“I’m afraid it’s quite certain,” Hugo tells me. “There was a fire. Your father’s house was destroyed. His body was found in his study. It appears he set the blaze intentionally. There was accelerant spread all through the house. The footage from the security cameras shows no other entry.”
A vivid image arises in my mind of my father pouring gasoline all throughout our house—over the stacks of books and magazines, the boxes of unopened goods, the papers, the photographs—they must have gone up like kindling, blazing towers of fire. He burned the paintings, the vases and rugs and chandeliers purchased by my mother, their wedding photographs, and my old rocking horse up in the attic. My clothes and books and blankets in my room.
Then he sat in his office, his one safe place, and waited for the fire to finish the job begun twenty years earlier. The job of killing him.
“When did this happen?” I ask.
“The evening of the twenty-fifth,” Hugo says. “I was not informed until this morning.”
He killed himself on Christmas. The day before his anniversary.
“Did he leave a message for me?” I ask, dully. “A note?”
“If he did . . .” Hugo says, “it would have been burned. The fire spread to the neighboring houses as well. There’s nothing left of yours.”
I’ve never felt so much and so little at the same time.
A raging storm of emotion swirls around inside of me.
And yet I’m as numb and dull as a corpse.
My body stands up without my order. I hear myself say to the Chancellor, “Thank you for informing me.”
“Usually we do not allow departure and return to the school,” the Chancellor says. “But in this instance, with no other family to make the funeral arrangements—”
“There won’t be any funeral,” I say.
For the first time, Hugo’s face shows a flicker of confusion.
“But surely you—”
“He made his own funeral pyre. Why should I go against his wishes?”
Hugo hesitates, watching me closely.
“If you would like a few days to consider—”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll return to class now.”
Another silence, and then he gives a curt nod.
“As you wish.”
“Thank you for informing me,” I say, turning back toward the door.
I cross that expanse of carpet again, and this time it seems only an instant until I’m out of his office, descending the stairs.
My pulse throbs in my ears, faster and faster, and yet I feel oddly calm.
He left me. My father left me.
Just like my mother.
Everyone runs away eventually.
They get away from me, any way they can.
I check my watch—one of the only gifts my father ever bought for me. Plain and impersonal. Not any brand I particularly liked.
Snow’s class is about to begin. If I hurry, I can make it still.
I take off the watch and drop it on the steps of the Keep, stomping it with my heel until the face shatters. Then I keep walking, all the way to the Armory.
I change clothes quickly, wanting to catch up with the class. My heart is beating faster and faster as I pull on the gray gym shorts and white t-shirt. My body knows I’m ready to fight. My hands start to shake as I wrap them in turn and don my gloves.
I’m almost running by the time I enter the gym.
Snow has already paired off the students for sparring.
He glances up as I enter, and I can tell from his expression that he already knows.
“Dean—” he says, moving to intercept me.
I push past him, looking for someone to fight.
“Who wants to spar?” I shout. “Who’s got the stones? Jasper? Bram? Silas? Leo?”
I challenge them all, and I wish they’d all agree. I’ll fight all four at once. I’ll fight the whole fucking class.
“Dean,” Snow says, more forcefully, grabbing my shoulder.
I shake him off.
“COME ON!” I shout. “Who’s man enough to face me?”
Silas looks like he’ll take the bait. He takes a step forward and I’m already clenching my fists, ready to run at him until Snow intervenes.
“Everyone out,” he barks.
The class stares at each other for one brief second, before hustling off to the change rooms.
The impotent rage I feel might burn me alive.
I have to fight.
I need it.
I turn to face Snow, angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.
“I’LL FIGHT YOU THEN!” I howl. “I’m ready.”
Snow holds up his hands, saying, “I’m not going to—”
But I’m already rushing him, swinging with all my might.
And I hit him. I fucking hit him, right in the jaw.
Then I hit him again, and again, and again.
I’m striking him with all my might, with all my fury.
I’m in such a blaze of violence that it takes me far too long to realize that he’s not trying to duck or dodge. He’s not trying to defend himself.
He lets me hit him, over and over, in the face and body, without ever even holding up his hands to block me.
He lets me exhaust my anger on him, until I realize that I’m hitting the only friend I have, the only man who’s ever been good to me.
And then all the strength goes out of me, and I would have sunk down to my knees if Snow didn’t wrap his arms around me and hug me tight.
I’ve never been hugged like this, by someone strong. Someone who could hurt me if he wanted to, but instead is using his immense power to give me that sense of protection and support that I’ve never known in all my life.
I could have been a better man if my father had been more like this.
“Why couldn’t he be happy?” I sob. “Why couldn’t he live for me, for us?”
I’m thinking of my mother, too, of all the years she tried to laugh with him and joke with him like they used to. He shoved her away, over and over. Until she couldn’t even smile anymore, not for him and not for me.
Snow doesn’t try to answer. He just holds me, because somehow, he understands.
I’m crying again, and I’m so ashamed.
Cat saw me like this. And now Snow.
I’m weak and broken.
And that’s the real truth that torments me.
The real reason I’m so angry and alone.
“Why didn’t he love me?” I cry.
Snow puts his heavy hands on my shoulders and looks me in the face. His eyes are pale blue, clear as ice, but there’s no coldness in them.
“When you become a man worthy of love, you will receive love,” he tells me.
I search his battered face, trying to understand.
“I was alone,” Snow says. “No parents, no family. They called me Snow because I fought so cold. But I had anger inside me, too. An old boxer took me in. His name was Meyer. He was hard on me, and he was good to me, too. He showed me friendship. Love came later when I met Sasha. I saw her for what she was: a treasure to be protected at all costs. To have her, I had to become the man she deserved.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” I admit.
“It’s always a step into the dark,” Snow says. “No one knows the path they haven’t walked before.”