Chapter 9
Upstairs in the grand hallway, thick plumes of gray smoke had billowed out from the west wing, setting off the internal sprinkler systems and drenching the hardwood floors in a layer of soapy water. Two firefighters in full heavy gear stood conferring with Marcus, who was gesturing frantically toward the sealed nursery door with a look of manufactured devastation on his face. Elena stood a few paces back, leaning against the wall with her head bowed slightly, dabbing a clean white handkerchief against her dry eyes in a masterclass of fabricated grief.
“The thermal seal on that door engaged automatically due to a localized temperature spike,” the lead firefighter shouted over the roaring hiss of hoses being dragged up the staircase. “We’re going to have to use the hydraulic spreader to pop the latch, ma’am. The wood around the frame has warped completely shut.”
Elena nodded slowly, her voice trembling just enough to sound fragile. “Please hurry. My daughter… she was sleeping inside when the alarm went off. I tried the handle, but the mechanism jammed immediately.”
With a deafening shriek of stressed metal and splintering oak, the hydraulic tool bit into the frame of the nursery door. The heavy barrier gave way inward, releasing a massive wave of black smoke and searing heat that rushed out into the hallway, forcing the firefighters to duck behind their protective shields. Once the initial plume cleared, they surged into the scorched, charred shell of the bedroom, sweeping their high-powered flashlights across the devastated interior.
The white wooden bed frame was partially scorched, its mattress smoldering and blackened by soot. The floor near the window had suffered structural compromise, but the space beneath the bed appeared empty, save for a pair of muddy outdoor boots sitting quietly in the ash.
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“Commander, the bed area is clear!” one firefighter called out, coughing through his respirator. “No sign of the victim in the primary zone!”
Elena stepped past the threshold, her eyes scanning the charred room with a flash of genuine, unmasked panic that she quickly wrestled back under control. She looked down at the empty space beneath the bed, noting the displaced floor vent lying askew near the baseboard. Her breath caught in her throat. The service shaft. The child hadn’t burned; she had found the old chimney flue.
