Chapter 2

Days bled into a smoky, timeless haze. The air was a poison I had to breathe. Caleb was limp in my arms, his breaths shallow and ragged. I' d torn my shirt, soaking pieces in the small basin of water from the cellar's sink, pressing the damp cloth to his mouth and nose. It didn't do much.

My own lungs burned with every breath. My head throbbed, a dull, constant ache. I spent hours talking to Caleb, singing the stupid songs I used to write, anything to keep him conscious, to let him know his daddy was there.

"We're gonna get out, buddy," I'd whisper, my voice a cracked ruin. "We'll go to the park. We'll get you that red truck."

He was too weak to answer.

On what I think was the third day, the bolt on the door scraped open. Hope, a stupid, stubborn thing, flared in my chest. I thought it was Jennifer. I thought she'd come to her senses.

But it was Wesley, her younger brother. He stood in the doorway, a smirk on his arrogant face. He looked at me, then at Caleb, and he laughed. A low, cruel sound.

"Still alive? Impressive," he sneered, taking a deliberate step into the cellar. The fresh air that followed him was a brief, sweet torture.

"Wesley, help us," I pleaded, my voice barely audible. "Call an ambulance. Please. Caleb is sick."

He ignored me. He walked over to the brazier, the embers still glowing faintly. "You really don't get it, do you, Wright?"

He looked me right in the eye. "You think this is about some 'negative energy'? This has always been about Ryan."

The words hung in the smoky air.

"My sister has been in love with Ryan for more than ten years," Wesley said, enjoying every word. "She was destroyed when he chose my older sister. You? You were just the rebound. The convenient, blue-collar idiot she picked up to make him jealous."

He let that sink in. My entire marriage, a lie. My love, a tool.

"She never loved you," he continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "And she sure as hell doesn't love your kid. Right now, she's on a private beach with Ryan and Molly. They're probably laughing about this. About you."

Despair washed over me, so total and complete it felt like drowning.

Wesley picked up a leftover bundle of sage from the floor. He looked at it, then at me. "You know, I never liked you. Coming into our family with your dirty hands and your cheap music."

He tossed the bundle onto the embers. It caught immediately, sending a fresh, thick plume of smoke directly at us.

"Have fun," he said, turning to leave.

The bolt slid home again, sealing my tomb. I held my son and wept, the smoke and my tears mingling in the darkness.