Flames licked higher, snapping in the night air like hungry beasts. Smoke billowed through the shattered window, curling across the porch where Jake clawed at the locked door, his hands raw, his cries breaking against the wood.
"Mom! Annie!" His voice cracked, desperate. He pounded harder, shoulders straining. "Open up! Please, answer me!"
From within came the faint sound of coughing, Rachel's voice choked. "Jake, we can't," The words dissolved into a fit of ragged gasps. Annie's small scream pierced through next, thin and terrified.
Jake hurled his shoulder against the door, the impact jolting through bone and muscle. The knob rattled under the strain, streaked with his blood. "Hold on! I'm right here!" His body shook with rage and helplessness. He drove himself into the frame again, the wood splintering but holding fast.
A glow burst across the ceiling inside. Fire roared with sudden ferocity, devouring the curtains, rolling across the beams. Jake staggered back, eyes burning, lungs clawing for breath. His chest heaved as he turned wildly, searching for something, anything.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Red lights washed over the street, bouncing off the glass of parked cars. A fire truck screeched to a halt. Men leapt out, heavy boots hammering the pavement, helmets gleaming under the streetlamps.
"Back up, kid!" one firefighter barked, voice muffled through his mask. "Move away!"
"No!" Jake staggered forward, waving them toward the door. His face was streaked with soot and blood, hair plastered to his forehead. "My family's inside! My mom, my sister! You have to, now!"
"Step aside!" Another man swung his axe, the steel head biting into the frame. Sparks burst. A second blow split the wood further. But as they raised their tools again, a terrible groan shuddered through the house.
Jake froze. His breath caught in his throat. The roof buckled, timbers glowing red, then caving with a thunderous crash. A wall of flame erupted upward, showering embers across the yard like cruel stars.
"No!" Jake lunged, restrained by strong arms pulling him back. He kicked and struggled, eyes wild, his screams tearing into the night. "Let me go! They're still in there! Mom! Annie!"
"Hold him!" A firefighter pinned Jake against the grass as another shouted orders, dragging hoses toward the blaze. Water blasted, hissing against the inferno, but the flames only roared louder, as if mocking the attempt.
Jake collapsed to his knees, the heat blistering his skin. His hands trembled violently, nails clawing the dirt as if he could tear a path through earth itself. His gaze locked on the burning doorway, the place where his family's voices had been only moments ago.
"Mom!" he howled, his throat raw. "Annie!"
The names bled into the crackling roar of fire until they were swallowed whole.
Jake's body sagged, but his eyes remained fixed on the devouring blaze, wide and unblinking. The house groaned once more, then thundered down in a storm of sparks, leaving only flames to answer him.
And in that ruin, Jake's scream split the night, torn from his very soul.
The roar of the fire drowned everything, the porch crackling, the windows shattering, Jake's own screams tearing his throat raw. He stumbled back, coughing, eyes stinging as the smoke thickened around him.
Flames burst through the front window, the curtains consumed in a heartbeat. The heat slapped him like a wall. He shielded his face, but still lurched forward, desperate. "Mom! Annie!" His voice cracked, broken, lost inside the inferno.
The porch groaned under its own weight. Then, with a deafening shriek, the roof sagged and collapsed inward. Sparks exploded skyward like fireworks, raining over Jake's shoulders as he fell to his knees.
"Please!" He clawed at the dirt, nails splitting, the sound of splintering wood and collapsing beams answering him. The fire was alive, devouring, merciless. His world shrank to orange and black, to the sound of two voices that would never answer again.
The street filled with red lights. Sirens wailed, brakes screeched, and firefighters swarmed the yard, shouting orders. They aimed their hoses, water hissing against flame, but the house had already surrendered.
"Back, kid, back!" a firefighter barked, hauling Jake away by the shoulders. Jake thrashed, screaming, "They're inside! My mom and sister are inside!" But the man's grip was iron.
The house gave one final groan and caved in on itself, a tidal wave of sparks blotting out the stars. The sound of it silenced everything, Jake's voice, his struggle, the night itself.
He stood frozen, ash clinging to his hair, his face streaked with soot and blood. His chest heaved like something broken inside him.
"They're gone, son," a firefighter whispered, low enough only he could hear. "There's nothing left."
Jake's knees buckled. His palms hit the earth, trembling, and his cry split the night wide open, his mother's name, his sister's name, dragged out from a place so deep it seemed to tear him in half.
Ash swirled around him, the air thick with smoke and ruin. And when the fire finally began to die, nothing inside the house remained whole.
Jake's smoke-stained face lifted toward the sirens as police cruisers rolled in, his eyes burning, not just with grief, but the first spark of rage.
Jake sat in the hard-backed chair at the police station, the stale scent of smoke still clinging to his clothes. His head hung low, buried in his grief, his clenched fists resting tightly against his lap. He didn't lift his gaze until the officer's words cut through the heavy air.
"That's a serious accusation, Mr. Carter. Do you have proof?"
Jake's sharp blue eyes rose then, burning through the man across the table. His voice trembled but held the force of his loss. "Proof? My mother and sister burned because of him. Because of what he and his friends did."
One officer scribbled lazily into a notebook, while the other leaned back in his chair, his sigh carrying the weight of dismissal. Still, Tyler's name was written, barely ink on paper against the enormity of Jake's grief.
By late afternoon, patrol cars eased into the quiet neighborhood where the Matthews Estate Home stood. The house was large but not ostentatious, its neat hedges and white columns reflecting a modest kind of wealth. The Matthews firm gave them influence in town, respected and quietly feared, though nowhere near the scale of the corporations that ruled Los Angeles.
At the front door, the officers knocked firmly. Anna Matthews opened it, her hazel eyes narrowing just slightly as if she smelled something amiss. Their mention of Tyler's name sharpened her expression further. Without a word, she turned back into the hall, calling for her husband and son before returning to face the men on the porch.
Moments later, the officers were ushered inside, standing in the living room as Tyler appeared. His dark blond hair was combed neatly, his green eyes steady and unreadable. His parents flanked him: Alexander with his arms crossed, jaw set tight, and Anna, whose watchful gaze flicked sharply at every word spoken.
The taller officer adjusted his stance, his tone respectful but direct.
"Mr. Matthews, a sworn statement places you at the Carter residence on the night of the fire. We require your response, were you present at that location?"
Tyler's lips curved faintly, his voice calm, almost cold. "I wasn't there. People talk. They hate my friends, so they hate me. That's all."
Behind him, soft footsteps pattered across the polished floor. Little Emily had wandered in, trailing her parents and older brother. Her doll dangled in one hand, her wide green eyes lifting curiously toward the stern voices that filled the room.
Anna's head turned almost instantly, her intuition sharp. "Emily, sweetheart, not now." Her tone was gentle but firm as she stooped, brushing a curl from the child's cheek and taking her hand. She guided Emily away, shielding her from the rising tension. The little girl looked back once, her innocent gaze brushing across the room before her mother drew her into safety.
The officers pressed Tyler with more questions, but his denials stayed cool and unshaken. When a junior officer mentioned a discarded key found near the ruins and whispers from witnesses, Alexander stepped forward, voice smooth and commanding.
"This conversation is over. My son is not responsible for that tragedy." His words carried weight, authority sharpened by the quiet slip of folded bills into waiting hands.
By nightfall, the report was buried.
Jake Carter sat alone under the fluorescent glare of the station, his fists trembling on the table. The officer's file closed with a
dull snap, a sound that echoed like a final verdict. Justice had been stolen from his grasp.