Prologue
Friends were watching his children out of the kindness of their hearts - friends of his newly deceased wife. He couldn't be with his sons at that time for he couldn't bear the grief in their eyes or the look of pity with a touch of suspicion directed toward him. After all, he wasn't the only one who wondered 'how did he and his sons make it out unscathed?'
He was holed up in a hotel room, alone, and he was still in shock. The nightmarish events played out in his mind over and over; they were fragmented bits and pieces recalled in the way that one can only recount a dream, bad or good, the next morning...
That night, his wife's scream from their son's nursery urged him to rush up the stairs, running to her assistance; once there, he couldn't understand it when all appeared sound - the baby was fine - his wife would never cry out without a reason. Then something made him look up. That was when he saw his wife.
His blood ran cold when he saw her - she was unmoving, pinned to the ceiling. He knew that for as long as he would live, he could never forget the terrified expression frozen on her face - the way her eyes looked at him, her mouth open in a silent scream.
He still could not look away when a fire suddenly ignited behind her; the intense heat and the smell of her roasting flesh engulfed him. The loud cries of his baby pierced through the horror of what was happening above them and only then did he move; instinct was to get his son out.
Thankfully his four year old son was standing there in the hallway to assist in that rescue and he didn't hesitate to entrust him with the vital task. Both sons now clear, he started coughing and turned back to the room, saw that it was impossible to re-enter it. The truth hit him like a punch to the gut - it was too late for his wife, for the boys' mother.
The flames had consumed the whole room at this time and he watched as the fire was rapidly spreading toward him. He was finding it difficult to breath and started to feel dizzy. His wife was completely gone and he wanted to die too; he could if he just stood where he was, he could become trapped and perish.
But he would not. The thought that his sons were still alive, alone outside, struck him; self-preservation prevailed in that last moment of time when a person can still escape from being asphyxiated to death and burned. The next thing he remembered was being in the front yard and running toward his oldest son still holding the baby. Grabbing them up into his arms, he sped away from the house just missing being hit by glass projectiles from the burning exploding window.
It wasn't until about thirty-six hours later when he, thoroughly exhausted, succumbed to a sleep on his hotel bed that lasted longer than an hour here or there. Twelve hours had passed and he opened his eyes once again. It was only the hope that none of it really happened that pushed him up and into his car for a drive by his house.
As he turned the corner, he could no longer deny what he witnessed that night was real. His son's nursery and the surrounding rooms on the second floor were, in fact, burned away. His wife was murdered. Rage took over and replaced any last shred of disbelief he held on to. He knew what he had to do next; reunite with his young sons then find a way to make whatever it was more than sorry that it cut their once happy family from four to three.