My name is Blake Plymouth and I’m Carey’s parent. I still remember the day s/he was born, and now that I think about, even from her/his earliest moment, Carey was a difficult child – we were in labor for eighteen hours before s/he was finally willing to come into the world. For a few years, everything was great. My ex, Terry, was a real outdoorsy person and s/he would plan family camping trips for the three of us. Carey seemed to enjoy all the usual activities – setting up the tent, boating, hiking – as much as the next kid, but nothing intrigued her/him as much as lighting the campfire. S/He would watch the two of us stock-still, eyes-wide, from a few feet away as we tried get the fire going. Terry always used her/his father’s Zippo from the Navy. Carey also seemed really athletic – Terry would take Carey to play tennis at the local Y as soon as Carey was barely big enough to hold a racket, and Carey excelled at the sport right away and it was a special bonding time for them.

I don’t remember the exact moment when Carey started to change, but around age four, s/he started to get out of control. Carey would say disturbing things at home too. We got a puppy, Muffin, when Carey was three and Muffin and Carey never really hit it off. One time, when Terry was complaining about Muffin scratching up our hard wood floors, Carey said we should just “bake the Muffin.” When we asked Carey what s/he meant, Carey smiled at pointed at the kitchen stove. After that, Terry told me that we should send Carey to a special, highly disciplined program for children who needed more structure in their environment. I wasn’t willing to admit my failures as a parent at that time. I refused. We got into a huge fight over what to do about Carey, and things were never quite the same after that. Terry got more and more frustrated, until s/he had finally packed her/his bags by the time Carey turned six.

Carey’s behavior problems and obsession with fire seemed to intensify when I became a single parent. First off, I never should have given Carey Terry’s Zippo, but when Terry left it behind, I thought it would be nice for Carey to have. Also, I was working two jobs and didn’t have time to take Carey to her/his tennis lessons, so Carey was just home alone a lot after school. I’d frequently return from work to find Carey lighting up pieces of paper with that damn Zippo and throwing them into an empty trashcan, or worse, throwing flaming tennis balls into the sink. Once, I asked Carey why s/he was setting the tennis balls on fire, and s/he said it was too get back at her/his Terry for leaving. I would scold Carey in these moments, but not too harshly – I should’ve been harsher.

The first (though certainly not the last) time a police officer knocked on my door about Carey was in the summer of 2010 when Carey was eight. The officer came to the door, dragging Carey by the arm, and said s/he had found Carey sitting outside and lighting tennis balls on fire. I felt guilty about working so much, and told the officer I would scale back on my hours and spend more time with Carey. The officer seemed satisfied with that, and let Carey off with a warning. But of course I still had to pay the bills, and within a few weeks, I was working extra shifts again.

Carey seemed shaken by her/his run-in with the police, and s/he managed to stay mostly out of trouble for the next few years. Then in September 2014, I returned home from work one day to find a smoldering wreckage in the backyard where Muffin’s doghouse used to be. There was no one in sight and the house was eerily silent. Our answering machine was filled with messages from panicked neighbors, and there was also a message from a police officer named who had arrested Carey. The next message was from Carey. Her/his voice sounding oddly detached, Carey said s/he was in a holding cell at the jail.

I immediately rushed over to the jail, somehow still convinced this was all a big mistake. After all, Carey was only twelve. I finally registered the ominous lack of Muffin’s bark when I was getting into my car, but refused to accept the obvious meaning behind that silence. The officers at the jail informed me that Carey would be released into my custody. Carey greeted me upon her/his release in that same detached voice s/he had used in the message. I promised Carey that I would be home more. At that point Carey smiled and said, “I’m not upset. I know you’ve been complaining about how old and sick Muffin is and how expensive her veterinary bills are, so I took matters into my own hands.” As the meaning of Carey’s words sunk in I started to shake Carey, tears running down my face, “What did you do? What did you do?” Carey just looked at me with that creepy smile on her/his face. It’s true that I had been complaining about Muffin for a while to Carey, but I never would have guessed that Carey would have taken that to mean s/he should set Muffin on fire. I told Carey firmly that s/he had better not dare blame me for this, and that I was through feeling responsible for the way s/he had turned out. I remember telling the officer at the station that Carey would be better off in jail.

I went with Carey to her/his court date later that month. I had Carey plead guilty to make it easier on all of us. Honestly, I was hoping that the judge would send Carey to a juvenile detention center just so I wouldn’t have to deal with her/him for a little while. Unfortunately, the judge ruled that the doghouse and even poor Muffin were our property, but the judge was worried about Carey so sent her/him to some anger management classes, that unfortunately didn’t really do anything to changer her/his attitude. Like I said, I used to blame myself a lot for whatever trouble Carey got into, but something in me changed when Muffin died. I finally started seeing Carey for what s/he really was – a monster. Of course, it didn’t help that word in the neighborhood got out about what Carey had done, and my neighbors began to “forget” to invite Carey and me to everything from block parties to book club meetings. People start treating you differently when they learn your kid set the dog on fire.

After Muffin died, I was in a pretty dark place. I had been working two jobs in the restaurant industry, but suddenly I couldn’t keep up with it all and I got laid off by both of my employers. I managed to find work again a few months later, but by that point I had gotten behind on the bills, putting our expenses on credit cards. Four years later, in 2017, I ran out of excuses, and the landlord was threatening to evict Carey and me. I guess I should’ve learned my lesson after what happened to Muffin, but I had no one else to talk to besides Carey, so I complained about the landlord a lot to Carey and told her/him more than a few times that I wished something, anything would happen to let us start over with a clean slate.

March 22nd, 2017 is a day I will never be able to forget. It was a Thursday and I was on double at my one job and then the night shift at a diner. Carey was meant to be alone from the end of school until I would get home around 12am. It was around 8pm when I got a call at work from the fire department. My heart immediately sunk, and I knew the house was on fire before the deputy had even uttered the words. Everything was gone. Our clothes, our things, our memories all gone. Everything destroyed, except for Carey. I found Carey sitting on what was left of the front stoop, idly tossing a charred tennis ball in one hand and gripping that Zippo in the other with two police officers standing over her/his shoulder. When I asked Carey what had happened, s/he just said, “I fixed everything for us.”

The stares of the neighbors gathered around the police tape was enough to send me over the edge for good. I was the worst parent in the world and had raised a monster. When a reporter from the Tutwiler Lark, the local paper, found me after the majority of the police had cleared the scene and I was trying to figure out where I was going to sleep that night, my guard was down. I answered all of her/his questions like I was at confession. I told the reporter about my spouse and Carey’s prior arsons. I went into detail like I had never told anyone before as if saying those words would remove my guilt – but it didn’t. I even talked about Carey’s obsession with setting tennis balls on fire, the Zippo, everything. I don’t really care that the details got printed, but the quote that made it into the paper still haunts me. I said, “Carey’s a menace, a devil. S/He should be locked up for a long, long time, but I would be worried s/he’d burn the prison down too.”

The trial took place later that year, and Carey was tried as an adult even though s/he was only sixteen. The public defender got Carey the best deal she could – better than I wanted Carey to get – and Carey pled guilty to first degree arson charges and got sentenced to five to ten years in prison. I know it sounds horrible, being glad that my child was going to be locked up, but I’ve lost everything because of Carey. When s/he was in prison, I finally was able to start

rebuilding my life. I guess Carey was right and I got that fresh start after all. I used the few dollars in Carey’s college fund to get a small apartment in the center of town. When my new neighbors asked if I had any children, I told them I didn’t. When I started dating again, I didn’t tell my new partner I had a daughter/son.

In April 2022, Carey served her/his minimum sentence and was released to probation for good behavior. It was like someone hit a reset button. Carey said s/he was part of a program called 2nd Start, which gave people like her/him another shot at making something of themselves. Carey said s/he had an amazing therapist named Kai DeLorean through the program, who had worked with her/him when s/he was in prison, and would continue to help her/him now that s/he was out. Carey said Dr. Packard had set her/him up with a job. In fact, Carey was so popular with the 2nd Start program that s/he was on the cover of their promotional material!

I almost didn’t believe my eyes, but Carey went to work with a smile on her/his face the day after s/he got released from prison and kept going to work every day for the next two years. S/He had a job at that cool new car plant in town that everyone was talking about. When Carey started helping out with the rent, I was beside myself! It really seemed like Carey had changed. S/he helped around the house, was friendly to the neighbors, and repeatedly apologized for the mistakes s/he had made in the past. Carey still tossed those dreadful tennis balls up in the air every now and again and stared into the flame of the Zippo, but s/he assured me that it was all part of her/his treatment with Dr. Packard, and s/he would never light a tennis ball or anything else on fire as long as s/he lived.

The only real problem I had is that my new partner, Pat, who was a dog lover, with two glorious shih tzus, googled Carey after I confessed I had a child. Fortunately, s/he didn’t break up with me – in fact we are still together. But, s/he was so appalled that Carey killed Muffin that s/he refused to be in the same room as Carey and wouldn’t let Carey anywhere near Tucker or Mercedes, her/his dogs. Obviously, this was a cause of great stress for me, and it is hard to imagine a real future together when as soon as Carey comes home, Pat leaves.

At the start of this past summer, in mid-May 2023, Carey started to flip. I came back from work that day to find Carey holding the Zippo in one hand and a tennis ball in the other. I swear s/he was about to set it on fire. Carey said the company s/he worked for was behind on production for the upcoming year and s/he was really worried about it. Over the next few weeks, Carey seemed perpetually stressed out and spoke less and less to me. S/He would come home from work and lock her/himself in her/his room and stare for hours at her/his laptop or technical drawings from the plant. I don’t think Carey was sleeping well or even at all some nights. I’m pretty sure s/he was missing her/his therapy sessions as well.

Two days before the big fire at the Packard plant on July 4th, I went into Carey’s room when s/he didn’t come down for dinner. The Zippo was open on her/his little desk, flame flickering in a room without any other lights on. I asked Carey what was going on and s/he said, “I need to do something about the problem at work. Addison has done so much for me and I can’t let him down. I’m going to fix this.” The next night I got a call from Kai DeLorean, Carey’s therapist. Dr. DeLorean said Carey had missed her/his session again, and asked if s/he could talk to Carey. I told Dr. DeLorean that Carey wasn’t home. Dr. DeLorean asked where Carey was and I said I didn’t know, explaining that I thought s/he had been in a therapy session. I expressed my concern that s/he might be relapsing. Dr. DeLorean got really mad and started yelling that 2nd Start was a great program and that I didn’t know what I was talking about. S/He hung up the phone.

On July 4th, 2023 both Carey and I were off from work. Pat was out of town visiting her/his parents, so I decided to take Carey to the neighborhood barbecue. Carey hung out with us, but s/he seemed distracted the whole time. Finally, around 7pm Carey stood up like a ramrod, then grabbed her/his backpack, and left. I thought I heard her/him mutter “I’m going to fix this.” I started to feel uneasy when Carey still hadn’t returned two hours later. I’m still not sure what made me start driving in the direction of the Packard plant, but I did. I had a similar feeling come over me as the day of the house fire. When I was still about a quarter of a mile from the plant, I saw smoke and the glow of a large fire in the background. I kept driving until I was in the plant’s parking lot and then slammed on the breaks – a lone figure coming from the direction of the plant darted in front of the car and then disappeared into the smoky blackness. The split second that my headlights illuminated the person’s face was plenty of time for me to recognize the figure as Carey. I swear s/he also had a tennis ball in her/his right hand. I heard police sirens getting louder and louder, and knew the police were already on their way and that Carey was in big trouble.

The police surrounded my car, and I was held for questioning. I told them all I knew, which was not much. We found Carey nearby, staring at the plant with that same look on her/his face as s/he had after the dog incident and the house fire. Her/His clothes were a mess, burned in a bunch of places, and her/his face had soot all over it. They took Carey’s laptop from her/his backpack. When they patted Carey down, they pulled out her/his wallet, but not the Zippo from Terry’s dad. I was surprised; Carey’s never without that. The police also asked me if they could search the house, and of course I said yes.

Carey needs to be locked up and never released. I don’t care if it is a prison or a sanitarium. I know s/he has that 2nd Start doctor fooled, and s/he almost had me fooled, but I know Carey. Carey set that fire on July 4th because that’s who s/he is. Carey is the same person today s/he was in 2014 when s/he killed poor Muffin – a monster. At least I still have Pat, Tucker and Mercedes!