I had no idea why my buddy kept certain things in his life so close to the cuff, but I’d be naive to think I had nothing to do with it. I’d given him reasons to doubt certain things.
I’d given him reasons to doubt her.
Wolf stayed silent, Thatcher and Wells too at his sides. The pair knew everything that had occurred tonight, of course, everything Wolf had told me. We’d told them when they got here. Wolf shook his head. “What will this do to them?” he asked, his nostrils flaring. “My mom and dad. What will this do to them, D?”
I had no answers for him, my friend, my brother opening his own Pandora’s box tonight. This one couldn’t be closed either once it was done.
I decided to do something for my friend in that moment. It was something he’d do for me, and I needed to help my friend for once instead of hindering him. I needed to be his brother like he had me.
I swiped my phone to a different contact, one he needed. I dialed after that…
Then handed him my phone.
*
Sloane
I woke to the smell of gasoline. So pungent, I choked on it, my eyes watering. I gagged, and I saw him through watering eyes.
A man in black.
In fact, he wore all black down to his boots, his bulky figure definitely indicating a man. He had a red gasoline container in his hands, and with his hood up and head lowered, I couldn’t see his face.
He was pouring gasoline everywhere. The container he had seemed to have a never-ending supply, and he worked quickly, surrounding me with it.
Though I was still hazing in and out, I realized where I was, even if I couldn’t identify the exact location. The man had me in some kind of warehouse. A factory maybe? There were big machines with the conveyor belts and stuff.
The man wouldn’t stop pouring. He continued to slosh the gas about, and I watched in horror when he made a circle around me with gas. He had me tied to some kind of chair, and I wriggled.
The guy’s head shot up immediately. The first thing I noticed was the man’s eyes, dark, haunted. He had greasepaint covering his face, his beard overgrown…
But I still saw him.
I still recognized those eyes and pretty much right away.
The man twitched in front of me, and the shock of his presence rattled me silent. This didn’t make sense.
“Dad?” I breathed out, staring at my father. “Dad, what…”
He should be dead. He was dead. I’d seen his casket. It’d been closed, but I’d seen it. After
the fire, my brother and I had been told there was all but nothing left of the man we knew as our father. The authorities had said he’d been burned to the point where there wasn’t anything to show at the funeral. At least nothing that wouldn’t be disturbing, and I’d refused to subject Bru to that. Seeing our father in that condition would have killed him.
It would have killed me.
We loved our dad. He’d had his troubles, but we loved him. Love was never a question, but this, what was happening now, didn’t make sense. He shouldn’t be alive. He shouldn’t be doing this… whatever he was doing.
The man shook his head incessantly as if he was trying to shake something out of it. Ignoring me, Dad continued to pour gas, and I gasped.
“Dad,” I forced out, my mouth so dry and my body achy. I had no idea how long I’d been out and tied to this chair, but pangs in my limbs told me it’d been awhile. “Dad, what are you doing? Why are you here? What happened—”
He shushed me like a child, but it wasn’t a normal shush. His finger shook against his mouth, a vacancy behind his eyes.
“I have to. I have to,” he whispered, the words chillingly low. Severing eye contact, he poured more gas. “I need to.”
“Dad—” I cried out as he lifted the can and spilled the last of the gas on my jeans, my shoes. The smell violated my lungs, and I shifted in my chair. “Dad, stop.”
“No. No. Can’t stop.” He sounded unhinged, crazy. “I can’t stop. It must be done. It has to be done.”