The flames lick at the oily night sky searching for something else to consume as embers drift and swirl in circles around my feet. I stand there on the drought-stricken lawn one house over and watch as the once pristine craftsman style home gets gradually engulfed by the fires of hell. The front porch, now blanketed in reds and yellows except for a path that leads to the front door, makes it appear as though the home is daring someone to enter. The back of the home where I know HE will be, probably passed out in another one of his drunken stupors, is still untouched by the fire, but I know it won’t be long before the raging fires spread to that area as well.

I know my time is limited. I need to make a decision, and fast. But why is this so hard for me? If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t think twice about helping them. I’m suddenly assaulted by images of me opening my front door to a battered and bleeding woman with two tiny scared faces peering up from behind her robe. This memory makes me wonder, again, does this man really deserve my help?

Just a few more minutes and Cathy and the kids will be free, and I, their unknown hero. How convenient it was that they were out of town at her Aunt May’s farm this weekend.

I glance down at the phone in my hand and I am momentarily blinded by the screen. When my eyes adjust I see it is 2am. Everyone in the neighborhood should be asleep for at least another four hours when the neighborhood worker bees start buzzing about getting ready to leave for their day at work. I could easily turn on my heels right now and walk right back into my house, leaving this decision for someone else to make. A lot could happen in just four hours. Lives could be changed forever. The magnitude of this decision weighs heavily on me. Would it be considered murder if I just went back to bed and did nothing? Would anyone even know I had been out here? I would know. Could I live with that?