Chapter 6 - THE MAN INSIDE THE FIRE
The flames rose above the trees before we reached the gate.
Orange light tore through the rain.
Black smoke rolled across the narrow road.
Reyes slammed his foot on the brake.
“Stay in the car.”
I had already opened the door.
Rain struck my face as I ran toward the house.
“Evelyn!”
Marianne shouted behind me.
I ignored her.
The lake house stood at the end of the gravel drive.
Fire poured from one of the first-floor windows.
The front door hung open.
A dark figure stumbled out through the smoke.
For one terrible second, I thought it was Noah.
Then my mother collapsed onto the wet ground.
Her silver dress was torn.
Blood ran from her temple.
Her hands were tied behind her back.
I reached her first.
“Mom.”
She coughed violently.
Her face was gray with smoke.
“Evelyn.”
The word barely came out.
Reyes dropped beside her and cut the plastic restraints with a folding knife.
“Who is inside?”
She grabbed my sleeve.
“Don’t go in.”
“Where is Noah?”
Her eyes widened.
“You heard him?”
My heart stopped.
“You know he’s alive.”
She looked toward the burning house.
A section of glass shattered.
Flames burst through the opening.
“Mom.”
I tightened my grip on her shoulders.
“Is Noah inside?”
She started crying.
Not gracefully.
Not quietly.
For the first time in my life, my mother looked stripped of every performance she had ever worn.
“I don’t know.”
“You lied to me for four years.”
“I thought he was dead.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“He was supposed to be.”
The words cut deeper than the rain.
Reyes heard them.
So did Marianne.
My mother realized what she had said.
She closed her eyes.
I pulled away from her.
“What did you do?”
She shook her head.
“Not here.”
The fire cracked behind us.
Someone shouted from inside the house.
A man.
Weak.
Choking.
I turned toward the doorway.
Reyes grabbed me.
“No.”
“That could be Noah.”
“That could be a trap.”
“He called me.”
“And told you not to come.”
“Because someone forced him.”
Another shout came through the smoke.
Then three heavy knocks struck from somewhere inside.
A pattern.
Three knocks.
Pause.
Two knocks.
Pause.
Three again.
My breath caught.
Noah used to knock that rhythm on Sophie’s bedroom door.
It was their game.
She called it the secret song.
I looked at Reyes.
“That’s him.”
I pulled free.
Before he could stop me, I ran through the door.
Heat slammed into my face.
Smoke swallowed the entry hall.
I covered my mouth with my sleeve.
The ceiling groaned above me.
The house looked unfamiliar.
I had never been there.
But framed photographs covered the wall beside the staircase.
Noah.
Me.
Sophie as a baby.
Pictures I had never seen.
The fire had reached the curtains.
A photograph fell and shattered near my feet.
In it, Noah stood beside a boat with a man whose face had been scratched away.
The knocking came again.
From below.
Basement.
I moved through the kitchen.
Smoke burned my eyes.
The basement door was blocked by a fallen cabinet.
I pushed against it.
It would not move.
“Evelyn!”
Reyes appeared through the smoke.
He wrapped one arm around my waist.
“We have to leave.”
“He’s down there.”
“I know.”
Together, we pushed the cabinet aside.
The basement door opened inward.
A wave of darker smoke rose from below.
The fire had not reached the basement yet.
Reyes switched on the flashlight attached to his phone.
“Stay behind me.”
We descended.
The stone steps were slick.
At the bottom, we found the breaker panel ripped from the wall.
Gasoline covered the floor.
But it had not fully ignited.
Someone had poured it badly.
Or intentionally left an escape route.
A man lay beside the far wall.
His wrists were chained to a metal pipe.
His hair was longer than Noah’s had been.
Gray touched his beard.
He was thinner.
So much thinner.
But when he lifted his face, the world disappeared.
I knew those eyes.
“Noah.”
His lips parted.
“Evelyn.”
I dropped beside him.
My hands touched his face.
Warm.
Real.
Alive.
He leaned into my palm as though the contact hurt.
I could not breathe.
I could not speak.
For four years, I had imagined his body beneath a white sheet.
For four years, I had visited a grave.
For four years, Sophie had whispered goodnight to a photograph.
And he was here.
Alive.
Reyes examined the chain.
“Where is the key?”
Noah coughed.
“Black jacket.”
A man lay unconscious near the stairs.
One of Preston’s security men.
Reyes searched him and found a key ring.
The chain opened.
Noah collapsed forward.
I caught him.
He was lighter than I remembered.
Too light.
“What did they do to you?”
His eyes found mine.
“Later.”
“The drive.”
He pointed toward the broken breaker panel.
“They took it.”
“Who?”
Before he could answer, the house shook.
A heavy beam crashed upstairs.
Reyes pulled Noah’s arm over his shoulder.
“We leave now.”
We climbed the stairs.
Noah could barely walk.
I supported him from the other side.
When we reached the front hall, the flames had spread across the ceiling.
The entrance was blocked.
Reyes turned toward the kitchen.
“Back door.”
We moved through thick smoke.
Noah stumbled.
I tightened my arm around him.
“Stay with me.”
He looked at me.
A faint, broken smile touched his face.
“I tried.”
The back door was locked from the outside.
Reyes kicked it once.
Twice.
The frame cracked.
On the third kick, it burst open.
We fell into the rain.
Marianne ran toward us.
Her face froze when she saw Noah.
“Oh my God.”
My mother sat near a police vehicle that had arrived behind us.
When she saw him, she stood.
The color drained from her face.
Noah stopped walking.
His entire body stiffened.
My mother covered her mouth.
“Noah.”
He stared at her.
Not with surprise.
With hatred.
“You.”
One word.
That was all it took.
I looked between them.
“What did she do?”
Noah’s face tightened.
“She signed the order.”
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
“You signed it.”
“I was trying to protect Evelyn.”
“By making her believe I was dead?”
My knees weakened.
Marianne moved closer.
“What order?”
Noah looked at me.
His voice was barely audible beneath the rain.
“The order to keep me locked away.”
Reyes turned toward my mother.
“Locked where?”
Noah answered for her.
“A private treatment facility.”
“For four years.”
I stared at my mother.
She began backing away.
“You don’t understand.”
“No.”
I said.
“I understand perfectly.”
Sirens grew louder in the distance.
Firefighters rushed toward the house.
Paramedics placed Noah on a stretcher.
As they lifted him, he grabbed my wrist.
“The bank box.”
His fingers trembled.
“Don’t open it at the bank.”
“Why?”
“Your father will know.”
“What’s inside?”
Noah looked toward my mother.
Then back at me.
“Proof she was not protecting Preston.”
May you like
He swallowed painfully.
“She was protecting herself.”
