Alix (six years ago):
"Please? You're my big brother. That means you have to play with me." My little sister, Amelia, pulls on the sleeve on my shirt. Being thirteen, and Amelia being seven, I practically tower over her. Even so, her wide blue eyes—something we both share—and freckles cause me to kneel next to her, putting a large, calloused hand on her small, bony shoulder. Her bright blonde hair blows across her face in the light wind. I smile at her before nodding. "You know, Mel, you're right."
She crosses her thin arms across her chest, her eyes fierce as they stare me down. "I know." It's so blunt that I have to laugh.
It's the middle of summer, sending the wrath and heat of the sun's rays down on the two of us. Amelia's cheeks are flushed red with heat, but she doesn't seem to care. Then again, children typically don't, do they?
She reaches up and takes my hand in her small one, leading me towards who-knows-where. Right before we cross into the neighbor's property, I stop her, tugging on her hands lightly. She turns slightly, but her eyes are trained on something in the distance. "What is it, Mel?" I ask, squinting towards the direction she's looking, but not seeing anything.
Before she can answer, the familiar gruff voice of my father echoes across the lawn. "Caleb! Your mother and I need to speak with you." So my mother has come home once again. Along with this, I can't suppress a wince at the name he calls me. Though Caleb is my birth name, I've never liked it. Mostly because my father has used it up. Hearing my name is like standing next to a nuclear bomb as it blows up. All my father needs me for is dirty work he can't bring himself to do. Therefore, hearing the name being yelled constantly is just a sharpreminder—a small stab in the back—to let me know that he's the one in charge. Honestly, it's a surprise that Amelia isn't bothered by my family's hard conditions, and that she's still the happy little girl she is today. Nevertheless, I know better than to refuse my father. Otherwise, things get a little...messy.
"Coming, Father!" I call back, and shoot Amelia an obvious look of regret. She may be young, but she is not stupid. "You're leaving me?" She asks, frowning.
"No." I say, kneeling down beside her, casting glances behind me to make sure my father hasn't come back out of the house. "I will never leave you, you hear me? Never. I'll be right back, okay? I just have to take care of something." I push myself back up, and when Amelia opens her mouth to say something else, I cut her off. "I'll be right back." Then, I'm striding towards the house.
Inside, no lights are turned on, the only light is the sun shining through the windows and casting long shadows along the walls. I hear voices coming from the kitchen. I know I'm not supposed to eavesdrop—forbidden, actually—but I can't help but overhear my parents' conversation. So, pressing my shoulder against the wall outside the doorway, and leaning my head against the door frame, I let myself listen.
They're arguing, but then again... is there ever a time when they're not?
"Chris, he's got to get himself a job." My mother says in a soft voice. Some part of me has always wondered how my mother was drawn to a man like my father.
"Caleb does have a job. He works for me." My father responds harshly, and I can picture spittle flying from his mouth as he speaks.
"I meant a job where he gets paid. We need the money."
"Tell me, Abby, how am I going to get work done if he's not around? Besides, he'll probably just keep all the money to himself. Speaking of which... where is that boy? I'm going to slam him into the wall if he doesn't show up in the next five seconds."
My heart slams in my chest, and, sucking in a sharp breath, I step through the doorway. "You needed me?" I ask innocently. My father's eyes narrow, and I do my best to keep a straight face. I've done it enough times... it's not that hard.
"Yes." My father tries to sound understanding, but the tightness in his expression is obvious. "Sit down, Caleb."
"Um...okay?" I pull out a chair awkwardly, trying to avoid the harsh gazes of my mother and my father.
"We've been thinking—" My mother starts, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. My father cuts her off.
"I've been thinking that you need to work more."
Work more than I already do? Is this man insane? I make him meals, I mow the lawn, I take care of Amelia because he can't be bothered to do it himself, I have to buy the groceries... it's been that way since I was eight years old. And he wants me to do more? We're already tight on money, which means I have to go out every day and try to find enough daily work to earn enough money to keep us going. What does he do? He sits on the couch, reads newspapers, and drinks. Not necessarily in that order. But no matter how much I want to argue, I'm not allowed to step a toe out of line, so I stay silent, shaking with rage from the inside out. I've gotten good at holding it in.
"I'm thinking that maybe if you work harder, and really push yourself, we might consider letting you apply for a job."
Bull. He wants me to work for him for the rest of my life. If I'm not working hard enough now, I don't know what working hard is. Can't he see that what he's asking me is impossible for me to do? I've thrown everything I am into this family, only to get it thrown back at me. Does he ever stop to think that maybe I want to go to college, but I can't because I will have to stay home and make sure Amelia is safe? I trust my mother more than I trust him, but with Amelia... I only trust myself. Besides, my mother is only ever home once in a blue moon.
The answer is no. He doesn't stop to think about anyone but himself. Because he doesn't care.
Beside him, my mother is obviously regretful of my father's words, but she doesn't say anything to change what he said. She wouldn't. That's when hard resolve pumps unexpectedly through my veins, causing me to jerk upright. One word repeats itself over and over again in my brain, until it escapes my mouth.
"No." My voice is almost a whisper. My father swallows hard, and his fists clench in his lap.
"What?" He asks. "Caleb, it's obvious that you're not doing enough around the house. Your mother and I are trying to help you for the real world—"
"Excuse me?" I blurt out. My mother flinches visibly. "I don't do anything? I do everything. And why is that? It's because you're too lazy to get off your butt and do something."
Rage filters into my father's expressions, but I can't bring myself to care. "You don't understand how much of a spoiled brat you are, do you?" He asks, but I won't have it.
"I'm done." I say firmly and I stand up out of my chair, headed toward the stairs. I will walk away from this. But I will do it with my head held high. A big hand clamps around my shoulder, and before I can stop myself, I turn swiftly and punch my father. Right in his angry, crimson face. "DO YOU HEAR ME?" I scream. "I'M DONE!"
I don't stop to see what evil names my father spits up at me as I leave. But he is smart enough to know that I can outrun him easily. He won't come after me. Not this time. I stomp my way up the stairs, so blinded by hurt and rage that I don't even think about Amelia. My baby sister.
Slamming open my bedroom door, I start with the posters. Ripping them off the walls and throwing them onto the floor. Then the closet, ripping all of my clothes off the hangers and pulling them to the ground below me. On top of them comes the bed sheets. It's an exhausting process that takes a strenuous ten minutes, but soon enough, all of my belongings lay in a messy heap on the floor. The only thing that does not join the pile is the clothes I'm wearing now and this rusty tool belt I talked a store-keeper into giving me. I convinced him that a small plastic necklace of Amelia's was real, and he gave me this over-sized belt for it. My father had yelled at me when I got home, saying I should have spent the money on something more useful. I suppose that's why I like it... it shows a bit of defiance between my father and I. It's kind of a part of me now. I can't think about the past. I'm done with the past. I'm done.
From within the deep pockets of the tool belt, I withdraw a small rectangular box. It amuses me how something so small can do so much damage. There's no turning back now.
I don't think about what I'm doing. Instead, I simply do it.
My thumb presses the lever on the side of the match, lifting the top off and creating the birth of a small spark. I can't help but smile a little. I've waited way too long for this.
I throw the match into the pile of stuff.
And I watch it burn.
~
It takes twenty-four hours for the reality of what I had just done to hit me like a wrecking ball. It takes another twenty-four hours for me to earn up the confidence to go back and actually see what I had done.
Every time I think about what I did, I regret it even more. Yet I don't at the same time. The only sentence ringing through my mind is the fact that I left Amelia. I left her, and I told her I'd be back.
Yellow police tape surrounds my house—or what is left of it. My throat tightens when I see the damage I did to the house.
And all it took was a small spark.
Half of the house has collapsed, the roof and all. The paint has been burned off the side of the house, and rubble litters the ground around it. Though it's devastating to see, there's only my mind is on. Amelia.
Every fiber of my being is focused on the hope that she's still alive. After all, when I left her, she was outside. She could still be okay. She may have found her way over to the neighbors. In the meanwhile, the thought that she could be dead drops my heart into my stomach. The thought that I could have caused it fills me with a dread so deep I want to drop right in my path.
My eyes travel over the scene in front of me, and they focus on the wheat field that belongs to our neighbors. It's completely gone. I was ignorant to start a fire like that inside my house and then just leave. I was so blinded by madness that I didn't realize what I was destroying.
I destroyed all I had worked for. And I'm not even that sorry.
A couple policemen are in a small huddle near the entrance to the ruins of the house. I walk up to them, hoping not to give too much away in my expression.
"Hi." I say, not having to force a look of concern. "I'm a close friend of the people who lived here. You wouldn't happen to know if there were any survivors, would you?"
Two of the policemen exchange skeptical glances before one of them finally responds. "None that we could tell." My heart skips a beat. "We found three bodies. I'm afraid we can't tell you any more than that."
"Are the neighbors okay?" I ask hurriedly, clinging to the hope that maybe it wasn't Amelia who died, but one of the neighbors. It's a cruel, harsh thing to think, but I can't help it. Amelia with her dimpled smile, and her childish notions. Dead? My mind can't picture it.
The policeman sucks in a breath, and I feel myself holding in one as well. A yes or a no could mean the world right now.
"Yes, they came out of their house unscathed. Their crops, however..." He gestures towards the demolished wheat fields. "You can see what the damage did to their crops...I honestly don't..."
His words are drowned out by the blood pounding deafeningly in my ears. She can't be dead. She can't. I would feel it if Amelia were dead, wouldn't I? I loved her more than my mother or father ever could.
But now she was gone.
And I had killed her. My six year old sister.
I run.
The police, to my surprise, don't call after me. In fact, all they do is stare. I run through the streets of the city until my feet are sore, my face is dripping with sweat, and I feel like my heart is going to burst. When I stop I press a hand to my face, startled at the coldness of my hand compared to my burning face. My hands come back wet.
I'm no longer the Caleb I was before. My name has been demolished along with the house and my sister. My fists clench at my sides, turning my knuckles white.
No, I'm not sorry for killing my parents. But Amelia...
Starting today, my name is not Caleb. Today, I will adapt a new name, a new personality, and a new life. Before today, I didn't know if it was possible to do something accidentally on purpose.
But it is.
Because I have done it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
GUYS. I got to 1,000 reads! Squeeeee! Honestly, I never thought I would come this far just from my passion of writing, but I'm here, and I want to thank all of you amazing fans of this book for sticking with it and getting me there!
This chapter is dedicated to all of my readers (yes, you!) for being the amazing people you are!
Comment thoughts and feels below! Vote if you loved it and want more! ;)
~trebleclef18