Wavering Faith (John x Garcia)

Chapter 3: Scorching Reality

John woke up alone, to the sound of cars bustling down the street and the smell of fresh breakfast. He stretched, opening his eyes. He could see Rogelio sitting by the kitchen table, mug in one hand, newspaper in the other, still in his underwear. Though his heart sped up a bit, John roused to greet him, narrowing the gap between them with long, albeit slightly shaky, strides. "Good morning," he said, scanning the searing pan of bacon to his left. "Good morning," Rogelio returned, an intense, but frustratingly unreadable gaze behind his light grey irises. John took a plate from the cupboard, scooping generous helpings of the crispy meat onto it. "¿Còmo dormiste?" Rogelio asked, continuing his read. John sighed. At least I get to use my high school Spanish for something useful... "Pretty good, actually..." He trailed off, grabbing a mug and placing it under the coffeemaker. "Actually, the best I have in a long time. No nightmares."
This caused Rogelio to look up from his newspaper. "Really?" "Yeah, I slept through the whole night!" "...Well, it was...it was good for me too..." He took a sip of his black coffee. "Anything on your to-do list today?" John asked, scooping sugar into his cup and sitting down across from him. "I was hoping we could just laze around. I think we've earned it." John held up his coffee in a mock toast. "Amen to that..." He took a sip, grimacing as he swallowed. "Bleh, needs more sugar." Silence filled the space between them. Why was it so tense?
They both jumped. The shrill tone of a phone ringing broke through the stifling air. In confusion, they looked towards eachother. Rogelio was the first one to look away. "I'll get it," he shot up, making his way into the bedroom. He came back moments later, concern and fear written all over his face. "Its the police department. They want you." John's heart dropped. Though tears stung the corners of his eyes, he got up, taking the phone from Rogelio's hand. "He-hello?" He winced at his voice cracking. Don't fall apart. Not now. "This is Officer Gerald Fischbach. Is this Mr. Ward?" "Yes..." "I'm contacting you about a call we received at 6:33 this morning to your residence at 1015 Arri Drive. Neighbors reported smelling smoke and...," Instantly, he understood. The officer's words became distant, wavering in and out. "...the entire back side of the building has been burned away, but the rest is intact...We suspect foul play, sir." Foul play. Unbelievable. Who would...? Not Molly....maybe? Sure, they had a nasty breakup, but she wouldn't burn down his house, would she? "...Officer?" He managed to weakly enunciate. "Where did you get this number?" He heard papers rustling on the other end. "It was provided by a...Mr. Miller." John's eyes widened. "Thank you for your time." He sputtered, slamming the phone back into the receiver. "Fuck!"
Rogelio was less than a foot in front of him. How long had he been there? He couldn't remember. John clamped a hand over his mouth in embarrassment, but Rogelio was more concerned about the call than John's sudden use of profanity. "So? What was it? Are they...?" The tears that he had been holding back since the kitchen began to spill out. "They...my..." Rogelio put his hand on John's shoulder. "Take your time." He sniffled and looked away, trying to preserve his last shreds of dignity. "It's gone..." A wave of sobs came over him, and he leaned onto Garcia for support. Rogelio awkwardly rubbed John's head as he bawled into his shoulder. "What's gone, amor?" "My house--its gone..." He buried his face in Rogelio's neck, feeling his breath hitch at the sudden touch.
"What...am I gonna...do...?" He whimpered between convulsions. Rogelio shushed him. "We'll worry about that later. Right now, we need to take care of you." He layed John onto the bed. "One second." Alone, guilt began to eat away at him. He's always "taking care of you", huh? You're a grown fucking man. What the hell is wrong with you? He grimaced at the familiar self-abasement. Rogelio returned with a cup of coffee and a plate full of bacon. "You might not want to eat just yet, but I'm putting this in here just in case," he placed the items on the bedstand. He sat at the end of the bed. "Now, what happened." John sat up, regaining his composure and sipping the, now heavily sweetened, coffee. "Gary seems to have...set fire to...my house," he gulped, resisting the burning of tears against his reddened eyelids. None of this felt real. "Oh, John...is there anything left?" He nodded silently. "But he knows where I am...with you. He gave the police your number, Rogelio. It's only a matter of time before he..." John sat the mug down and interlaced his fingers, fidgeting restlessly.
"There's only so much he can do, though. We're in an apartment building. Someone would see that red-robed freak coming in and call the cops." Rogelio spoke with false confidence, comforting himself more than John. "True, but we still don't understand entirely what he's capable of, I doubt he's even human." Rogelio pursed his lips, holding back a "No shit, Sherlock." He got up from the bed, pulling two outfits from the closet. "I think we should go investigate."

~~~

Thirty minutes later, they were on John's street--a quiet, middle-class suburb, with quaint little houses and neat yards that had just begun to yellow under the influence of impending winter. The tranquility of it all made the sight of John's house all the more whiplash-inducing. Like the officer said, it had been eaten away on one side almost completely, but the other half was somewhat intact. Approaching, they could see that the walls of the kitchen had collapsed inward on its own weakened skeleton, charred and brittle. They both stared in astonishment as the Ford Pinto pulled up to the sidewalk.
"Hijo de puta..." Rogelio stepped out, but John stayed put. "Are you alright?" He asked, walking onto the scorched grass, duffel bag in hand. John shook his head in response. "I'd rather not...go in," he said quietly. "Are you sure?" Rogelio's brows furrowed. "Yeah, this is just...a lot, y'know?" He nodded, closing the door, and walked towards the house. The slightly agape front door showed obvious signs of being kicked in, the frame tattered to hell and back. The inside of the house was a mess, the walls and ceiling of the living room stained with black. The air wasn't unbreathable, but it could've certainly been clearer. The most unpleasant part was the smell of burning plastic, causing Rogelio to gag. Since the kitchen was completely dismantled, he decided he had to go down the hallway to his left.
It was dark, and seemingly shrinking every minute that he walked through it. The sheer malevolent feeling alone made his stomach churn. Just get his belongings and leave. He tried the first door to his left, one covered in crucifixes. It didn't budge, much to Rogelio's delight. Whatever was in there, that John needed to put so many crosses up, he didn't wanna see it. He made his way to the second door on his right, which opened relatively easily. It was John's bedroom, completely untouched by the flames, a double bed with only one pillow. There wasn't anything spectacular about it, but a piece of paper sitting on the bedside caught his attention. He picked it up and began to read:

John,

I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry.

I will always love you back.

Molly

Rogelio put the note back down, a tightness forming in his chest. Jealousy? Huh, he's never mentioned having a wife before..how long has this been here? He wondered. I shouldn't be plundering anyways. He proceeded to fill up the duffel bag with John's clothes, shirts, pants, etc., and left quickly, not noticing the bare nail above his bed, the item that once adorned it snatched by an intruder.