There was little of the house left standing. Charred ash coated most of the floors and walls but left some places inexplicably untouched, bare spots that bore no evidence of the raging fire that had consumed the house only a week ago. Firemen had cleared out most of the debris. I crept forward until I found Patrick squatting in the room I remembered as his.

“I’m sorry Pat.” I said.

“This place was dead anyway, collapsing in on itself under years of painful memories. It’s a wonder that it stood this long.” He sounded exhausted.

“You know you can always stay with us. Maryanne won’t mind, not after this.”

“I know. You’re a good friend.” He put a calloused hand onto my shoulder. “And I will take you up on that- for a little while. There’s no way around it. But I think I am going to build a new house here, something beautiful and not tainted by the madness of my family.”

When I left him, the haunted look he’d acquired as a child had melted away, replaced by something I’d never seen on his face before- hope.