Chapter Twenty-Nine #3
Angela froze, her instincts warring with her fear. She wanted to help, to do something, but the heat of the flames and the chaos of the scene rooted her in place.
The crackling of the fire roared in her ears, its orange glow flickering wildly across her vision. Smoke billowed up into the night sky, thick and suffocating, and suddenly, she was no longer standing near the corral.
She was back in Maysville.
The small, familiar cabin her family had called home was engulfed in flames, the same angry orange and red tongues of fire licking hungrily at the wooden walls. The acrid stench of smoke filled her lungs, and her chest heaved as she coughed and gasped for air.
“Angela! Get out!” Her father’s voice rang in her ears, frantic and commanding.
Her legs had felt like lead that night, frozen in place as the fire consumed everything around her. She had screamed for her family, for someone to help, but the only response had been the crackle of burning wood and the terrifying groan of the cabin’s roof threatening to collapse.
She had tried to help, had tried to douse the flames with buckets of water her father thrust into her trembling hands. But the fire had been too fast, too hungry, devouring the cabin as if it were made of paper.
“Run!” her father had shouted, pushing her toward the door.
She had stumbled outside, the cold air hitting her like a slap, only to turn back and see the nightmare unfolding before her.
Her mother’s screams echoed from within, and she’d seen David’s small figure silhouetted against the inferno before the roof had caved in with a deafening crash.
“No!” Angela’s voice had broken, raw and desperate as she lunged forward.
But strong arms had held her back, her father’s grip firm even as his face twisted with anguish.
And then he’d been gone, vanishing into the flames as the last of the roof gave way, sealing the cabin—and her family—inside.
The memory hit her like a blow, her chest tightening as everything around her blurred. She felt the heat of the fire, smelled the acrid smoke, heard the screams of her mother and brother as if they were happening all over again.
“Angela!”
The sharp voice jolted her back to the present, her surroundings snapping into focus.
“Move back!” James shouted, his expression fierce as he gestured for her to step away from the corral.
The chaos of the camp surged around her—the terrified whinnies of the horses, the shouts of the men, the frantic rush to contain the flames. Angela stumbled backward, her breathing shallow and erratic as she tried to shake off the memory, to separate then from now.
Her hands trembled as she glanced toward the corral, her vision still swimming with images of that night, of the fire that had taken everything from her. But this wasn’t Maysville. This wasn’t her family’s cabin.
And this time, she wasn’t alone.
She watched as Toby and James worked together to pull the gate open, the wood scorched and splintering under their hands. The first horse bolted free, its hooves thundering against the ground as it galloped into the darkness.
More horses followed, their manes and tails streaming like banners as they fled the burning corral. The men shouted and waved their arms, guiding the terrified animals away from the camp.
Angela’s heart pounded as she watched, her hands trembling. The acrid smell of smoke filled her nose, stinging her eyes and throat. She could feel the heat of the fire from where she stood, the flames licking hungrily at the wooden posts.
And then she saw him.
At first, she thought it was a shadow cast by the fire, but as the figure stepped closer, her blood ran cold.
Silas.
He emerged from the darkness like a specter, his face illuminated by the flickering flames. He wore a twisted sneer, his eyes cold and unrelenting as they locked onto hers.
Angela’s breath caught, her heart hammering in her chest.
“Well, ain’t this a sight,” Silas drawled, his voice low and mocking.
Angela took a step back, her mind racing. She glanced toward the others, but they were too preoccupied with the fire to notice Silas’s arrival. In fact, no one had seen him but her.
He lifted a rifle, the barrel catching the firelight as he rested it casually against his shoulder.
“Miss me?” he asked, his tone dripping with malice.
Angela’s throat tightened, her hands clutching her skirts as if the fabric could shield her from the danger radiating off him.
“What do you want?” she managed, her voice trembling.
Silas’s smile widened, and he took another step closer. “What do I want? Justice, maybe. Revenge. Or maybe I just want to watch you all squirm.”
Angela’s pulse thundered in her ears as his words sank in. She glanced around, her mind scrambling for a way to alert the others without provoking him.
“You all thought you could get rid of me,” Silas said, his voice rising. “But you don’t get to decide when I’m done. Not James, not you, not anyone.”
He raised the rifle slightly, and Angela felt her breath catch.
“Now,” he said, his tone cold and deliberate. “Why don’t we have ourselves a little talk?”