Chapter Two-Hundred Eighty-Six: Burning the Past

Chapter 286

Burning the Past

The purple Ferrari 328 screeched to a halt in front of the old house on Orchard Street, its engine cutting out with a sharp, dying whine. Jordi didn't bother waiting for the engine to cool. He slammed the door open, his boots hitting the pavement with a rhythmic, impatient force. He didn't look at the sky—where the twin moons hung in a mocking, silent vigil—just at the front door that stood between him and the answers he needed.

He stormed up the walkway, not bothering with the handle, and shouldered the door open with enough violence to make the wood frame groan.

Jordi: “Lena!”

He roared.

The house was silent. Jordi slowly peered into the living room. It was bathed in the flickering blue light of a television, where the familiar, frantic music of The Price Is Right played to an empty room. Jordi moved past the set, his heart hammering against his ribs, and pushed open the door to his grandfather’s bedroom. The room was a disaster—clothes strewn across the floor, dusty stacks of old papers toppling off the desk—but it was empty. Not a soul.

He noticed something on the nightstand. He approached the bedside table and reached out, his fingers brushing against a stack of Polaroids lying beside the lamp. He picked them up and slowly flipped through the glossy photos. His chest tightened with every frame. The first few depicted Lena—sleeping peacefully in her bed, caught unawares while undressing, her sleeping with her bare breasts exposed, and stepping out of the shower with water still dripping from her shoulders.

As he continued through the stack, the subject shifted, but the horrifying intimacy remained unchanged. The remaining photos captured his mother, Estrella, in the same positions and settings. A sudden, violent wave of nausea hit Jordi, leaving him sick to his stomach at the grotesque violation of both his sister and his mother.

The sound of shuffling footsteps broke the silence. Abraham stepped into the doorway, his face twisted in a painful grimace as he adjusted the plastic tubes of his oxygen tank. Jordi’s head snapped up. His eyes, burning with a lethal, purple-tinged fury, locked onto the old man. Before Abraham could even draw a breath, Jordi surged forward, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him hard against the wall, the impact knocking the air from the old man’s lungs.

Abraham’s head slammed against the plaster with a dull thud. His eyes widened, his hands clawing helplessly at Jordi’s crushing grip. A wheezing gasp tore from his throat, the plastic oxygen lines under his nose rattling frantically with his struggle for air. He was trembling, frail and pathetically light against the wall, but Jordi felt no remorse—only an escalating, suffocating heat in his chest.

Sparks of harsh, violent purple light began to crackle over Jordi’s knuckles. Tiny arcs of purple electricity hissed against the fabric of Abraham’s shirt, singing the collar and sending sharp prickles of static through the air. Jordi’s knuckles turned white as the electrical energy hummed louder, reflecting in the terrified, wide eyes of his grandfather.

Abraham: “L-Let go of me, you m-miserable prick!”

The old man stammered, his voice thin and trembling, barely audible over the hum of the blue television light in the other room. Jordi held up the polaroids.

Jordi: “THESE! WHAT THE FUCK ARE THESE!? You took these photos of my mother and my sister!”

He rasped. Abraham’s chest heaved, his face turning a mottled, dangerous shade of purple as the oxygen tubing strained against his neck. He choked out a raspy, wheezing laugh, his voice rattling with phlegm and defiance.

Abraham: “G-Go to Hell!”

His bloodshot eyes bulged, straining against the suffocating pressure on his throat, but a sickly, delusional pride flickered behind his gaze.

Jordi angrily threw him down. The rage that had been simmering in Jordi’s chest finally shattered. A low, vibrating hum filled the room, rattling the dusty papers on the desk. Suddenly, the overhead bulb flickered violently, casting long, erratic shadows across the walls. Then, with a sound like a gunshot, the lamp on the nightstand exploded. Glass shards peppered the room, and the room was plunged into a momentary, suffocating darkness, lit only by the dying, rhythmic pulse of purple electricity crackling off Jordi’s skin.

Jordi: “This explains why Grandma didn’t come back… why she didn’t want Lena near you. She knew what you did to Mom.”

Abraham lay collapsed on the floor, his body wracked with violent tremors as he struggled against the suffocating weight in his chest. His mouth worked open and closed in a silent, desperate scream, fruitlessly gasping for air that refused to reach his lungs. Through blurred vision, his hand trembled violently as he weakly reached across the hardwood, his fingertips straining toward the discarded oxygen mask lying just inches beyond his grasp.

Jordi: “I am taking Lena out of this dump permanently.”

He looked down at the polaroids still clutched in his left hand, his skin crawling at the sight of them. The raw fury inside him flared, and the static hum surrounding him sharpened into a high-pitched whine. Violet sparks cascaded down his arm, pooling in his palm and coiling around the glossy paper. The edges of the photos instantly began to curl, bubbling under the intense heat. Wisps of acrid black smoke rose between his fingers as the plastic coating dissolved, the images blackening and burning into cinder. He tightened his fist, letting the electrical current surge through the burning pile until the polaroids crumbled into glowing embers and scattered ash, drifting down onto the floor until nothing was left.

Jordi straightened his shirt. Stepping callously over the gasping figure of his grandfather, Jordi turned his back on the old man and retreated from the room. He walked back through the flickering light of the living room and down the narrow hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing against the floorboards as he made his way toward Lena’s bedroom.

Jordi: “I am done with this fucking hellhole and with you.”

Jordi entered Lena’s bedroom. She sat at her vanity brushing her hair, and gasped slightly when she saw her older brother.

Jordi: “Lena, pack your duffel bag. You’re leaving now.”

He said, reaching down to pick up a floral duffel bag.

Lena: “NO! I don’t want to live with you, and I don’t want your stupid piece of yours and Jaxon’s house!”

She cried. Jordi’s expression softened.

Jordi: “Lena, this is not up for debate now. We have to set our differences aside. You have to leave here.”

Lena folded her arms across her chest.

Lena: “NO! You slept with Jaxon! I liked him, and you slept with him!”

Jordi pursed his lips.

Jordi: “Lena, you don’t even like Jaxon like that anymore! Whatever happened between you two was never meant to work out!”

He said in a plaintive tone.

Jordi: “This is not up for debate! You’re not safe in this house!”

He cried.

Jordi: “Elias told me that your private room and bathroom would be done in five weeks! I can’t let you stay here another day!”

He took a deep breath.

Jordi: “You can stay in the guest room upstairs, or I can book you a luxury suite at the Noble Monarch Hotel if you can’t stand the sight of Jiro or me, but you’re not staying here.”

He said firmly but gently.

Jordi: “If you want me to book you a suite, I can put it on the corporate credit card, or the guest room upstairs in Jiro’s and my place. It’s quiet, private, and you will be safe. Whatever you decide is fine with me.”

He added in a gentler tone.

Lena: “Why are you doing this?!”

She screamed.

Jordi: “Lena, I lived with that miserable old fuck for twenty-three years, and every day was fucking miserable! I was the only kid in my school who LIKED going to school to get away from that old fucker!”

He cried.

Jordi: “It’s no wonder Grandma left and Mom… overdosed.”

He said, his voice thick with emotion.

Jordi: “I stayed in thankless jobs to keep his medical bills paid, and what is my thanks?!”

He said, throwing his arms up.

Jordi: “And Fabien tells me that when he brought you home from when that impersonator and Narcisse kidnapped you, that old bastard told him he looked like one of your pads that he went through! And I saw pictures of you and Mom undressing, sleeping, and taking pictures of your private moments!”

He snapped through tears.

The silence that followed was suffocating. The anger that had rigidified Lena’s posture melted away, replaced by an icy, paralyzing dread. The stubborn defiance and the petty resentment all evaporated into nothingness under the crushing weight of what Jordi had just revealed.

Lena stared at her brother, her eyes wide and trembling. Her breath hitched in her throat, a choked, broken sound escaping her lips as the horrifying reality of her grandfather’s sickness settled into her chest. She looked down at his black-singed hand—the hand that had just burned the evidence of their monstrous violation—and then back up at Jordi’s tear-streaked face.

The fierce, unyielding facade she had maintained crumbled entirely. She shrank back slightly, her shoulders trembling as a quiet sob wracked her frame. The realization that the place she considered home was a house of horrors, and that the old man down the hall was a predator who had violated both her and their mother, left her entirely unmoored.

She swallowed hard, her mouth dry, and slowly lowered her head. Without a word, she gave a small, shuddering nod, yielding completely. She reached blindly for the floral duffel bag on her bed and pulled it toward herself, finally accepting that staying was no longer an option. She was going to tell him to book her a suite at the hotel, but thought of Fabien, who lived across from Jordi.

Lena: “I will go with you and stay in your guest room.”

She said softly. A wave of relief washed over Jordi at hearing those words. He clasped his hand to his chest.

Jordi: “Thank you, Lena.”

Lena moved toward her closet, her movements mechanical and hollow. She pulled out her suitcase, the familiar floral pattern suddenly seeming alien in the wake of the truth. With shaking hands, she began to pull clothes from the hangers—dresses, blouses, skirts, whatever her hands touched first—and tossed them carelessly into the bag. She turned to the bathroom, grabbed her toothbrush, toothpaste, pads, and a few essentials, and stuffed them into the side pocket.

Back at her vanity, she swept her makeup brushes and palettes into her cosmetic bag and grabbed the butterfly clip Tristan had given to her, the mundane task highlighting the jarring shift from the life she knew to the nightmare she was fleeing. Finally, she grabbed her purse from the chair, its weight a grounding force against the panic threatening to pull her under. She stood there, bag in hand, looking around the room that no longer felt like a sanctuary, but a cage.

Jordi took one of the heavy bags from her hand, giving her a small, reassuring nod as they turned toward the open doorway. Side by side, they stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the floorboards creaking under their weight. The air in the house felt heavy, thick with the lingering scent of smoke and decades of resentment, but with every step toward the front door, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to loosen its grip.

Then, without warning, a deafening crack shattered the quiet.

The thunderous gunshot echoed down the narrow hallway, violently vibrating through the walls. A sudden, blinding flash illuminated the darkness, followed immediately by the sharp smell of gunpowder. Before Jordi could even react, a violent force slammed into his left shoulder, tearing through fabric and flesh. A spray of blood hit the wallpaper behind him as he gasped, the impact spinning him off balance. The bag slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud, and Jordi collapsed to his knees, clutching his bleeding arm as a sharp scream tore from Lena’s throat.

Abraham shuffled into the hallway, his posture hunched as he clutched the heavy oxygen tank to his chest with one hand. In his other hand, steady despite his trembling frame, he leveled a snub-nosed pistol directly at his grandson. He stood over the collapsed Jordi, his breathing coming in ragged, wheezing gasps, but a dark, malicious grin stretched across his face as he tightened his finger on the trigger.

Abraham: “You’re not taking anything from me, boy.”

Before Lena could move, Abraham lunged forward with surprising speed, his frail hand clamping around her wrist like an iron vise. He yanked her sharply into his side, using her trembling body as a shield. Lena shrieked, struggling frantically against his grip.

Lena: “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! LET ME GO!”

Jordi gritted his teeth through the searing pain in his shoulder, forcing his knees under him as he tried to push himself up from the floorboards. Seeing his grandson move, Abraham pivoted the snub-nosed pistol back toward him and fired a second time.

The shot echoed deafeningly in the tight hallway. The bullet tore straight into Jordi’s left arm, sending another horrific wave of agony through his body. Jordi collapsed back onto the floor with a heavy thud, clutching his doubly wounded limb as the hallway spun around him and his vision swam into a haze.

Jordi’s breath came in ragged, wet hitches, each one tearing at his wounded shoulder. He forced his fingers to claw into the hardwood, his muscles screaming in protest as he attempted to hoist himself upward. Above him, the sound of wheezing, cruel laughter cut through the hallway’s tension like a blade. Abraham stood over him, his thin, papery chest heaving with exertion and malicious delight.

Lena was a crumpled heap nearby, her shoulders shaking violently as uncontrollable sobs racked her body. She clutched her arms, her eyes fixed on the scene in horror, tears streaming down her face. She looked between the broken, bleeding form of her brother and the mocking, wheezing specter of their grandfather, her cries muffled by her hands as she struggled to process the nightmare unfolding before her.

Abraham leaned down, pressing a cold, mocking kiss to the top of Lena's head, before pivoting to level his pistol directly at Jordi. Jordi’s jaw tightened, his teeth gnashing together as a surge of raw, purple electricity violently coursed through his veins, his skin humming with the chaotic energy. With a guttural roar of defiance, Jordi shot his right hand out toward his grandfather. A jagged purple lightning bolt crashed down from the ambient static, slamming into Abraham's wrist with explosive force and sending the pistol skittering across the floorboards. Abraham roared with pain, letting Lena go, and crashed to the floor.

The uncontrolled discharge of energy arcs wildly, striking a nearby set of sheer curtains and instantly igniting them into a hungry, spreading fire.

Jordi: “Lena, get your bags and get out of here!”

He commanded in jagged breaths as the blood soaked through his shirt and dripped onto the floor. Lena sobbed and cupped her mouth.

Lena: “I can’t leave you here!”

She wailed.

Jordi: “Go, please!”

He begged her.

The fire caught the dry sheer of the curtains first, hungrily crawling up the delicate fabric before roaring onto the adjacent floral wallpaper. The old paper crackled and bubbled, peeling away in burning strips that dropped onto the cluttered table below. Stacks of dusty, yellowed papers instantly ignited, unleashing a soaring plume of thick black smoke and a searing wall of heat that expanded rapidly through the narrow space. The flames hissed and popped, feeding on decades of dry wood and forgotten clutter, threatening to swallow the hallway and cut off any chance of escape.

The flames quickly ate through the wallpaper, creeping across the plaster wall until they reached a row of old framed family photos. The intense heat radiated through the wooden frames, causing the glass covering them to crack with loud, sharp pops. Fractured shards rained onto the carpet as the fire licked directly against the paper inside. The faces in the pictures—remnants of a miserable past—curled and warped under the searing blaze. Within seconds, the edges blackened, the images blistering and dissolving into dark ash that drifted away in the rising heat, permanently erasing the last physical records of their family.

Lena’s panic surged as the heat washed over her face. Coughing against the bitter smoke, she scrambled across the floorboards to Jordi’s side.

Lena: “JORDI!!”

She cried.

Abraham’s eyes darted frantically around the smoke-filled corridor, realizing his pistol was out of reach. Disoriented but driven by sheer, unadulterated malice, he dragged himself toward the adjacent kitchen doorway. His fingers scraped against the wall before wrapping around the handle of a heavy kitchen knife resting on the counter. With a raspy, wild snarl, he hauled his body back into the hallway, brandishing the blade.

The flames roared louder around them, hungry heat blistering the walls, but Abraham was consumed only by rage. Blood trickled down his wrist, yet he charged across the burning floorboards toward Jordi, who was still desperately trying to push himself up with his one good arm. Before Jordi could react or gather his strength, Abraham threw his full weight forward, lunging with terrifying speed and driving the long blade deep into Jordi’s torso.

Jordi gasped, a sharp, choked sound tearing from his throat as the iron weight of the knife pinned him flat against the agonizing heat of the floor. Flames reflected violently in Abraham’s unblinking eyes as he pressed down, a sickly, triumphant sneer on his face amidst the smoke and ash. Nearby, Lena’s agonizing screams shattered the air, her hands clamped over her mouth in absolute horror as she watched the horrific nightmare unfold before her.

Abraham: “You fucking bastard! I hate you so much! I hated you when your mother gave birth to you!”

He rasped as he drove the knife in deeper.

Blood welled rapidly from the deep puncture in Jordi's chest, hot and heavy, flooding over his trembling hands and spilling out across the scorching hardwood floor. The crimson pool expanded under the intense glare of the spreading flames, mixing with the dark soot and ash that carpeted the burning hallway.

Through the searing, blinding agony tearing through his torso and shoulder, Jordi clenched his teeth until they threatened to shatter. Deep within his core, a primal surge of fury overrode his failing body. Violet static began to hum against his skin once more, faint at first, then rapidly crescendoing into a fierce, crackling aura. Sharp, violent arcs of purple lightning danced over his chest and arms, igniting the air around him with the sharp scent of ozone.

With a harsh, blood-choking growl, Jordi raised his right hand, focusing every remaining ounce of his strength into his palm. A concentrated bolt of violent purple lightning shot from his fingertips, tearing through the smoke-filled air and striking Abraham's heavy metal oxygen tank with explosive force.

The impact was instantaneous. The metal canister buckled, groaning under the sheer voltage, before rupturing with a deafening, bone-shaking roar. A colossal fireball blossomed from the tank, a roiling sphere of orange and white heat that instantly incinerated the surrounding air. The shockwave tore through the hallway, blowing out the remaining windows and throwing debris like shrapnel. Abraham was thrown backward by the force, his body crumpling against the wall as the concussive blast left him limp and still. The ceiling beams groaned under the sudden structural failure, threatening to bring the house down as smoke and fire billowed into the narrow, ruined space.

Breathing heavily, Jordi forced himself to his feet, standing ominously over his grandfather as the old man cowered on the floor, weeping.

Abraham: “Jordi, you asshole! Don’t be like your grandmother! I’m an old man! I’m a frail old man! Show me some mercy!”

Jordi: “Shut up… Not another fucking word from you, you old fucker.”

He growled.

Violently dragging crackling currents of purple lightning through the air around him, Jordi allowed the electric energy to course relentlessly through his veins. With a final, unyielding glare, he unleashed a massive bolt of purple lightning that crashed directly down onto Abraham. Abraham screamed.

Abraham “WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!”

The massive surge of electricity arced through Abraham’s body, purple lightning flashing out of his mouth and eyes, his frame convulsing violently as the purple volts flashed and hissed beneath his skin. The heat was instantaneous and absolute, charring his clothes and skin to a blackened, smoking husk. With a final, rattling shudder, his legs gave way, and he toppled forward, collapsing onto the charred floorboards like a brittle, burnt shell, his life extinguished in the wake of the violent discharge.

With every agonizing step, the searing heat of the inferno gave way to the crisp, cool night air of Reona as Jordi stumbled through the shattered front doorway. Blood pooled through his soaked shirt, dripping onto the charred porch steps, but the suffocating smoke was finally replaced by clean oxygen. Weakened and swaying on his feet, he blinked against the darkness, the twin moons casting a soft light over the quiet street.

Standing near Jordi’s car, Lena stood trembling, clutching her luggage tightly against her chest. The moment her eyes landed on her brother emerging from the burning house, a violent wave of relief washed over her. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she rushed forward to catch him before he collapsed, anchoring them both in the quiet realization that the nightmare was finally over.

Before Lena could speak, the distinct rumble of an engine echoed down the quiet street, and headlights swept across the lawn. Jaxon’s red 1985 Toyota Celica convertible screeched to a halt beside Jordi’s Ferrari. Seeing the smoke billowing from the house and Jordi covered in blood, Jaxon threw the car door open and vaulted over the side, sprinting across the grass.

Jaxon: “JORDI!”

He cried out, reaching him just in time to catch his collapsing frame. He sank to his knees on the lawn, holding Jordi firmly against his chest. Panic flared in Jaxon’s eyes as he took in the severe bullet wounds and the deep knife puncture in Jordi’s torso.

Without hesitation, Jaxon pressed his hands flat against Jordi’s bleeding chest and shoulder. A warm, brilliant red glow emanated from his palms, radiating outwards. The crimson light pulsed rhythmically, weaving through damaged tissue and knitting flesh back together. Slowly, the heavy bleeding slowed to a stop, the torn muscle closed, and the searing agony in Jordi’s chest receded into a dull, manageable ache as Jaxon breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

Jordi held him close, raking his fingers through his hair, and the two kissed deeply.

Behind them, the house offered no respite, the fire growing hungrier by the second as it fed on dry timber and old memories. Leaving the ruined hallway behind, the roaring flames swept aggressively into Abraham’s bedroom. They devoured the cluttered stacks of dusty papers, licked up the bedsheets, and completely consumed the nightstand, reducing whatever remained of the old man's realm to dark, swirling ash.

From there, the inferno tore unchecked into Lena’s room. The delicate curtains caught first, followed instantly by the vanity set and her bed. The wallpaper bubbled and peeled as intense heat blistered the walls, turning her once-familiar sanctuary into a raging furnace of blinding orange and suffocating smoke.

The fire did not stop. It pushed onward into Jordi’s room, hungry for more. The flames swept across his floorboards, climbing the furniture and scorching every surface until the room was engulfed in a thick, crackling haze of heat and destruction.

Finally, cascading like a liquid torrent, the inferno spilled past the doorway and tumbled down the narrow stairs into the basement. The intense heat filled the subterranean room within seconds, creeping into the darkest corners where forgotten things rested. The wall of fire surged across the floor, mercilessly engulfing and incinerating the note Ashley had left behind for Jordi, reducing their final words to glowing embers and drifting, nameless cinder.