Sudden Independents - By Ted Hill Page 0,45

This place had become her home, but that was impossible now that she had been rejected again.

She trudged up the steps to the dark house and opened the door. It was quiet. The logs in the fireplace had burned down to a pile of cold ashes. She traced her way from memory through the darkness into the kitchen, where she knew candles would be waiting on the countertop. She struck a match and lit a couple, placing them in different spots downstairs. The light helped her feel better about being there.

Every familiar creak on the stairs reminded her of happier trips up and down. She stopped at the top of the staircase, listening for any sounds, particularly Hunter snoring. But she heard nothing. She thought of Hunter hanging out at Brittany’s. Saturday night in Independents, what else was there to do? Hunter was probably having fun figuring out which girl he’d do next.

The thought of Hunter with someone else sent an ache through Molly’s chest, the same ache she’d been battling all day.

She opened Scout’s door first, satisfied that he was gone. Curiosity overcame her and she took a look around. The candlelight shined over shelves containing all the junk he’d collected. She pinched her nose, overpowered by the leather stench of at least twenty baseball gloves that were once the property of several different sweaty hands. She shook her head with disgust and left the room.

Her hand trembled when she reached for the doorknob to Hunter’s room. What if he was in there? She didn’t want to see him ever again. She forced herself to grab the cold, metal knob.

Her heart pounded away like a rabbit caught in a snare, but she reminded herself that she’d been released from Hunter’s trap. Molly chose to be here; she wanted to get her things and leave. She pushed the door open and walked inside. Her chest billowed with fast, ragged puffs as anger from Hunter’s betrayal surged through her like a wildfire.

Molly lit more candles, brightening the room—her room. Her suitcases were under the bed. She pulled them out, slamming them down on the mattress, unlatching and exposing their hollow and empty insides. Molly opened the closet—her closet—and grabbed clothes, hangers and all, heaping them into the suitcases. She dumped her undergarments and jewelry on top, throwing the depleted drawers into a corner of the room; using more force with each toss until she noticed how good breaking them felt. She looked around, feeling feral, snared no longer, unchained and savage. She lifted Hunter’s wooden desk chair and pounded it into the drawers, smashing, splintering, and howling with pleasure and rage. She found joy in her destruction.

Breathing hard, heart racing, she walked out of the room with her packed suitcases. Out of the room that was no longer hers. Molly walked out of the house that was no longer her house and stopped next to the broken street. She set her suitcases down and looked back.

Candlelight glowed in the windows upstairs.

She didn’t want the warmth of cheery candlelight to welcome Hunter back home tonight. She went back inside, up the stairs, and into his trashed room. Standing over the glowing candle, she filled her lungs with air. The candlelight flickered. Molly’s attention was drawn to the pile of broken wood in the corner.

She tore down the curtains, adding the fabric to her pile. She placed the candle underneath before walking out for the final time.

Back on the street, Molly stood by her suitcases and watched the fire grow. First one window and then the next imploded as the licking flames tasted oxygen and devoured the wooden house. Black smoke rolled under the roof, rising into the dark, cold sky.

Something inside her begged to leave, to run away. But she was mesmerized by her handy work. A wicked smile crept over her face. He deserved this as a reminder; they all did.

Jimmy arrived first, screaming Hunter’s name. His anguished cries resembled the ones that had resounded inside her head all afternoon.

He turned back from the flames, shaking her, questioning her. He wasn’t so beautiful now. Molly spat in his face and laughed, dizzy from the glare of the blazing house background.

Rough hands spun her around and in her anger she slapped the person who dared touch her like that. Her brother, Mark, was yelling at her now, his hands clasping her wrists, holding her tight. The air around them crackled with light and sound, exposing the darkness, as the roar of the