by Rowan Massey
I had to stop and cough. Even indoors, the smoky smell was seeping in. He didn’t let me finish. Stepping forward with the speed of a predator attacking prey, he took my face in his hands and pressed my head between them in a vice grip. His fingertips pressed painfully into the flesh of my ears.
“You’ve been talking to my daughter?” he said through clenched teeth. I wouldn’t have ever guessed he would become so angry. I thought he would cry and reject me, but not show me rage.
Outside, I there was a growing roar. The lights. They were upset. I’d tuned out of the ones in the room with us, but when I looked past Clay at them, I could see they weren’t right. They were whipping around with demonic speed. Their colors had darkened until they were more like a thick mist than the playful lights they’d been just a minute ago.
Clay shoved me away from him and went to the window. Whatever he saw scared the shit out of him. He turned back to me, his face so terror stricken that it was like a shock of cold water had hit him. I went to the window and saw the darkened lights ripping through the treetops, leaving smoke behind them, turning the moonlight dark red. My terror was just as strong as his had to be. None of the lights were coming towards us. As much as they’d wanted us before, they hated us now.
“Keys,” he said behind me, his voice weakened and shaky. “Give me the keys, please. At least let me leave. I don’t know what game this is, but we don’t need to die over it. That fire is going to wipe this place out. The forest is dry as a bone right now, Zander. Let’s get out of here. After that, we can deal with whatever needs to be dealt with.”
He covered his face with his hands and let out a surreal, high pitched moan. Alright, that was enough. He was right. I was scared of the lights and what they would do to us for fighting. I went out the back door and easily found the keys where I’d dropped them. Suffocating smoke carried behind me like Mom on a bad day. When I got back to the kitchen he was still hiding his eyes so he didn’t see me hold out the keys. I stood close to him, tensing like I was approaching an unpredictable animal, and lightly touched his arms, gently pulling his hands away from his face.
“I’ll drive,” I said. “Let’s go.”
He nodded. His face was streaked with tears.
We grabbed all our things, which wasn’t much, leaving the kitchen and cleaning things where they were because we didn’t want to go back into the house. Out on the porch, I was surprised to see that the neighbor’s house off on a distant hill to our right had trees surrounding it that had become engulfed in furious, dark lights. The smoke stung our eyes. I turned to ask Clay if we should go make sure the neighbors got out of there. Who knew what the angry lights were capable of. But he was already at the car, throwing his bags in the backseat and looking up at the trees surrounding his house.
“Zander!” he shouted. “The roof is on fire!”
He ran to me as I scrambled off the porch and hurried me to the car where I got in with my duffle bag on my lap. I scooted over to the driver’s side and cranked the engine. I expected him to jump into the passenger’s seat, eager to get out of there, but he was frantically pacing around in the driveway.
“Remmy!” His voice boomed. “Remmy! Remmy!”
I got out of the car and joined him, calling for the dog. The roof was indeed on fire. There were flaming branches hanging over the house. We both pulled our shirts up over our faces hoping to filter the smoke we were choking on. Clay started taking the porch steps two at a time but I stopped him.
“I left the back door open,” I confessed, shouting because I couldn’t hear myself over the racket of the burning forest and the pounding of a tribal drum in my head. And yes, I’d understood too late that the lights had brought fire with them and it was annihilating the neighborhood. I was afraid to let him into the house, so I pulled him by the hand and we ran around the side of the house to look for Remmy in the backyard. The heat was scorching. Everything would be ashes by sunrise.
There was a high-pitched whine that went on for so long it set my nerves on edge. Next, a desperate barking that came from deep in the throat, almost like a snarl. Clay’s face went even paler than it had already gotten, and he took frantic steps side to side like a boxer getting ready for a fight, debating going into the forest to find Remmy.
But I was the one who had let him out. I had to take responsibility for it if I wanted to gain back Clay’s respect after everything I’d done. I had to be the one to run into the fire.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Clay Age 38
THE LIGHT IN my world had become darkness. There were many choices before me, but there was no deciding because all goals were lost to me. I was confused and disturbed to the point of madness.
My boyfriend had overnight become a frightening person who had fallen into a dangerous delusion that I couldn’t fathom. It was too bewildering, so I focused on trying to get us away from the raging fire. Now, Remmy was gone, burning to death probably, and Zander had gone after him. If I stepped into the forest, hoping to die of smoke inhalation and not burns, was I going after my innocent best friend, Remmy, or was I going after the insane man who had apparently manipulated his way into my life and my daughter’s. Only a few hours ago, I’d cried and held him as he talked about his illness, heart breaking when he attempted to downplay his struggles. I’d gone to sleep thinking that I wanted to tell him that I loved him. Somehow, in place of an innocent man that I’d kissed before I fell asleep, there was some sort of demon, a trickster.
As soon as Zander—who had only minutes ago told me he loved me—went into smoke so thick he could barely walk due to the violent coughing, I left my cowardly self behind and made myself a new goal to replace the ones that had been obliterated.
My goal must be bravery. For once in my cowardly life, I would be a man who was brave.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Lottie Age 17
ANXIETY HADN’T LEFT me since I’d left Gravity Hill. Agreeing to wait until after the weekend to talk to Dad about Zander had been a big mistake, but I didn’t fully understand that until they were long gone. I’d let my dad go off with a liar for the weekend. I hated myself.
There had been a fire somewhere just outside of town. I was too distracted to think much of it. Mom and I stayed home because of it, but I didn’t make the connection until the fire had been contained. I wasn’t the kind of person who ever watched the news. I knew Mom would tell me anything I needed to know. But when I walked by the TV in the living room, I saw footage of some of the damage shown from a helicopter. Gravity hill was blackened and smoking. It was so weird. We’d just been there and now it was toast. At first, I had an irrational worry that we’d somehow set the fire, but it wasn’t like we were up there smoking weed or anything. Then I remembered Zander had been sitting there in his car even though he’d left the hill before I had…
I felt dizzy. There was an instinct in my gut that said he’d done something but I couldn’t just accuse him going on nothing but the fact that he was there. I went to my room, skin crawling. How did I know—and I did know—that something wasn’t right?
The day was spent doing homework at the kitchen table and nervously checking the news on my laptop. At one point, I just couldn’t hold it in anymore and ran to my room to throw myself on the bed and bury my face in my pillow. I curled up and cried. It was like I’d gone back to being thirteen and crying over drama at school at least a couple times a week. Mom was always so calm when I was going nuts. I considered telling her I’d been there right before the fire but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get up and do it. There was no proof. Logic said I had no reason to think Zander was at fault. Everything else screamed that he’d done it.
Having stayed up late at night on Saturday, I woke up at noon on Sunday with crusty, puffy eyes and a mild headache. When I went to the bathroom for a hot shower, I vaguely overheard Mom talking in a serious voice on the phone. Maybe there was trouble at work. I didn’t think about it because I was already getting worried again over the fore
st fire.
Mom was waiting for me as soon as I left the bathroom twenty minutes later. I was wrapped in a towel, a second one on my head, and I needed to get dressed.
“I have to talk to you,” she said. I could tell it was something bad. She was always the queen of calm no matter what happened. I’d never seen her with such a stiffened expression. Her eyes were like ice. It sent a chill over my skin.
My hands went to my mouth.
“Is it Dad?” I asked in a wail.
Her eyes widened and she stared at me.
“How did you know?” she asked.
I didn’t know how I’d known. How had I known Zander set the fire? How had I known I should have called Dad and told him? I started to sob uncontrollably, hyperventilating. I heard myself say, “Mommy!”. She instantly wrapped her arms around me.
“Who told you, baby?” she asked, rubbing my back. I couldn’t believe her voice was shaking.
“What happened?” I asked through my sobs.
“I don’t know yet. We don’t know, alright? He…he might have left the house and…and maybe he just can’t get ahold of us. Check your phone. Where is it?”
She let go of me and went into my room looking for it. I followed close behind her, needing her to keep me safe through proximity. The towel on my head was falling off and I pulled it aside, letting it fall to the carpet. Mom picked up my phone from my bedside table and handed it to me to unlock. My fingers were shaky. I didn’t even know what she was talking about, but I knew it was going to be horrible.
“Th-there’s nothing,” I stuttered, and handed it to her. She moved her finger over the screen but there was nothing to find. She went still and squeezed her eyes shut tight.
“What’s going on, Mom?” I took her hand. I hadn’t held my Mom’s hand since I was a toddler but it felt right.
“How much did you hear?” she asked.
“Nothing. I mean…there’s this guy and he’s been lying to us,” I couldn’t find the words. Her brow deepened in puzzlement.
“No, baby, there was another fire up there by the country house. The house burned down. They contacted me and…” The corners of her mouth turned down and heavy tears fell from her eyes. She started to sob, shaking her head in apology, covering her mouth.
I cried like that, not her. She cried with dignity, always with a tissue handy, taking things in stride even though she was sad. I’d never been so terrified. I wailed and grabbed at her arms.
“Mom! What is it? What is it? Mommy!”
She cried louder until she was bent over. I thought she would collapse on the floor. My hand was clasped over my mouth, trying to stop the panicked wailing. We went into each other’s arms and supported each other into the living room where we collapsed onto the sofa.
A few hours later, and Mom had spent hours on the phone. I knew it was all real, but I didn’t know when it was going to feel like reality. I kept wanting to ask stupid questions. When is it going to stop? When am I going to know what to do? What should I think? I need him back. Please, somebody make him come home. I need him to walk in the door so badly that it’s choking me. My mind felt crazed. This was what it was like to go crazy.
I was sitting on the living room sofa, still in a towel, hair frizzled and damp. My body was weak, and I kept getting hiccups of breathlessness, or another sob would come to me right when I thought I couldn’t cry anymore. My chest hurt and I didn’t know if it was from crying or from my broken heart. My head hurt and my body felt funny. There was a buzz all over my skin from hyperventilating.
Mom was beside me, having cried a lot too. I was still clinging onto her like a baby monkey, my towel barely staying on, but we didn’t care. Mom had cried until her mouth watered and dripped onto her lap, her fist came down on her knee over and over as if she didn’t know she was doing it. I’d been using my towel to blow my nose. We were exhausted but wide-eyed with shock.
Dad’s stupid old house was gone along with three other houses and a small barn. That was only so far. All the neighbors were accounted for, and even their livestock had evacuated in time, so why hadn’t Dad and Zander gotten out? The fire was still spreading, and it was all over the national news. I kept thinking I smelled smoke but I’d just been staring at smoky scenery for so long, putting myself there mentally.
Mom kept saying, “They don’t know. They don’t know.” But we did know, didn’t we? The remains found in the trees behind Dad’s house were going to be identified as his. His car was still in the driveway, keys in the ignition. Why hadn’t he left?
At first, I’d hoped it was Zander who’d died, but they’d also found a “young man” who was nearly dead from smoke inhalation, burned on half his body. He was found right next to Dad. They hadn’t identified either of them definitively yet. It was the fact they’d said the surviving man was young that had shattered my last hope.
That was when I’d had to tell Mom about Zander. It had been nearly impossible to explain. Then I couldn’t stop telling her, repeating myself. She was still looking over at me now and then as if she didn’t know if she could believe me. Dad dating a teenage pyromaniac was impossible to believe.
A tone chimed and I jumped. Mom kept getting calls and making them but she hadn’t told anyone about Zander, even though I told her he might have set both fires. I knew she felt the way I did—he didn’t matter for the moment. Only Dad mattered and we would focus on him and keep hoping.
“Hello? This is she.” Mom’s voice sounded watery and frayed. “I don’t know. Okay. I don’t know. I just…yeah. Yes, please.”
She turned to me and waved her hand distractedly.
“Go get dressed, baby. Let me take care of this,” she said.
I nodded and got up on wobbly legs. Every step I took felt wrong, as if all steps should be stopped until he came home to us.
Putting on the first things I found in my drawers, I took my time, still waiting for life to act more like the life I knew how to process. There was supposed to be some kind of moment, right? A crashing, horrific, moment of mass destruction. Instead, I just kept getting unsure, as if I were skirting the realities but couldn’t go past an emotional security point. I turned to stone in the middle of my room, just standing there swaying a little, trying to get to some kind of truth that would give me catharsis. I hated myself for that welling urge—that same old feeling of wanting to put myself in physical danger, dying to take my emotions out on the world; out on myself.
I imagined what I would do if I saw Zander again. I would kill him. I would. I was ready to commit murder. I wanted a weapon, but couldn’t think through the fog in order to figure out what kind.
My mind kept going back to Zander and what I should have done to keep my dad away from him. I’d failed Dad in the worst way possible. Slowly, I started to accept that fact. I’d made a mistake and it had killed my sweet, nerdy dad.
That was when I started to become numb. My limbs stopped feeling weak. I turned stiff with sharp anger instead. My breath became steady. By the time I’d put my shoes on, grabbed my purse, and left my room, I was clenching my teeth in rage, and I had momentum in my walk that was taking me towards the front door.
Mom was laying on the sofa with a deadened look on her face.
“Did something happen?” I asked. I went to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t look up at me. She was staring at her laptop, which sat on the coffee table. When I saw the images, I almost sat down on Mom but she shifted away. I pulled the laptop towards me and scrolled through the pictures. Burnt scraps of clothing, all with numbers and measuring sticks next to them. Dad’s keys. The car with bags thrown inside. When I got to the last picture, Mom closed her eyes and whimpered, as if begging.
It was Dad’s shoes.
They were scorched and dirty, but completely recognizable. There could be no mistake.
The dead man was Dad.
◆◆◆
I left Mom alone when I learned that my grandma was on her way. I drove to Dad’s house
because I wanted to dig through his personal things and find evidence that would put Zander in jail. If he was fucked up enough to lie and set fires, maybe he’d done other things. I wasn’t thinking about the police procedures needed to make evidence valid—I just wanted to take him down. I drove on autopilot all the way there.
A lot of thoughts went floating through my mind like hideous ghosts: We have to go to him. How can we leave him in some morgue alone? I should go get him and bring him home. I wonder if he brought any books out there. We should go out there and check. He would hate for them to get damaged. It didn’t matter how nonsensical my feelings and thoughts were; I didn’t want them to go away.