Jayce’s dad bends at the waist, his face inches from mine. “Answer me!” he shouts, the faint scent of old beer floating from his lips.
I lean away from him, trying to create distance between us, but he takes a step forward, closing the gap. I’m cornered like an animal against a tree, only my tree is his son’s casket.
All that comes out when I open my mouth is a jumble of sounds. I can’t form the words, but in my head, I’m screaming for help, hoping my dad will hear it and shove his way to me.
Without warning, the candlestick sitting at the foot of Jayce’s casket topples over, lighting the ankle of Jayce’s dad’s pants on fire, burning him. He cries out and stands erect right as my dad tackles him sideways against the catafalque holding the casket. It launches backward, and the casket falls in slow motion toward my dad and Jayce’s. They quickly reach for it, grabbing it frantically with both hands, but with the weight and momentum of it, they don’t stand a chance. It tumbles hard to the floor,popping open between us, Jayce’s charred remains rolling to a stop at his mom’s feet.
A blood-curdling scream echoes around the church, and multiple mourners quickly exit out the back while others run to the front, trying to see what they can do to help.
My eyes lock on the blackened corpse, its face twisted, and its mouth stretched wide open in a permanent scream—a witness to something horrifying.
A glimmer of orange flashes briefly in its eyes and disappears just as fast. It only lasts a second, but I know it washim. I begged for help, and Mastyx came. No matter how demented his methods are, he stopped Jayce’s dad from tormenting me.
The pastor yanks a silk cloth covering an altar nearby and covers the remains. Jayce’s mom screams down at me, “You did this, you fucking whore. You—”
A hand crosses her face, with a loud slap, shutting her mouth at once. My mom straightens her dress as Jayce’s mom covers the quickly developing red mark on her cheekbone. “Don’t you ever talk to my daughter like that again.”
Inside, I’m laughing but also afraid. I know now isn’t the time, but I’ve never seen my mom hit anyone before, and I’m low-key proud to call her mine. My dad hooks his hands, one of which has a bleeding cut, under my arms and lifts me from the floor. “Are you okay, kiddo?”
I nod as the pastor shakes his head at us. My dad excuses himself and kneels to the floor, apologizing for his actions.
It looks like I’m not the only one who will eventually go to hell.
The pastor places a reassuring hand on my dad’s shoulder, then rises and guides Jayce’s parents to an open doorway off to the side to calm them. I imagine he’s speaking to them about forgiveness and offering apologies for what happened.
Multiple people work to return the corpse and casket to their original position, some of them gagging, others trying to maintain their composure.
The wailing sound from mourners returns, combined with the hushed whispers and outright accusatory statements of the town gossiper’s blasts through the church like a static radio playing two stations at once. I cover my ears, the chaos searing through my temples like an icepick.
Flakes of charred dust litter the floor where Jayce’s body once rested. My eyes lock on the onyx powder, wondering if it will stain.
“Tessa?” My mom places her hand on my shoulder, jarring me slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
My head moves on its own, nodding as the pastor follows Jayce’s parents out of the side room they were just in.
They walk straight for us, and I step back, bumping into my dad, who places his arm around me and moves me behind him as they stop in front of us.
“I’m sorry.” Jayce’s dad’s voice cracks. His eyes drift down to the blackened outline on the floor and tears spill down his face.
My mom rests her hand on his shoulder and says, “We are sorry for your loss.” She turns away from him and applies a slight pressure to my upper back with her palm. “Come on, Tessa, let’s get you home.”
Okay, maybe her sudden forgiveness of the man who screamed at me will get her a ticket back into heaven, but in my opinion, there’s no excuse for treating me like that. Perhaps she did it for appearances’ sake, not wanting anyone to have any more ill will toward me than they already do.
They already think I’ve killed two people after all. I hear the whispers and the rumors. But no matter how much they talk, they’ll never know what’s really going on because I’ll never tell anyone.
The sun burns my eyes as we exit the church. I slide my sunglasses down over my eyes and rub mom’s hand that’s firmly holding me around my waist, as she helps me down the long flight of stairs leading to the parking lot.
When we reach the car, a flyer for a craft fair coming next month flutters in the breeze under the windshield wiper.
My mom crushes it in her hand. “Seriously? People have no sense of decency.”
I reach out to her. “Don’t do that.” I take it away and smooth it out on the hot car’s roof. “I know it’s odd, but I do need to find a hobby since I can’t go anywhere this summer anyway. Maybe I can save some money to buy a new car.”
“You’re not going to be driving again for a while, young lady. Not after lying about going to a party and crashing the car.” She pulls open the back passenger door and gestures with her hand. “Not to mention, my heart can’t take the worry. Now, get in.”
I slide carefully into the back seat, trying not to set off the blistering pain that plagues my singed flesh. My mom pushes the door closed, and I lean my head against the window as she climbs in, turns the car on, and cranks the air conditioning.
Warm, stale air blasts through the back center vent, striking me in the face. I sit up, roll down the window, and close my eyes, letting the sun warm my cheeks. We sit there, idling in the parking lot, waiting for my dad to emerge from the church.
