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“You are a fool,” I tell myself and light one more match. I set it to the bloody sheet and watch the flame take and spread.
30
Santiago
Exhaustion is settling heavily into my bones by the time I pull through the gates of The Manor. The fresh sting of my sister's betrayal has left me empty. Vacant. I need sleep and a moment of peace.
Ivy will be upstairs. Soft and warm and available as a balm to the chaos in my wretched soul. The thought of being inside her, close to her, is the only solace I can find in the current landscape of reality.
Those thoughts drive me forward, sustaining my last shred of sanity as I park the car and drag my rigid body from the metal frame. The scars on my torso are aching tonight. A pain that surges again during the most inconvenient times, threatening to incapacitate me. My limbs are weighted down like lead, causing my feet to drag as I turn toward the front steps. In my desperation to get inside my sanctuary and collapse, I almost miss the sight of Marco darting across the garden on the east side. He catches sight of me at the same time I notice him, and we both freeze.
"What’s going on?” I ask.
"Mrs. De La Rosa," he answers tightly. "She's in the chapel, sir, and the groundskeeper informed me—"
Without waiting to hear the rest of his explanation, I pivot and move in that direction. Adrenaline floods my veins in response to the urgency in Marco's tone. Whatever it is can't be good.
My natural inclination is to suspect the worst. Someone has come for her. Another threat. Another scheme. Another hidden enemy I have been unaware of. My fists clench at my sides as murderous thoughts plow through my mind at lightning speed.
I will kill anyone who even thinks of touching her.
The chapel door screeches open beneath the weight of my palm, my haste pushing me forward with only one thought in mind. I have to get to Ivy. But the moment I see the flickering flames up on the altar, I stop short, my breath seizing in my lungs.
It feels like a hallucination. Another vivid nightmare. Because this can't be real. That can't be my wife up on the altar, burning what I soon realize is a length of fabric. She turns to me, the shadows dancing over her features as an orange glow reflects in her eyes.
A sharp pain lances through my chest, and I stumble forward, grasping at the end of the pews to catch my balance. Smoke suffocates the oxygen, a putrid smell that never leaves my thoughts. My eyes shutter closed as I try to focus on the present, fighting the past that keeps trying to drag me back to hell. When I open them again, I can just make out the faces of my father and brother staring back at me.
"No!" I roar.
I’m back there again. In the midst of the flames, dragging my body through the rubble trying desperately to get to them. Sharp metal scrapes against my torso, forcing an animalistic sound from my throat as I try and fail to push it away. It cuts me deep, and flames lick along my clothing, singeing my skin. The smell of burned hair and flesh nauseate me, but I have to keep going, for them.
Footsteps move past me, echoing across the floor like heavy artillery.
"Get back!" someone yells.
I try to see through the smoke. The flames. The pieces of bodies around me. But I never can. A cough explodes through the air and sweat drips down my neck as a familiar voice calls out to me.
"Take her outside."
Heat seeps into the fibrous tissue of my scars, deepening the ache. The itch. My brother and father aren't here anymore. I can't see them. And when reality yanks me back, it's Ivy standing in front of me, wide-eyed and horrified.
"Take her outside!" Marco yells, shoving her in my direction. "I'll put this out. Go!"
It takes me a moment to find my balance and re-orient. And slowly, the pieces start to fall into place as I dissect one nightmare from another. My fingers curl around Ivy's arm like an iron trap, and she cries out as I drag her from the chapel out into the fresh air.
She yanks away from me, coughing and trying to catch her breath as I blink at her, trying to understand. Chest heaving, venom filling my veins, souring any sweetness there may have been between us. My traitorous fucking wife.
"What did you do?" I growl.
She wipes her face and shakes her head, refusing to answer. Refusing to look at me. She may as well have poured accelerant on my already volatile mood.
"What. Did. You. Do?" I snarl, capturing her around the arms and shaking her.
