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The pinkish glow faded from Ford’s hands as the lock on the door of Pines Pawns clicked open and he walked inside. The coil of rope slung over his shoulder bounced lightly against him with every step and his breaths came deep and even as he steadied himself for the task ahead. As he climbed the stairs to the top floor, he tightened his grip on the can of gasoline in his right hand and the gun clipped to his belt on the left. This moment would be his sanctity. He stood at the top of the stairs, set the can of gasoline on the floor beside him, and waited for the chaos to unfold.
It took a millisecond for his parents to notice him. When his mother laid eyes on him, she stopped talking abruptly and hung up the phone. Filbrick dropped his newspaper.
“Stanford, where have you been? We thought you were dead!” his mother cried, her shrill voice grating on Ford’s ears. He reminded himself that after today, he would never have to hear either of his parent’s voices again. He pulled out the gun and raised it. Filbrick instinctively stood up. “What are you doing?” his mother nearly shrieked, her eyes widened in fear.
“Something I should have done years ago.” Stanford said, his voice low and dark. He paused for a few seconds. When neither of them spoke, he continued. “Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Finally, his father managed to find words. “Stanford, put that down!” he bellowed. Ford ignored him.
“What do you have to say?” he repeated, his finger hovering over the trigger as he turned the gun towards his father. “What do you have to say about the way you treated me? Stanley? Did you think I’d be blind my whole life? Did you expect me to pretend my childhood was normal? Did you think I was just going to stay your perfect little prodigal son forever? That I was just going to let myself be your goddamn puppet so I could feed you more money?” The gun started shaking in his hands as his tense muscles trembled, his voice cracking. “Did you think I wasn’t going to be angry? Did you think you could treat me like shit and avoid the consequences?”
“Put that down right now!” Filbrick yelled, his voice laced with actual fear .
Ford’s voice grew calm and steady once more. “No.” he said. Then he pulled the trigger. Filbrick crumpled to the floor with a hole in his chest. He turned to his mother, who was slipping down against the window seat, trying to scramble backward and only succeeding in pressing herself further against the wall. Her fingers dug into the cushion as she begged for her life.
“Stanford, honey, I’m sorry, I had no choice, your fa-”
“You’re not sorry . All you ever did was lie to me.” With that, he pulled the trigger. She screamed as a bullet pierced her abdomen.
They kept trying to talk after that, but Ford ignored them. They were too weak to fight back as he tied their hands and feet with the rope and laid them side-by-side on their backs on the floor. They coughed up blood and choked on their words, trying to talk some sense into him. Ford tuned them out as he poured the gasoline all over the room and all around them. He stood over them for a few moments. Then he snapped.
He started screaming, pouring out all the anger he’d bottled up. He screamed about every time his father had beaten him and his brother, every time he’d called them names or told them they weren’t good enough, every time his mother lied to them, every time she made excuses for their father’s behavior, every time she neglected them, failed to protect them, enabled his father. He screamed about every single way they fucked him up, about all the abuse he endured. He kicked their heads, stomped on their stomachs, punched them in the face, left them bloody and bruised but still clinging onto consciousness through their pain.
Finally, he finished his rant. Ford stood at the top of the stairs, his knuckles bloody and his shoulders heaving with every ragged breath. The air smelled like blood, gasoline, and finality. After making sure to spit on them, the anger on his face began to fade. He was done, he was drained. This was what he needed.
“Fuck you,” he finished. “I’m not your son.” Ford looked his parents dead in the eyes, his face completely emotionless. He raised one hand and snapped his fingers. The gasoline ignited and the room erupted into flames. Ford strode out without a single glance back, leaving them to burn.
Ford exited the store and walked across the street to where Fiddleford was leaning against the van, which was parked on the curb near the sandy beach. The ocean looked like it was burning too, the sunset lighting it with hues of orange and red. The water was on fire, every glint of the yellow sun against the waves a stray ember. The bright sky blurred into the the horizon, the whole world engulfed in flames. Ford turned and watched the fire as it began to consume the home that was never a home. The flames reflected off of Ford’s glasses as they stood in silence for a while, watching Pines Pawns burn.
Ford suddenly crumbled to his knees and burst into tears. Everything that had happened here was burning. It was over. It was finally gone. This chapter of his life was ending, and he’d never really had the chance to find any sense in it all. He’d destroyed it, but there was still no reason why it happened. Ford let the cathartic tears roll down his face, sobbing openly. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but whatever it was, it needed to be felt.
Fiddleford crouched down beside Ford and wrapped his arms around him, holding him as he let it all out and rubbing his back gently. “I got you, buddy.” he whispered softly. Everything smelled like salt and smoke and sea. Ford’s tears burned hotter than any fire ever could, searing his face with the memories engulfed in flames before him.