.
I excused myself while they continued talking, making my way to the door. The apartment still smelled like sage, but the tension had lifted. Whatever happened next was up to them.
On my way out, I noticed something on the fire escape one floor down. Square, black, slightly battered.
The PlayStation. It had survived.
I texted Mike: Check the fire escape on floor 3. Your console might be alive.
His response came seconds later: NO WAY
And then: IT WORKS. SHE'S CLEANSING IT WITH CRYSTALS BUT IT WORKS.
I smiled and headed for the stairs.
[Crisis Intervention Complete]
[Mike Donovan ↔ Brittany Torres: Conflict addressed. Relationship status: Unstable but continuing.]
[+200 EXP for successful mediation]
[+15 Karma for honest counsel]
Walking home, I focused on their string one more time. Still there. Still bright. Still pulsing oddly.
[Match Analysis: Mike Donovan ↔ Brittany Torres]
[Compatibility: 61% (unchanged)]
[Conflict Resolution: First major conflict survived]
[Long-term Projection: 47% successful, 53% spectacular failure]
[Note: Outcome dependent on continued mutual effort.]
Forty-seven percent wasn't great odds. But it was better than zero.
And Mike was trying. Really trying. With crystals and sunrise meditations and a girlfriend who threw gaming consoles out windows.
Some people needed stability. Some people needed fire.
Mike had chosen fire.
The least I could do was help him survive it.
My phone buzzed again as I reached the subway entrance. Not Mike this time.
Ted.
"Gang Thanksgiving at 4A next week. Lily said you're officially invited as not-a-cult-leader. Bring pie. Or don't. Marshall will eat everything anyway."
I smiled and descended into the station.
November was almost over. December was coming. And apparently, I was spending Thanksgiving with the gang.
The strings of New York pulsed around me—thousands of connections, millions of possibilities.
One fire survived. Many more to come.
Want more? The story continues on Patreon!
If you can't wait for the weekly release, you can grab +10, +15, or +20 chapters ahead of time on my Patreon page. Your support helps me keep this System running!
Read ahead here: [ patreon.com/system_enjoyer ]