When I clean myself up, the sting coupled with the sight of red on the tissue twists something in my stomach. I turn on the shower and step under the water, letting it run until the warmth blurs the edges of everything. I stay there longer than I should, until the steam fogs the mirror and my skin starts to prickle.
When I finally walk back into the bedroom, the space still feels empty without him, but heavier than before, like his presence still clings to the air. There’s a weight in my chest I can’t name, a cold certainty pressing at the edge of thought. Something’s wrong. Whether it’s already happened or still waiting to, I can feel it moving closer.
I whisper into the empty room:He’ll be back in an hour. It’s nothing. It has nothing to do with me.
I pace. Five steps across the room, turn, five steps back. My skin feels too tight, nerves twitching under it like live wires. The boards creak beneath my feet, loud in the silence.
The clock ticks louder. My ears strain for the sound of boots on the porch, the slam of the door, his voice cutting through the dark. Anything is better than this silence, but no sound comes.
Then, as though my prayers are answered, I hear an engine roaring up the road—by the time headlights sweep across the glass, I’m already at the door. Relief slams into me, fierce and overwhelming. Jacob is back.
I reach for the handle, desperate for his voice, his presence. Anything to break this unbearable emptiness. But something stops me in my tracks. Something feels—odd.
I hear the breaks of the truck, then the driver door opens and slams shut. Boots sound on the porch, then the knock comes once. But Jacob doesn’t knock. It’s a single rap, almost hesitant.
“Summer!” I hear, a crackled deep male voice, calling my name.
A familiar voice.
Benny.
I open the door and there he stands.
His skin is chalk-white in the porch light, his hair damp with sweat. His chest rises and falls like he’s run a marathon. His eyes—wide, shining, almost breaking—fix on me with pity so striking it feels like cruelty.
“Summer,” he whispers, like my name itself is a wound. “I came as soon as I could.”
Confusion washes over me. “What’s going on?”
He looks past me, into the house, into the hollowness Jacob left behind. His jaw hardens. When his gaze returns, it slices straight through me.
“You don’t know, do you?” he asks, half concerned, half angry.
The words land like ice water down my spine. My heart jerks.
“For Christ’s sake Benny, what?”
His face twists, disbelief cutting through his features. He drags ahand over his mouth, like he can’t quite believe the words coming out of it.
“Fuck.” A sudden shake of his head follows. “He hasn’t told you?” The laugh that slips out isn’t really a laugh at all—just a jagged sound, bitter and hollow.
His shoulders sag, his whole frame seeming to fold under the weight of it. He exhales through clenched teeth, then steps closer.
“I shouldn’t be the one saying this.” His voice breaks on the words. “But someone has to.” His eyes hold mine. “It’s your parents,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Their house… there were perimeters everywhere. Cop cars, the fire department were there. There was still smoke coming from the building when I saw.”
I pause, waiting for him to say my worst nightmare.
“They didn’t make it out, Summer. I waited. Wanted to help, but Jacob sent me away.” His voice dips even lower, gentle, coaxing. “They’re gone.”
The air leaves my lungs in a single violent rush. My stomach knots, twisting so hard I double over. The floor tilts, and tilts, until I’m sure I’ll collapse straight through it.
“No.” My head shakes, frantic, wild. “No, you’re wrong.”
“I wish I was.” He steps closer, his voice low and thick, dripping with sorrow. “God, I wish I was.”
And then the images hit.
Flames swallowing the old wooden beams, orange and alive, roaring as they climb. The wallpaper blistering, curling black. My mother’s voice shrieking my name from behind walls that crack and groan as they collapse. My father pounding fists against a window that won’t shatter, the glass glowing hot before it explodes inward. The smoke choking them. The heat eating their skin. Their hands reaching for a door that won’t open, until the fire swallows them whole.
