The morning sun didn't bring warmth, but it brought clarity.
The storm had broken around 4:00 AM, leaving the world scoured and blindingly bright. The sky was a hard, polished blue.
I sat on the tailgate of a paramedic’s ambulance, a grey wool blanket draped over my shoulders. An EMT was dabbing antiseptic on my burnt forehead. It stung, but the pain felt grounding. Real.
Lily was sitting next to me, swinging her legs, drinking hot cocoa from a Styrofoam cup. She looked remarkably okay. Kids are resilient. Or maybe she just hadn't processed it yet.
The cabin was a smoking ruin. The roof had collapsed, extinguishing most of the fire, leaving a blackened skeleton jutting out of the snow.
Police tape fluttered in the breeze. Two officers were down by the side of the house, taking photos of the crater.
I watched them.
From this distance, the body was completely gone. The snow had done its work. There was just a large, lumpy mound of white. It looked innocent. Harmless.
Just a snowman that had fallen over.
"Mr. Thorne?"
I looked up. A sheriff’s deputy was standing there, holding a clipboard. He looked tired.
"We found a vehicle down the logging road," he said. "Registered to a Marcus Vane. Found a lot of... equipment inside. Receipts for theatrical chemicals. Kevlar. It matches your statement."
I nodded slowly. "Okay."
"We also found this in his pocket," the deputy said. He held out a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a photo. It was water-damaged and crumpled, but I recognized it. It was a picture of the three of us—Me, Sarah, and Marcus—from years ago. We were laughing. I had my arm around Sarah. Marcus had his arm around me.
"He was sick," I said, my voice raspy from the smoke.
"Grief does strange things to people," the deputy said. He glanced at the ruin of the house. "You're lucky to be alive."
I looked at Lily. She had a milk mustache from the cocoa. She caught me looking and grinned.
"Daddy," she said. "Can I have your phone? I want to draw."
My heart skipped a beat. The old panic flared—the fear of the ink, the fear of the images.
But then I looked at my hands. They were covered in soot and grime, but they were steady. The shaking was gone.
The hallucinations were gone.
I looked at the snow. It was just frozen water.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuNxYN5htrQ
I looked at the trees. They were just wood and bark.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBQOCiVBTBJ
I looked at the ink stain on the deputy’s pen. It was just dye.
The world wasn't a canvas of nightmares anymore. It was just a place. A cold, hard, messy place, but a real one.
"Sure, bug," I said.
I didn't have my phone—it was melted somewhere in the ashes of the attic—but the EMT handed Lily a notepad and a ballpoint pen.
She uncapped the pen.
I held my breath, watching the tip touch the paper.
She didn't draw a monster. She didn't draw a bleeding snowman or a knife.
She drew a house. It was a box with a triangle roof. She drew a stick figure with big hair (me) and a smaller stick figure (her). And then, she drew a big, yellow sun in the corner.
"There," she said, showing it to me. "We're safe."
I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding for six months. I pulled her close, burying my face in her neck, smelling the smoke and the cocoa and the life.
"Yeah," I said, watching the police zip up a black body bag near the snow mound. "We're safe."
I took the pen from her hand. For the first time in a year, the weight of it didn't feel like a burden.
I turned the page to a fresh sheet.
"What are you drawing?" Lily asked.
I looked at the blank white paper. It wasn't scary. It was an opportunity.
"I don't know yet," I said. And for the first time, I smiled—a real smile, not a baring of teeth. "But I think it's going to be something boring."
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and then Add to home screen.