Chapter 1 - The Door Would Not Open)
The first thing Caitlyn Bennett understood was that the door was not stuck.
Someone had locked it.
Smoke slid beneath the paneled bedroom door in thin gray fingers, crawling across the hardwood floor toward her bare feet.
Seven-year-old Caitlyn grabbed the brass handle again.
She twisted it.
Pulled.
Twisted harder.
Nothing.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Mom?"
No answer.
She pulled until both hands hurt.
"Mom, open the door."
Behind her, somewhere near the curtains, something crackled.
Caitlyn slowly turned.
Orange light moved across the wall.
Fire.
Small flames were climbing the edge of a wastebasket beside the dresser.
Her breath disappeared.
She ran back to the door and struck the glass panel with both palms.
"Mom!"
A figure appeared on the other side.
Margaret Bennett.
Caitlyn's mother stood in the hallway wearing her cream dress, perfectly composed.
For one brief second relief flooded Caitlyn.
"Mom, please. Open it. I'm scared."
Margaret looked at the smoke.
Then she looked at her daughter.
She did not touch the handle.
Samantha appeared beside her.
Caitlyn's sixteen-year-old sister folded her arms.
Her lavender cardigan looked almost silver under the hallway lights.
Unlike Margaret, Samantha smiled.
"You need to learn a lesson."
Caitlyn's eyes widened.
"I said I'm sorry."
"You always say that."
"Samantha, please."
Smoke thickened.
Caitlyn coughed.
Margaret's expression did not change.
Then she turned.
"Mom!"
Margaret walked away.
Caitlyn pounded the door so hard her palms burned.
"Mom!"
Samantha remained.
She tilted her head.
Watching.
Caitlyn suddenly remembered what her father had taught her.
When you're afraid, don't spend all your time looking at the thing frightening you.
Look for another way out.
She stumbled away from the door.
The window.
She ran toward it.
It was sealed.
Painted shut months ago during the renovation.
Caitlyn tried anyway.
Nothing.
She coughed again.
Smoke collected against the ceiling.
Through the glass panel Samantha watched her.
"Look at her crawl," Samantha called down the hallway.
Caitlyn dropped to her knees.
Not because Samantha told her to.
Because her father had once explained that smoke rose.
Stay low.
Find air.
Think.
Her eyes watered.
Then she remembered something else.
The boot.
Three weeks earlier, her father Mark had returned from a construction job and left an old brown work boot under Caitlyn's bed.
He had laughed when she complained.
"Don't throw that one away, bug. It's luckier than it looks."
At the time, Caitlyn thought he was joking.
But later that evening she had seen him remove the insole.
There had been something underneath.
Something small.
Black.
Caitlyn crawled toward the bed.
Flames licked higher behind her.
She reached beneath the bed frame.
Her fingers touched leather.
She pulled.
The boot appeared.
Samantha leaned closer to the glass.
"What are you doing?"
Caitlyn ignored her.
She ripped at the insole.
It resisted.
She dug her fingernails into the edge and pulled harder.
The worn foam came loose.
Beneath it sat a tiny black device with a blinking green light.
Caitlyn stared.
Then she heard an engine outside.
A truck door slammed.
Samantha's smile vanished.
Footsteps thundered downstairs.
"Caitlyn!"
Dad.
Caitlyn screamed.
"Daddy!"
Samantha spun toward the staircase.
Margaret appeared again at the far end of the hall.
For the first time that night, fear entered her face.
Mark Bennett raced upstairs.
He wore a dark work shirt, dusty jeans, and one brown boot.
Only one.
His eyes found Caitlyn through the smoke-covered glass.
Then he looked at Margaret.
"What did you do?"
Margaret stepped backward.
"Mark, listen to me."
He hit the bedroom door with his shoulder.
Once.
The frame shook.
Twice.
Wood cracked.
The third impact broke the latch.
Mark pushed through the smoke.
He wrapped Caitlyn in his arms.
"I've got you."
She buried her face against his chest.
"You're safe now."
He carried her into the hallway.
Samantha backed away.
Mark placed Caitlyn behind him.
His hands shook with rage.
"You locked her in there?"
"It wasn't supposed to get that bad," Samantha said.
Mark moved toward her.
Margaret stepped between them.
"Don't."
His fist clenched.
For one dangerous second Caitlyn thought he might strike Samantha.
Instead Mark slammed his palm against the wall beside her.
A framed photograph crashed to the floor.
"Stay away from my daughter."
Samantha's smugness disappeared.
Margaret whispered, "Mark, you're misunderstanding everything."
Caitlyn tugged his sleeve.
"Daddy."
Mark immediately turned.
She held out the black device.
"It was in your boot."
His face changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Then dread.
He took it carefully.
Margaret stared at the device.
Her complexion drained white.
Samantha whispered, "Mom?"
Mark looked from the blinking green light to Margaret.
"You knew."
Margaret said nothing.
Sirens sounded in the distance.
Neighbors had seen smoke.
Mark looked down at Caitlyn.
"Sweetheart, where exactly did you find this?"
"In your boot."
"No."
Mark's voice became quieter.
"Before that. Did anyone touch the boot?"
Caitlyn thought.
Then remembered.
Yesterday afternoon.
Samantha kneeling beside the bed.
Margaret standing in the doorway.
And the strange man in the gray suit who had visited while Mark was at work.
Caitlyn pointed toward her mother.
"Mom's friend."
Margaret's eyes widened.
"What friend?"
"The man with the silver ring."
The silence that followed felt colder than the smoke.
Mark stared at Margaret.
"What man?"
Outside, the fire engines came closer.
Margaret stepped backward.
"You need to get Caitlyn outside."
Mark did not move.
"What man, Margaret?"
She looked at the device in his hand.
Then at the burning bedroom.
May you like
And finally at her husband.
"You weren't supposed to find that tonight."
