I heard Mark’s heavy footsteps crashing down the wooden stairs behind me.

“He has a weapon!” I screamed.

I ran off the porch, my feet sinking into the wet mud.

The rain was pouring harder now, stinging my eyes.

I looked back.

Mark stood on the porch, his chest heaving.

He looked at the flashing lights in the distance.

Then he looked at me.

He didn’t run toward his SUV.

Instead, he smiled a cold, desperate smile.

He held up the black strongbox.

“You think this is over?” he shouted over the rain.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, silver lighter.

He clicked it.

A small orange flame danced in the wet wind.

“I will burn everything she loved,” he said.

He pointed toward the old barn behind the house.

“I will start with this,” he said.

I realized what he meant.

The barn was full of dry hay, old tools, and Abigail’s old diaries.

He ran off the porch, heading toward the wooden barn doors.

“No!” I screamed.

I ran after him, my boots slipping in the mud.