Chapter 2

Emerson stood before the house he’d grown up in, thinking that it was entirely full of lies. He had decided during his stay at the hospital that he would get rid of everything and purge the property of its demons. He sent Mei away on a two week vacation cruise, knowing she would be shocked when she returned, but unable to complete his objectives under her watchful eye. Not that he wasn’t grateful for everything she’d done for him; for years Mei had been the only friend he’d had, and he was glad she knew him and rarely judged him. Still, he wanted her to be above reproach when things came down around him.

With her safely tucked away, Emerson called a local charity and arranged to donate every item of furniture to them. He signed it all away with only a second thought for Michael’s things. He felt a pang as they went past and suddenly begged the movers to wait. He kept Michael’s writing desk, standing it in the corner of the yard where he could watch them come and go. He sat on its top and smoked a cigarette, occasionally stroking the smooth wood under his hands. It took the four men all day, but by sundown they had emptied the house completely. It even sounded quieter without the furnishings, without the appliances, but it was better this way, he thought.

He considered his fourth cigarette of the day with pleasure. It was divine to keep a piece of his old self, the person he’d become when he’d run away. He had learned a lot about himself and about life, but in coming home, he’d learned even more. The allure of the cigarette had stayed with him throughout his transformation, and he found it comforting.

As the sun sank lower, Emerson looked at the empty house, thinking of all the suffering that had occurred within its walls. The cruelty his mother had inflicted had no ascertainable boundaries. He inhaled deeply, wondering if the wooden rafters would burn as quickly as the paper surrounding his tobacco. He flicked the cigarette toward the house and watched. For a long moment nothing happened, but then, the grass that had gone untended the past week finally began to smolder at the base of the house. He lit another cigarette and held it in his mouth, inhaling again for good measure as he watched the tiny flame begin to grow. He threw his current cigarette upon it, hoping to fuel the ignition of the grass. His efforts were rewarded as the flames slowly crept up toward the house. It was dark now, and Emerson dragged his brother’s desk to the car and loaded it carefully into the trunk. The lid wouldn’t quite close, but he determined that he would drive slowly so as not to damage it until he found a better place to keep it. The letters from his brother, father, and mother were all tucked carefully in a box in the back seat. He backed down the driveway carefully, noting that the flames were surrounding the house and already coursing up the front wall. He didn’t smile. He didn’t take pleasure in the fire itself the way a pyromaniac would, but he felt a little bit better. This house of evil would no longer haunt him or anyone. He had burned it to cleanse it, and this made him feel released. He would sell the property for cheap to someone who wanted to rebuild it. He had considered selling the house intact but felt his mother’s presence too strongly there, as though she was steeped into the walls. It made him shudder to think of another family living there, their innocence tainted by her vengeful spirit.

As he drove down the darkened street he wondered if it would burn completely to ash or if scorched pillars would remain. He decidedly did not care, as long as it could never haunt anyone the way it had haunted him.

He pulled another cigarette from the pack and sucked it between his lips, lighting it as he drove. He had a vague idea of where he was going, but knew he couldn’t arrive there too soon. He decided to kill time with a drive up the valley, to an orchard he once had called his home however briefly. There he would have time to think, and begin the next phase of his plan.

Things weren’t always black and white, but he no longer feared the gray areas. He was done being afraid of shadows. He sped up, smiling sadly as a fire engine whizzed past him with its sirens blaring. Too soon, he thought. He could only hope the damage would be severe enough to kill the evil within that house. He would only go back twice; once to survey the ruins and a second time to sell the land. Beyond that, Emerson Thorne was certain he would never step foot there again.

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