“Cyrus, accept it.” She took a step forward. He heard her steps on the creaking floor. “You’re finished here. Join me.”
He took a deep, rasping breath, trying to steady his shoulders and keep them from shaking. Clenching his fists, he raised his head like a wild animal, sweat stinging his eyes and clouding his vision. She was a blur, towering over him, but her beauty captivated him in a way nobody else ever would.
“It can’t be.”
“You know who did it.” She reached out a hand, one finger extended, almost touching his lips. “The same person who killed our daughter.”
“You’re wrong!” he growled. “You’re wrong. You don’t understand.”
“I know what you’ve done, Cyrus.” She shook her head, drawing back her arm. “I know everything you’ve been doing.”
“Shut up!” he yelled, leaping up from the ground and tackling her.
But she wasn’t there, and he smashed into the ground, just below the staircase. His head hit the floor, and he crumpled. His eyes rose slowly to the steps, counting them. One hand, stretching out towards them.
Chapter 32
Cyrus and the Fire
*Years Ago*
“What time will you guys be back?” Cyrus asked, opening the door for his wife. He inspected her clothing. It was modest enough, the kind of thing she would wear to Sunday evening church. Only this time, she wasn’t coming home until the next day.
“I think the sleepover ends after lunch,” she said. “So… I’ll try to be back here by noon.”
“Are you excited?” Cyrus halfway smiled at his son.
He nodded eagerly, pushing forwards and through the open door. “Let’s go, Mommy! Hurry up.”
Ophelia leaned over and kissed him. “Listen, I’ll have my phone, so if you need anything just text me, alright?” Their eyes connected, and he understood the real meaning behind her words.
“I will.” He patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll try.” She kissed him on the cheek, and walked out the door.
Cyrus followed her onto the porch, watching as she loaded their son into the back of the minivan. His convertible sat beside it, lonely and seldom-used. They’d become those parents with two cars, with a minivan, with a large house that had to be child-proofed. He shuddered, thinking about it.
“See you soon!” his wife called, before her door shut and the van pulled away from the house, backing onto the street and speeding away.
This wasn’t how it should have gone. When he was a teenager, he had wanted to be the cool dad, the dependable husband, and the perfect lover. It felt like any possibility of that, his normal life, was slipping away with every day.
He saw his phone, laying beside the couch, and almost reached out to call her, to beg her to come back home. It was only one night apart, but even that seemed like a mountain impossible to climb. What if she met somebody at the church? What if the preschool teacher was there? Maybe she would realize how stupid and petty and overbearing he was, and she would leave him?
Closing his eyes, he tried to fight off the instinct that was knocking at his mind. He had shoved it deeper for so long, that the urge was now unbearable. He bolted to the bathroom, to his secret cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. As soon as he poured the first glass, he felt guilty, like somebody could see him at that very moment. Impossible, he assured himself. This house empty, except for himself.
Stumbling into the bathroom, he closed the door and locked it, taking another drink and feeling it burn his throat. He stared at himself in the mirror, locking eyes, and taking in the haggard appearance of his skull. His stubble was thicker than it had been in years, his eyes more hollow and skin sickly.
It was somebody he didn’t recognize, a man he didn’t want to see. So he closed his eyes.
But there was no comfort. In his mind, he envisioned Ophelia, only she wasn’t alone. She was with that teacher, bending over in front of him, seducing him, drawing closer to him. Now they were at the church event, and it was very late. All the children were asleep, all the adults, and they were sneaking out the back door.
She glanced towards him, her own husband, and winked. Then her attention went back to the teacher, pulling him to the ground, ripping his shirt off in a frenzy.
“Stop!” Cyrus screamed, raised his fists in the air. “Stop it!”
He swung forward, and heard the loud crash as the mirror shattered. A thousand bursts of pain from his knuckles, and then the feeling of warm blood seeping over his hand. He cursed, opening his eyes and snatching a long, thin cloth from the cabinet.
“All in your head,” he mumbled, wrapping it around his bloodied fingers and all the way to his wrist. “Just in your head.”
Was it, though? After all, she’d cheated on Dumpy, done it with him, in fact. If she was heartless enough to do that, why wouldn’t she leave him for the teacher, or for any other semi-attractive man? She’d done it before, and never shown any remorse for it. In fact, she seemed to enjoy that their history was imperfect, flawed. He wouldn’t put it past her, to cheat again. To cheat on him.
Cyrus began to sob, his eyes lingering on the candle beside the sink. Its flame had been flickering earlier, but now it stood strong, waving from side to side but never shrinking. His breath came in rasps, as he flexed his muscles and felt something building up inside of him. It was beyond anger, past grief. Something manic, something indescribable.
“Never leave me,” he growled, reaching for the door handle. He unlocked it, stomping through the house.
“Never leave me,” he repeated, this time stronger. It was dark outside. How long had he been in that bathroom? The clock read that it was past midnight. Just as it had been in his vision.
“Never leave me!” he roared, sprinting out the door and down the city street, in the direction of the church.
Cyrus’s vision was clearer than ever, but his mind began to blur. He felt the wind against his face, and he knew what his plan was, but who was he? Why was he running? Where has his home?
The church came into view. He remembered his plan, and yet he didn’t know why. Why did he hate these people so much? Who was he going to confront?
His fuel rushed through his veins, the strongest kind of energy, and the most powerful type of adrenaline. Insanity.
“You will never leave me!”
Things got out of hand quickly. He couldn’t find her. Where was she? Where was he? Why were all the church doors locked?
And just as quickly as it had come, it fled. When the building was nothing but ashes, he lost all of that emotion. It moved deeper inside him. Quietly, it made a home.
He woke in bed, confused, groggy, with a pounding headache. Ophelia wasn’t there, of course. She’d spent the night at the church with their son. They would be back for lunch, at least. He smiled, feeling the warmth of the sun coming through the window, and hearing the chirping birds. Life wasn’t so bad after all.
“Just needed some rest,” he mused, with a bright expression on his face. “Nothing like some great sleep to cheer you up.”
Chapter 33
The Second One
Will stirred awake in the early morning. His digital clock said it was just after 5 A.M., much too early to be awake in the summer. He lay still for a moment, listening to any sounds in the house and trying to gauge whether anybody was awake. Why had he woken up in the first place?
It took a moment, but Will realized his head was searing with pain. It was so bad he felt the top of it, to see if there was a cut or some injury, but all the pain seemed to be inside. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, and felt the world spin around him, starting to close in. When his stomach began to churn, he sprung out of bed to dart for the bathroom.
Retching in the toilet, he leaned over and felt his arms shaking violently, barely holding the weight he pressed on them. After throwing up one more time, he flushed and washed his mouth out with water. The headache remained, but at least his stomach felt b
etter.
That’s when he noticed the smoke outside the window. It was a small plume, rising above the other houses, barely distinguishable from the early morning sky. But he could see it, nonetheless. Will tried to survey and guess what area of town it was coming from, but the effort hurt his head. Lowering his head in defeat, he shuffled back to his room.
A split-second decision, it all clicked, and he was hurling down the stars, barging into the kitchen. He shouted at his parent’s room, “Something happened at the church!” and then snatched his keys from the kitchen counter. Their door opened, but he wasn’t waiting around to talk.
When Will ran outside, it seemed like the entire world had gone mad. Dark smoke was gathering over top of their small town, like his imagination of the apocalypse. Sirens wailing in all directions, cars backed up as far as he could see. Some people had ditched them altogether and were now running on foot, not a person awake who didn’t want to see what happened. Everybody in town, apparently, had seen the fire and decided to find out just what was going on.
Grumbling angrily, Will stuffed his keys in the pocket of his sweatpants and took off running in the direction of the smoke. It took him a few minutes to get there, and every step seemed to magnify the smell. Like a campfire left burning for too long, the fumes from the church building began to irritate him, set him on edge. His headache threatened to drop him on the spot, but Will pressed on.
As he approached the last turn, he heard the sirens wailing and the crowds of people murmuring. Some were shouting, others crying out for their loved ones. There was a collective gasp every time part of the building fell and had to be put out by the firefighters before it could spread to the surrounding homes.
“Put the bloody fire out!” someone shouted, a middle-aged man. “What’re you doing? Do your job!”
Will eyed him cautiously, and turned to follow his gaze. It seemed, indeed, that the firefighters were more focused on stopping it from spreading than putting it out altogether. This church, the symbol of their entire town and the focus of their admiration, was slowly burning to the ground, with nobody attempting to stop it.
“Don’t get any ideas, kid,” an older gentleman snapped at him. “I seen that look in your eyes, the crazy one. Last time ‘is happened, we had kids like yourself running up and throwing themselves into the building, eh. Don’t get none ideas.”
“Have you seen Cyrus?” Will asked him, spinning around to question the other people surrounding him. “Have any of you seen Cyrus Streett?”
All he received as an answer was blank stares from the crowd. Will grumbled, and his eyes locked back onto the burning building. The sun was starting to rise now behind it, but this first ball of fire had already beaten it.
The smoke grew darker as he watched, swirling up to the sky in thick, nearly black columns. Will held his hands tightly together, praying that nobody he knew got caught up in it. From the conversations around it, he managed to gather there were tons of children inside, mostly younger girls who’d been having a sleepover. Whatever chaperones they had also seemed to be lost.
He stood there, along with the other hundreds of people, simply watching the spectacle. There was nothing for them to do but stand and worry, no way of helping those inside or putting out the flames. Instead, they grumbled, complained, and observed. This church was their entire way of life, and for the second time in almost fifteen years everything was gone, up in smoke.
“Is there an official count on the number of deaths?” he heard a conversation behind him.
Will turned to stare at those who were talking, but neither of them was familiar to him. They also didn’t seem to care that he was listening.
“Anywhere from 10 to 40,” replied the lady standing beside him. “There was a sleepover. Little girls, mostly.” She looked a lot like his mom, but that impossible. They wouldn’t have gotten here already.
“Are you okay?” the man addressed him, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
Will glared at the man, his eyes wide and expressionless. His lip curled and his muscles tensed, ready to attack. Just before, the man backed off, and turned his attention to the building.
Spinning back to the front, Will peered at the front doors of the church. The smoke was pushed back for a moment as a strong gust of wind came through. He saw the body hanging from the ceiling, a rope around its neck, and the familiar outfit giving away its identity in a moment.
“Pastor Keener’s in there!” Will exclaimed. “Hanging!”
Everyone’s head snapped immediately in that direction, and a fresh outbreak of woes filled the area. The firefighters and policemen tried to hold back the crowd, using barriers and their vehicles, but the crowd was persistent. It looked like a riot, as they jumped over things and began to fight, shoving closer to the building. They toppled over one another, until they were up against the walls and began to charge inside, snatching at the rotting, burning body hanging near the front entrance.
“They’ve gone mad! They’ve gone mad!” a police officer shouted, as the stampede of people ran over his body and his head was crushed into the ground.
Will began to back away from the scene. His palms were sweating, and his knees began to shake. Nobody was watching him as he left, but that didn’t ease his fears. It had dawned on him, what Cyrus said at the church that day, which felt like ages ago. Whoever started this fire, killed these people… they were still here. Probably in this very area, watching the disaster they created. Cyrus hadn’t stopped them after all. Where was he now, when they needed him most?
Taking off down the road, Will took a few sharp turns, trying to lose anybody who might have attempted to follow. He didn’t need anybody else going where he was, or seeing what he was going to do.
It took him longer to reach Cyrus’s house, about five minutes. He was walking by the time he arrived, sweat soaking his thin shirt that clung to his frail arms. The house ahead was sitting there, taunting him. Will’s heart began to pound in his chest. There was no car in the driveway, still, and Cyrus would have found him at the church scene if he was in town.
The back door, of course, was unlocked. Lowering his head, steadying his mind, Will pressed into the kitchen. He grabbed a knife from the counter this time, hoping it would give a sense of strength that was lacking during his last attempt. There was some red liquid in the sink, a crushed-up beer can, and a smiley face post-it note on the wall.
His heart skipped a beat, as he tried to remember whether or not the strange objects had been here less time. It was impossible… He would have noticed… But maybe not. It didn’t matter, ultimately. Nobody was here now.
Will gripped the knife tighter as he left the kitchen.
Next was the staircase. It was so steep, so long. A portal to a place that he’d never known before, that held so many mysteries. He took the first step, and froze. There were no sounds from the driveway. His legs were stuck, it felt like.
Then an image of the church flashed into his mind, and the pastor’s dead corpse hanging from the ceiling. He had to find out what Cyrus knew, and if he was hiding something.
Will took the steps two at a time, bounding up to the second floor. He reached the door, and grabbed the knob. To his dismay, it turned easily, inviting him in. Will threw it back, held the knife up above his head, and stepped in.
The knife clattered to the ground. His eyes grew wide and his arms went limp.
“What…”
Chapter 34
Cyrus and the Police
*Years Ago*
It was impossibly dark for that time of year. The entire sky shrouded with clouds, casting a melancholy shadow onto the processions below. Everybody in the town had showed up, one way or another. Some of them were dead. And others wished they were.
Three rows of holes in the grounds, with caskets beside them. A crowd, hundreds of people, looking on as the new pastor preached his first sermon. Thrust into the spotlight, delivering a message to an entire, grieving town. It wasn’t ideal. Nothin
g about the situation could be.
“We’re here today… to remember.” He bowed his head. “Almost all of us lost someone last week. There is no explanation for an evil like this, a faceless monster that stalks the night and takes our children, our parents, our siblings. My own dad died, trying to help others. Very few people escaped the building. If you’re one of them, consider yourself lucky. God has a plan for you yet. And for those of you grieving… never forget what we’ve witnessed.”
He took a deep breath, composing himself. “I’m going to read a passage from Proverbs.”
Before long, his voice was drowned out by the crying of so many people. Cyrus put an arm around Ophelia, as she held herself up by his shoulders. It didn’t feel right, to be so close to her and yet so far away from their son. A piece of them was missing, gone. A part of their family. And soon a part of the ground.
“I want to feel him pressing against my leg,” she whispered, her voice faltering. “I want him to tug on my dress, and ask me when the funeral’s over because he wants a sandwich. I want… I want to hear him whine about being bored. But… but…”
“Shhhh.” Cyrus held her head against his chest, petting her hair.
She was visibly shaking, but nobody turned to stare. They were all feeling it, one way or another. There was hardly a soul who hadn’t lost somebody. Each and every one had a reason to cry.
He felt tears begin to run down his own cheeks, falling into her hair. “Shhhh, just… just breathe. Shhhh.”
No words for that moment, and not for the weeks that followed. For a month after, the town felt stuck in grief. Nobody got much work done, and at random times somebody would break down in tears. A dozen others would rush over to comfort them. It was a beautiful display of the human spirit, that their town managed to survive at all.
After two weeks, there were a handful of suicides, and another couple funerals. Those eventually stopped, as did the rumors. The police had trouble with their investigation, many of them blinded by personal feelings or bias towards those who had died.
Until We Burn_A Psychological Thriller Page 17
