CHAPTER 54: James Regresses
The hallway outside James Keene’s hospital room smelled of antiseptic and something sharper—like old smoke that clung to the air long after a fire had been put out. Noah stopped at the door, pressing his palm to the cool metal frame.
Through the window, he could see his father rocking in the chair, arms wrapped tight around his chest, lips moving in rapid, broken mutters.
Noah pushed the door open slowly. “Dad?”
James jerked up, eyes wild, unseeing. “They burned her!” he shouted, voice cracking like a splintering log. His whole body trembled. “They burned her alive!”
Noah froze in the doorway. He hadn’t heard his father’s voice rise like that in years. It wasn’t the soft, muttered paranoia he’d grown used to. It was a scream pulled from the depths of a wound that had never closed.
“Dad, it’s me,” Noah said carefully, stepping in. “It’s Noah. You’re safe.”
James’s gaze darted around the room. His hands clawed at the armrests. “They said they’d do it again. Don’t you see? Don’t you hear it? The fire—it’s coming back!”
Noah knelt beside him, trying to steady his father’s shaking arm. “There’s no fire. You’re in the hospital. It’s just me here.”
James’s pupils were wide, unfocused. He didn’t seem to hear. His voice dropped to a guttural whisper. “She screamed. I couldn’t stop them. They laughed while the walls burned. And now they’ll come for you, too.”
“Who burned her?” Noah asked softly, heart pounding. “Dad… who are you talking about?”
James’s mouth opened, but all that came out was a hoarse cry. His body stiffened. Then he grabbed Noah’s wrist with surprising force.
“They burned your mother. They burned the truth. And they’ll burn you.”
The words hit like a hammer. Noah’s breath caught. His mother hadn’t died in a fire. She had survived the explosion, scarred but alive. He remembered the smoke, the rubble, the doctors saying it was a miracle she’d lived. His father’s mind must have twisted the memory—but why did it sound so much like confession?
“Dad, listen to me—”
Before he could finish, the door banged open. Two nurses rushed in, followed by a doctor with sharp glasses and tired eyes.
“Mr. Keene, please step back,” the doctor ordered.
“No, wait, he’s saying something important—”
But James had already erupted into full hysteria, thrashing against the chair. His cries filled the room:
“They burned her! They burned her!”
The nurses grabbed his arms, pinning him down as the doctor prepared a syringe. Noah surged forward. “Don’t drug him! He’s finally talking—”
“He’s in acute distress,” the doctor cut him off. “If we don’t sedate him, he’ll hurt himself.”
James clawed at the air, eyes rolling back. “You’ll see it, Noah! You’ll see it burn! Just like before—just like before—”
The needle sank into his arm. His struggles slowed, his voice fading to a rasp. “They… burned her…”
And then silence. His head lolled against the chair.
Noah stood frozen, chest heaving, as the medical team adjusted restraints and checked vitals. When they finally stepped back, the room was quiet except for the steady beep of the monitor.
“Why sedate him now?” Noah demanded. His voice shook with frustration. “You heard what he was saying—he was giving me answers!”
The doctor scribbled on a chart without looking up. “What I heard was a psychotic break. He’s had a long history of them, yes?”
Noah’s jaw clenched. “You don’t understand. He wasn’t just hallucinating. He was remembering. Reliving.”
The doctor finally looked at him, expression flat. “Mr. Keene, sometimes the mind fills in trauma with its own story. Don’t mistake that for truth. Your father’s condition isn’t going to improve. You need to accept that.”
But Noah couldn’t. Not after the way James had gripped his wrist, with fire in his eyes that no drug-induced delusion could fake.
Later, Noah sat at the edge of the hospital bed, staring at his sedated father. James’s breathing was shallow but steady. His hand twitched faintly, like his body was still trapped in the nightmare even as the drugs kept him quiet.
Noah spoke in a low voice, hoping somewhere deep down his father could hear.
“You’re trying to tell me something, aren’t you? About Mom. About the fire. About this whole damn town.”
He closed his eyes and remembered the explosion again. The acrid smoke, the flames chewing through the kitchen, his mother’s scream. He remembered his father bursting through the doorway, covered in soot, dragging her out. But in those same memories, there were pieces that never fit—the delay before the fire trucks arrived, the way the neighbors whispered afterward, the silence from officials who should’ve investigated.
And now, years later, James was still screaming about fire. About truth being burned.
Noah’s fists tightened. They burned her. They burned the truth. And they’ll burn you.
What if his father wasn’t delusional? What if he’d been carrying the burden of the same cover-up Noah was starting to uncover now?
The door creaked open. Noah turned, expecting a nurse. Instead, it was Sheriff Mason.
“Thought I’d check in,” Mason said casually, though his eyes lingered too long on James’s motionless body. “Heard he had an episode.”
Noah’s voice was sharp. “You didn’t come here to check on him. What do you want?”
Mason leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “Word of advice, old friend. Your father’s not your key. He’s your anchor. You keep diving into his madness, you’re gonna drown with him.”
Noah stood slowly, stepping between Mason and the bed. “You think I’m afraid of drowning? You think I came back here to watch him fade away without finding out why? No. Whatever he’s screaming about, it matters. And I’m not letting you—or anyone—bury it.”
Mason’s jaw tightened. “Sometimes burying is mercy.”
Noah stared at him, trying to read the meaning under the words. Mason’s eyes were flat, but there was something in his tone—a weariness, maybe even guilt.
“Get out,” Noah said.
For a moment, Mason didn’t move. Then he pushed off the wall and headed for the door. Just before stepping out, he glanced back. “Careful, Noah. Fires spread.”
The door shut.
Noah sank back into the chair, his eyes fixed on his father’s pale face.
“They tried to bury you,” he whispered. “But you’re still fighting, even in here. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll pick up the rest.”
He took his father’s limp hand in his. For the first time since returning to Bellview, Noah felt the full weight of his family’s shadow—and the spark of a fire he knew he had to keep alive.