You do not yet know my story, but it did not begin in a very amazing fashion. I want you to know the many
things that the man I speak of has done. So I cannot begin with a long and boring account of my first encounter
with him, I must start with an epic tale of evil and crime.
Let me tell you I was a common visitor to this deranged man's prison. He had surprised and amazed me many
times in the years I have known him. The score was, by this point, that I would come in and we would chat
about this or that crime he had committed.  
It may seem crude, the unflappable nature of me. However at the time I learned of this particular event I was
used to his minor and major slights to the Law and human nature. This beast had long since shown me that he
was not above theft and extortion, torture and murder. I was once his psychologist, and soon after, his
psychiatrist, his friend. So we had developed a report.
Locked away for ten years he had grown soft but remained as evil. I am telling his tale posthumously for two
reasons. Most of my dealings with him were when I was his physician, doctor-patient confidentiality. The other
is that he could no longer be held accountable for them; I had grown to like this man, or at least his philosophy.
After an overly thorough search by a new officer, I stood at a door with blacked out glass. No one really tried
when searching me, they did not feel the need anymore; but every so often I would get a new guy. It was my
subject's affect on me that made me realize how easy it would be to raise hell in the place. I opened the door
and went through.
Chained to a chair on the other side of a metal table, with a door behind him, and a window on his right, my left,
was the man I had come to see. He was an elderly thing, rather pathetic looking. His appearance had once
fooled me, but I knew to look in the eyes. The malice and contempt shown there was staggering. Thankfully it
was not directed at me.
He grimaced at me as I asked, "Not enjoying yourself today?"
He replied in a snobbish tone, "No, the bell hop was rather rough with me and the cleaners always steal my good
toys." He laughed derisively in a bitter voice.
"Well we both know you're not allowed those toys you love so much."
In a whine he said, "Bu... But I was only playing with them. I wouldn't hurt a soul you know that! Don't you Mr.
Flint" He cackled again. He hadn't for some time, but during his time in prison he had killed or injured 32 inmates
and 6 guards.
"I'm fascinated Loren, but I don't want to discuss your innocent act. The reason I'm here is to ..."
He cut me off saying, “D’ya know? Your name has got me thinking about '84. The year not the number ..."
Curious I leaned forward. He continued in that musical voice of his, that enraptures you, saying, "Flint, Flint.
Mitch Flint. You don't mind if I tell you about '84?"
"No, no. Go ahead. We'll follow your whims today."
"That's why I like you. You listen. Most people who talk to me, they stay on a topic and just: What did you do?
Why? How? Ha, ha, ha. Mr. Flint. Alright well it was a hot summer. But as you know, I can adapt to many
temperatures." I nodded, "So I thought, 'let’s turn up the heat! But whom to burn? Well I had time so I strolled
through the village I was residing in. I came to rest in a quaint little park, in the very center of town. I just
watched the vict- ahem; excuse me, people- pass by." A smile was stealing across his scarred face and I knew
that meant pain for someone.
"I noticed a lovely young blonde woman. She was walking with a parasol, for the sun. I noticed her immediately
and watched her stroll. She came to the exit of the park and I followed. I caught up to the woman at a
crosswalk. As we both waited to cross the road I noticed she was in high heels. You know Mitchell that how I
love high heels. I picked up a stone and casually tossed it into the walk where I calculated she would not notice
it.
"Well you know my calculations; the shadows hit it just right, so that when she reached it her heel snapped. I
knelt beside her, gentlemanly, and offered her, my hand across to the bench on the other side of the street.
She accepted and hopped over with my hand. When she sat she began feeling her ankle and I sat beside her
playing the worried bystander.  She seemed overly upset about her broken heel. Guilt flashed over my face, but
only for a moment when I realized she meant because they were so expensive. My god! These people and their
ridiculous fashions. Did you know that the heeled shoe has been around for hundreds of years, supposed to be
used in riding horseback? Utter idiocy!
"Anyway Mr. Flint, I offered to help her home and she refused as females often will when they assume men are
flirting. When she attempted to get up she could hardly support the weight on the ankle. I told her I had to
insist. She seemed assured by my caring nature that I only meant her well. How wrong she was! We hobbled
three blocks and chatted the whole way. When we made it to the red-bricked apartment building she asked if I
could help her up the stairs and to her door. I said I would, however knowing how charming I was I made clear
that I was married, which I wasn't. But you know women of that manner, forbidden fruit and all. With some
difficulty on the stairs we made it to the third floor, apartment G.
She made a show of getting in the door and then feigned the inability to make it to the medicine cabinet.
Forcing her caring escort to help her over the threshold. I sat her in a reclining chair. Her 'pad' was decked with
ten year old hippy items. She pointed to the open kitchen and I found an ice pack and bandage for her. I gave
them to her and made my excuses to leave."
I was stunned and asked, "Wait you didn't kill her! You kindly took her to her room and did not kill her? I don't
believe it. You? A good Samaritan!"
"Ah, but you are forgetting the Samaritan came across the robbed man. In this instance I was the robber,
returned to be the neighborly Samaritan. You flatter; the good Lord’s son knew nothing of the likes of me. No,
Mitchell, I was not being a Good Samaritan. I told you I wanted more heat. If I had wanted to kill her I would
have done so in the room. You know, I love suffering. So I left her room. And I had steered her to invite me up,
because I had not the supplies to start a fire.
I came to a janitorial closet at the end of the hall. I went in noticing the glare from a small window and,
standing on a bucket, used the lighter I had stolen from her room to set off the sprinkler system. I did this, but
not before spilling several bottles, ammonia in particular. I then laid a cloth in the liquids and set that aside. I
took an aerosol can and torched the wall. A rush of adrenaline was setting in, but I quelled it to remain focused.
I could hear cries and yells.
"Finally I set the puddles of supplies alight and lit the cloth. As it struck up the whole room was ablaze and I laid
the rag over my arm and bolted from the room screaming. Many people were crowding the halls and blocking
each other. I scurried down the stairs, because most people parted for me, on fire you know. I made it to the
bottom of the stairs and bolted the front door. I lit the walls around with the rag and then flung it off me, it
landed on a cat. I got quite a laugh to see that thing flee and set alight a few more things for me.
"Screams were all around and I was trying my hardest not to laugh with glee. I headed past a few people as I
trudged back up the stairs to check on my work up there. Good News! The second floor had caught too. I
noticed a few people had escaped and that made me a bit angry. But no matter, some survivors are okay. I
covered my face as I passed the girl hobbling along. No one had helped her and she had just made it to the top
flight of steps. A last few people hurried past and she and I were alone. Everyone was downstairs trying to find
a way out, besides the locked burning front door. Buildings in the '80s were death traps, just the way I like
them. I stalked behind her and made a run in on the second floor, once again I acted her savior. I yelled that
the front door was blocked off and I had a way out. She accepted it and followed me to the opposite end of the
floor. Not a soul was around and it seemed to me the whole first floor was engulfed in flame. Again I hid my glee,
as I realized someone had made it through another door, downstairs and created a back draft, scorching the
entire first floor and everyone on it.
"I was annoyed to find our way bared by flames, so I dashed through a door and found the back staircase. I led
her upwards with soothing words and a confident air. The second floor was ablaze by now and we only had the
third floor, which I had lit first. The greatest part was that all the people flooding out to escape had caused
their fates by changing the air currents and feeding the flames. I admired the inferno below as we climbed the
stairs. We came to the third floor door and I laid an expert hand on it. It was hot but I could tell was not in
direct contact with flame.
It just kept getting better as she began to get suspicious of me after I had sealed her fate. I had closed the
door on the stairwell and faced her. She was looking hard at me. As if confused, she said 'now how are we
supposed to get out of here!' The flames roared and I missed the curse she hurled at me. I gave in the disguise
and laughed. I laughed my most maniacal laugh and taunted her further. I stopped and heard a window shatter
close by. Her terrified face was covered in soot and her hair was singed. We would have looked quite a sight,
with our dereliction. My shirtsleeve was scorched and my face was probably caked in soot as well.
"A support beam collapsed behind her and I pulled her away from it. She pulled away and stuck her left arm right
in the fire. She screamed, I laughed again. She slapped me across the face. I smiled and tutted at her, 'you
shouldn't have done that I would have let you live.' Though I wouldn't have. I just wanted her in despair. It
worked she sank to her knees and plead with me. Tears streaked her soot stained visage.
I shook my head and cast my eyes down. There seemed to be no way out, but I knew what I would do. We
were feet from where I had started the fire. Logic and experience had taught me that the source would have
less flame later on, with less kindling. I was committed to my role so I turned from her and walked straight
through a wall of fire. It hurt and my flesh was scorched, but I was alive. I laughed one last time and stepped
through the janitor's door.
I looked back to find the girl had followed me through the flame, but had mistimed it, so she had been caught in
a surge. I shook my head at her again. She was on her stomach now, crawling towards me. I loved it! But I had
to leave. I stepped up onto the bucket and scaled the metal rack that had so recently held the cleaning
supplies. I hefted myself onto the sill of the small window and caught a glimpse of her pleading with me to save
her. I looked back and sighed saying, 'Deep down, you know you deserve this!' I laughed again then slid through
the window, feet first."
I had had more than enough, "So you gave her something to torment her in those last moments. But what about
the sides of the building, did the outside not catch fire too? And what did you land on, were you hurt?"
He smirked mockingly saying, "My dear Flint. If I did not know you better I would think that was sympathy. No
the outside of the building had not caught, it was brick, as I have told you and had it not been brick I might not
have been able to have as much fun as I did. As for landing I caught the lowest ladder of the fire escape of the
adjacent building. It gave way and I rode it to the ground. I dislocated my shoulder, had twisted my ankle, and
limped all the way home, but it was a worthwhile day all the same."
I nodded knowingly saying, "You noticed the fire escape when you first entered the janitor's closet." He nodded
just as an alarm sounded. It wasn't the usual buzz that meant we were out of time. And goodness knows we
had plenty time left, along with things to discuss. I realized as he groaned that it meant someone had been
attacked and all inmates must return to their cells. "Well, until our next exciting installment. Adieu, Mr. Grave."
He bid a good day and we departed. I learned later the injury had been his cellmate. Loren never admitted to it,
but I knew he had ordered the man's death. Loren Grave had connections and he did not like to share. I also
knew that the assassin he had hired would be dealt with for not killing the cellmate. I left the prison the day
thinking about how dangerous a man I had come to be in contact with.

Transcribed by M. Gardner upon request of the late-in-life Mitchell Flint.
High Heels' Heat

by: WM Gardner