AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As much as that hurts, it also solidifies my resolve. “I lost a future that might have been amazing. You lost one too, didn’t you?”
Paul’s smile is wry. “Maybe. But it’s not too late to make a new one that’s even better.”
I smile back, even though it hurts the bruised side of my face. “And if we’re going to build a better future, we need to build it on a good foundation, right? Not one that’s cursed by bad blood.”
“So…” Paul crosses his arms, his smile gaining a hint of mischief. “What’s your plan then?”
“My plan,” I say, “is to burn this whole fucking place down.”
I think Raleigh would be proud of me right now. It’s too bad she isn’t here to lend me her house-fire-starting skills. But Paul turns out to be an excellent substitute. After leading me out of the hall of cells I’ve been trapped in for three days, we split up- him to disable the fire sprinkler system and trigger the fire alarm, and me to sneak into the garage.
After three days of hardly any food or sleep, I feel like adrenaline is the only thing holding me up at this point. Carrying full jerry cans of gasoline from one corner of the armory to the door is more exhausting than it should be. When the fire alarm starts blaring, I force myself to pick up my pace.
I’ve collected ten jerry cans before Paul appears at the door and starts grabbing them, two in each hand. “The evacuation is in full swing,” he says. “No one should stop us now.”
“Did you get the C-4?” I ask, and he nods.
“Stashed it in the office. I assume we’re starting there?”
“Definitely.”
Paul is right. My uncle’s men are too busy rushing out of the house to notice us creeping down side hallways. The office, which holds so many terrible memories of spilled blood and babbling screams, is the first stop on our journey. While Paul splashes gasoline up and down the walls, I slap a hunk of C-4 right on top of my uncle’s desk. I don’t care if there’s money or guns or important paperwork in its drawers. Everything that ever belonged to him, from the stifling red curtains to the expensive bottles of pungent alcohol on the sidebar, is going up in flames today.
We move on to the next room, the dining room, where my uncle held all his strategic meetings- and where every meal I attended felt like a prison sentence. I can’t count how many times he lost his temper at me for eating too little, not appreciating his generosity enough, or causing my silverware to clatter just a little. Then we prep the armory below the house, which I hope goes up with a fantastic bang. We douse my uncle’s bedroom; the reception room where he would host important guests, and I would be forced to sit for hours in silence just to be ogled as the men got drunker and drunker; the wine cellar, from which my uncle fueled his worst rages; and finally, we empty the last of the jerry cans on the carpet running up and down the main hallways of the house. Even my old room isn’t immune. I pour gasoline over my bed, where I had to sit and watch my uncle tear pages out of my sketchbooks whenever he thought my work was a waste of time. When our work is complete, Paul tosses his jerry can aside and hands me the detonator for the C-4.
“Want to grab anything from your room first?” he asks.
I think of the old sketchbook waiting for me at the Warwick house, and the window of my room painted with an enormous tree.
Whatever’s left in this house can be replaced.
I shake my head. “You?”
He shakes his head back at me with a smile, and we jog into the backyard, which is really just a field ringed with outbuildings. Here we can watch the place go up from a safe enough distance. The sky is perfectly black, but whether it’s late at night or early in the morning, I have no idea. Time disappeared inside that house, and now that I’m free, I feel like I’ve rejoined reality.
As soon as we’ve turned back to face the house, I squeeze the trigger on the detonator.
Fire explodes out of the windows.
Paul throws us both to the ground as walls on all three floors of the house splinter and fly in all directions. Smoke billows out of the gaping holes, and after a moment I see the growing red glow from inside that tells me the gasoline has ignited. Some sparks catch in the branches of the cypress trees, some in the grass, and some as far as the roofs of the outbuildings.
My eyes sting, but whether it’s from the smoke coming toward us on the breeze or my tears of joy, I don’t know.
“Time to go,” Paul grunts, getting off the ground and pulling me with him. “I think we went a bit overboard on the C-4. Probably should’ve watched this from the front of the house, kid.”
Probably, but then we would’ve been at more risk of running into my uncle’s men, who might’ve stopped us. Even if it means we have to run a little too close to the burning house to get around it to the front yard, I’m glad we did it this way.
Except, when we get around the house, I’m hit by a whole new shock at the tableau by the front gates.
They’re open wide, and the ground between them is littered with dead and wounded men. And outside the gates is a sea of headlights pointed at the house, blinding me to whoever is waiting behind them.
Is this a police raid? Or is it-
A silhouette breaks up the headlights and comes charging toward me.
“Thomas?!” I call, staggering forward over the bodies of my uncle’s people. Paul steps in front of me defensively, but when the figure gets close enough, I see that it’s Iris, not Thomas. For a wild second, I think she’s charging at him to start a fight. Instead, Iris throws her arms around Paul’s neck, he dips her low, and they kiss with open passion.
So… that’s who Paul’s been texting all these years.
