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Fuck. If I’d known this was behind these walls, I would’ve never even gotten close.
I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have seen this. I shouldn’t have, but it’s too late to erase this image from my mind.
Suddenly, an eye stares straight back at me through the gap.
I panic and tumble backward on my ass.
“Dad! We’ve got a visitor!” Ben hollers.
I hold my breath.
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but someone was looking. I’m going outside,” Ben yells.
Think quick, Brandon. Think!
If they find you here, they’ll kill you!
I immediately crawl up from the ground and run as fast as I can toward the fence, not knowing whether I’ll make it in time. Ben didn’t recognize me. He could probably only see my eyes, not my face. That means I still have a shot, but I need to get out, right fucking now.
I climb the fence as fast as I can. It takes all my strength to pull myself up, my adrenaline pushing me forward.
However, with one glance over my shoulder, I’m frozen in place.
The dry, old wooden walls of the farmhouse and the barren grass surrounding it … Fuck.
My eyes widen, and my mouth drops.
It’s on fire.
How? When? Shit.
My Zippo. I didn’t even realize I had dropped it until now.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
“Dad! Fuck!” Ben screams as he opens the door and sees the flames.
He quickly runs back inside and gets his dad and brother, who immediately go back in to grab a hose. The thing gets stuck on the shoddy walls, though, and it ruptures, leaving the water to pour out onto the soil.
A few seconds later, Dixie runs out of the shed, screaming her lungs out at the fire. She immediately assists her dad and brothers in fighting the fire, but it’s already too late. The flames are licking the ceiling of the building, and the plants are wasting away.
I’m nearly across the fence, but I can’t tear my eyes away. I stare in shock as the building slowly goes up in flames.
No matter how hard they fight, the fire wins.
And I can’t help but wonder … will they ever know it was me?
Suddenly, Dixie pauses and turns her head straight toward me.
Our eyes connect. Just one look says more than a thousand words ever could. Pure and utter hatred.
I don’t know what made her turn her head because I didn’t make a sound. She couldn’t have known I was still here.
Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was fate.
But now she knows.
I was here when it happened.
I’m not waiting around until she calls out my name, so I quickly jump off the fence.
Fuck that Zippo. I’m not going back there to fetch it and incriminate myself in the process. No fucking way.
I hope Dixie doesn’t tell the world it was my fault.
God … I fucking hope she forgets she ever saw me here.
* * *
Dixie
Past
November 6th
I grab buckets and fill them with water at the nearest outlet outside. I keep running back and forth, chucking the water onto the fire, but it’s not nearly enough to stop the flames from consuming the farmhouse.
My dad and brothers are fighting the flames with a half-broken hose, but the water doesn’t spray out fast enough to put out the fire. Even Mom comes running out of the house, ready to help. By the time we’ve managed to douse the flames, nothing’s left of the farmhouse. Nothing but broken down, blackened wood, soot, and … potted plants.
I stare in shock at the scene in front of me.
“It’s gone. All of it,” Dad growls, kicking away a piece of wood. “Fuck!”
I never hear him swear this loudly. Something important must’ve been inside that farmhouse. What the fuck were they hiding in there that I wasn’t allowed to see?
Then it hits me.
The potted plants, the nightly visits, the stern look on my dad’s face, family first.
He’s been waving it right in front of me, and I didn’t even notice.
They’re growing something illegal in here.
Drugs.
“Dad,” I mutter, throwing the last bucket of water on the smoldering pile of rubble.
“Not now,” he growls, passing me.
I follow him. “Dad!” I won’t let him ignore me. Not this time.
He swiftly spins on his heels. “What?” he sputters in my face.
“Were you growing drugs in there?” I ask, frowning.
He immediately turns around again, mumbling, “That’s none of your business.”
“Yes, it is.” I tug his arm. “Dad. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you weren’t ready yet,” he replies, sighing out loud.
Not ready yet? For what? Knowing they were doing something illegal? Or participating in their scheme?
“Were you ever planning to tell me?” I ask, licking my lips.
He goes to his knees in front of a single plant and pulls it from the rubble, almost caressing it in his hands. “Once you were old enough. Once I was sure you’d be able to handle it.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
