Page 172

Seven Years Later

The dream always started in darkness.

In it, I’m behind the wheel again, trying to get back to Seth and Luke.

Detective Colin Grant’s voice echoes in my skull, the advice of a man who has seen monsters and knows how to cage them.

Leave first. Get clear. Come back when it’s safe. I’ll handle Richard.

I trusted him.

The trees blur past as I race down the private drive. I pass through the iron gates, and the world ignites.

Flashing red and blue lights cover the estate grounds in violent color. Smoke billows thick and black against the sky. Sirens scream, but they sound far away.

I slam on the brakes and throw the car into park. The seat belt cuts across my chest as I wrench the door open and run.

A man grabs me from behind and shouts my name, but I fight him with everything I have. I have to get to them.

“My babies are in there! Seth! Luke!”

The heat hits me as flames roar through the windows of the house I once called home. Firefighters in heavy gear move through the inferno, but they’re too late. I claw at the nearest firefighter, begging and screaming Richard’s name because maybe he is still inside. Maybe he has them.

A firefighter finally kneels in front of me, his face streaked with soot and something worse. Pity. He doesn’t have to speak. I already know.

No one survived.

My world folds in on itself. They try to console me. They wrap a blanket around me. They ask me questions I can’t answer. Someone says they found children’s remains. Someone else murmurs that Richard must have done it, killed them first, then set the fire to hide what he’d done.

I vomit beside an ambulance, bile burning my throat. I scream until my voice shreds into nothing.

Then silence. Absolute, crushing silence.

In the smoke, two small figures appear. Seth is wearing the same outfit from his birthday. Luke stands beside him, smaller, holding his brother’s hand. They look at me with those serious eyes that always saw too much.

I run toward them, arms open.

Then the smoke swallows them whole.

I woke up screaming.

My body jackknifed upright in bed, sheets tangled around my legs. My husband Kevin was already moving, years of practice making his response instant and gentle. His strong arms wrapped around me from behind and pulled me back against his chest. His heartbeat was calm, a rhythm I had clung to on nights like this more times than I could count.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair. “You’re safe. We’re here.”

The words tumbled out between sobs, the same ones that always came.

“I left them. I shouldn’t have left. I promised I’d come back. It’s my fault.”

He held me tighter, one hand stroking my back in slow circles. “No, Sam. Listen to me. It wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”

I nodded against his shoulder, tears soaking his T-shirt, but the guilt never loosened its grip. It lived in my bones now, a constant ache that flared on days like this. He knew the script as well as I did. He had walked through this fire with me for years.

He pulled back just enough to cup my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears. “What day is it?”

“October thirty-first,” I whispered. It was Seth’s birthday and the anniversary of the fire.

I had requested the day off from the hospital weeks ago. I did every year. The staff understood without asking too many questions anymore. They knew it was the anniversary of losing my sons in a tragic house fire. They had no idea how much deeper the wound went.