Chapter 48 Jonah - Past
forty-eight
Jonah - Past
FIRE.
I lied. Dex told me he was leaving, and I lied to him. I didn’t want him to go, didn’t want him away from me, but there was something I had to do, and he couldn’t be with me. He couldn’t know.
I waited five minutes, pacing the bedroom after he’d left, before I couldn’t stop myself anymore.
The scent of warm food tried to lure me toward the kitchen but was unsuccessful.
Alarms pinged in my brain, sirens and logic blaring at me to stop, go to Becca’s like I’d told him I was going to.
This isn’t the answer. My demons were louder.
Cold air hit my face as I stepped outside, but I couldn’t feel it.
Then I was in the car. I drove in silence.
This was the first true trip I’d taken on my own with this gift—the car he gave me.
He gave me so much. What did he get in return?
Who gave things to him? Who had ever held him like I held him as he cried?
Who had ever made him feel safe before me?
His father, maybe, but he was gone, and what was he left with? That disgusting, vile woman.
No.
The car stopped, and I was just a street away. I went the rest of the way on foot, and not even the ache in my leg would slow me down.
Then I was standing in the dark, watching the house that we’d made a home only to have it ripped away from him by that thing. It lurked in there now, its presence contaminating everything good.
Dex was scared of her. I wasn’t. He couldn’t face her, and I didn’t blame him. Because I saw him. I saw all of him now.
The rest of the world saw him as big and scary because he wanted them to.
He’d worked hard on it, because the house he came from made him feel small and afraid.
Even now. In that house, and in the presence of that thing, he was still a lost, scared child, unable to grow up.
She kept him small—those walls kept him small. I hated it all.
So I’d set him free.
I would protect him. That monster would never hurt him again.
I’d known I was going to do this from the moment that threat spilled from her lips. The decision shaped my rage into something solid and certain in my gut, as tangible as any weapon.
There were demons beneath my skin, and they lived to serve my devil. There was nothing I wasn’t capable of doing for him. All I had to do was surrender.
Light flickered from the TV in the living room. I could see her through the window—stringy blonde hair tied in a messy bun, a stained pink robe barely wrapped around her, a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
I watched. I waited.
Then she was still.
I wondered if she even knew where he kept the spare key. I knew. Found it waiting for me like a willing accomplice. The door unlocked, and I was greeted by silence and darkness. The dim light from the TV spilled into the hallway like a beacon. A siren call to my demons.
She was asleep, mouth half open, sprawled gracelessly over the sofa, the bottle still in her hand. How often had she slept here drunk while her child was terrified in his room? Was this where she was while he was being harmed by another monster?
Even the air surrounding her was tainted. When we’d left this morning, this house had smelled like warmth with the breakfast Dex was cooking. Now it smelled cold—of beer, cigarettes, cheap perfume, and decay.
I’m not sure how long I just stood there watching her. Long enough that the disgust I felt in her presence and the rage that bubbled and brewed inside me drowned out any doubt.
I wanted to do it myself. Wanted to wring my hands around her neck. Wanted to inflict on her every bit of pain that she’d ever dealt to Dex. But even in all my rage, I wasn’t that reckless.
This would have to do.
I pocketed her phone from beside the half pack of cigarettes and lighter on the dinged-up coffee table.
The flame was so small and unassuming as I lit one, taking a drag to get it started. White turned to black as the paper burned.
I dropped it. At first, nothing happened. The glowing ember shrank and dimmed. Then it caught. Synthetic carpet bubbled. It grew.
Like a ripple on the surface of a pond, a wave of fire.
The smoke didn’t even rouse her from her drunken stupor.
I tried to leave, making it as far as the doorway before halting.
Not yet.
It wasn’t enough to leave her to burn. She had to know why.
I waited. Until the flames were blazing, swallowing the couch, and then finally she woke, startled at first before her drunken mind could piece together the situation.
Then she was screaming, stumbling away from the sofa, flames licking at her haggard skin.
She shuffled to her feet, attempting to run.
Her eyes met mine.
Confusion. Recognition. Understanding. Rage.
“You fucking—”
“It should have been you.” Words spoken from somewhere deep inside, a direct tether from the darkest corners of my soul to my lips. “You who died. Everyone would have been better off if it had been you.”
She shrieked as she charged at me. I closed the door.
I heard the rattle of the handle. The door didn’t budge, betraying her as it had betrayed me. Sealing her in with the growing flames. Her words of rage morphed—desperation, pleading, and screaming. Then silence.
Smoke filled my vision as it bled out from under the door. A tendril danced in front of my face before billowing toward the exit.
I left her phone on the table in the hallway, and when I left the house for the last time, I locked the door with my secrets inside to burn along with her body.
By the time I made it back to the car, the flames had taken the whole house, the glow and stench of fire lighting up the night sky and half of Meadow Park.
Then I heard the sirens. Time to go.
I expected to feel something, some noticeable difference from taking a life, perhaps some sort of invisible weight I’d have to carry with me always. I didn’t. I was calm.
My rage was usually so loud, so destructive, explosive and uncontrollable.
This had been different. This time it had a purpose.
A destination. A shape I could understand.
A form I could use. And now it was done, and I could let it go, finding comfort in the knowledge that it had protected him. That she could never hurt him again.
Roy’s home was dark when I returned, Dex’s bike still missing from the driveway.
I expected the old mechanic had gone to bed already, leaving the front door unlocked for us to return. I was proven wrong when I bumped into Roy leaving the bathroom on my way back to the guest room. He looked me over slowly.
Then he leaned in, and I held my breath.
“Smell of smoke tends to linger in clothes and hair.” He spoke low, and fear sparked in my gut. “Use the green soap.”
Then he brushed past me, walked down the hall, and closed himself in his room.
I rushed to take his advice, whatever adrenaline still fueled me washing away under the scalding stream.
That calmness was fading, the beast that lent me its strength receding because it was no longer needed.
I wanted to crash, to sink to my knees and wait for the water to wash away my sins.
But if I was still here when Dex came home, then he’d know. He’d see it on me.
I wanted to be a safe place for him always, so he could never know what my hands were capable of. He could never know that I’d killed the monster that called itself his mother.