CHAPTER 2 The Room They Wanted to Burn
The curtain did not fall on its own.
Clara knew that instantly.
Someone had pulled it shut.
Not the wind.
Not the heat.
A human hand.
For one frozen second, she stared at the darkened window while the flames devoured the west wing beneath it.
Then Leo screamed again.
"CLARA!"
The cry sliced through the chaos outside.
Guests scattered across the courtyard.
Fire alarms wailed.
Crystal windows burst one after another.
Burning embers drifted into the night like glowing snow.
But no one from the Sterling family moved.
Richard Sterling stood beside his black limousine, coughing into a silk handkerchief. Eleanor wrapped herself in a cashmere blanket as though the greatest inconvenience of the evening was the smoke clinging to her evening gown.
Neither of them looked toward Leo's window.
Clara could hardly believe it.
"He's alive!" she shouted.
"We know," Eleanor answered calmly.
The words struck harder than the heat.
"We know."
Not "Is he?"
Not "Someone help him."
Simply...
"We know."
Clara grabbed one of the private security guards by the arm.
"Get a ladder!"
"The third floor is inaccessible."
"Then break through the east balcony!"
"The fire chief already said no one goes inside."
"You have equipment!"
"Our orders are to secure the family."
"The family?" Clara screamed. "Leo is the family!"
The guard lowered his eyes.
No answer.
Behind him, Richard Sterling spoke quietly to another man in an expensive suit.
"Has anyone contacted the attorneys?"
"Yes, sir."
"And the vault?"
"The documents were removed."
Clara stared.
The documents.
Not the child.
The realization settled over her like ice.
Something inside that house mattered more to them than Leo.
A section of the roof collapsed.
The explosion of sparks illuminated the mansion for a split second.
That was enough.
Clara saw movement again.
Someone walked away from Leo's room.
Not running.
Walking.
A tall figure.
Broad shoulders.
Wearing black.
Before she could focus, the smoke swallowed the silhouette.
"There was someone upstairs!"
Nobody reacted.
"There was someone upstairs!" she shouted again.
Eleanor looked directly into Clara's eyes.
"No."
"I saw him."
"You imagined it."
"I know what I saw."
Eleanor stepped closer until only inches separated them.
Her voice became almost gentle.
"If you value your life, you'll stop saying that."
Clara felt a chill unrelated to the fire.
Another scream echoed from above.
This one was weaker.
Leo was losing strength.
Without another thought Clara wrapped her wool shawl around her nose, snatched a fire blanket from a panicked waiter, and sprinted toward the burning entrance.
"Miss Hayes!" someone yelled.
She ignored them.
A firefighter lunged to stop her.
"The structure's collapsing!"
"My boy is still inside!"
"You'll die!"
"Then move!"
She ducked beneath his arm and disappeared through the front doors.
Inside, the mansion had transformed into a nightmare.
The marble entrance hall was barely visible through thick black smoke.
Paintings burned on the walls.
The enormous crystal chandelier crashed into the foyer with a deafening explosion.
Glass scattered across the floor.
The familiar house had become a maze of fire.
Clara stayed low.
She remembered every hallway.
Every staircase.
Every hidden service passage.
Ten years of cleaning had engraved the mansion into her memory.
The grand staircase was already engulfed.
Impossible.
She turned toward the servants' corridor instead.
Heat pressed against her face like an open furnace.
Each breath burned her lungs.
She reached the narrow back staircase.
Still standing.
Barely.
Halfway up she heard something.
Footsteps.
Someone else was inside.
"Leo?" she called.
No answer.
Again.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Above her.
She climbed faster.
The second floor was almost completely consumed.
Flames crawled along the wallpaper.
Ceiling beams groaned overhead.
Suddenly...
A wheelchair rolled across the hallway.
Clara froze.
It crossed the corridor by itself.
Then struck the opposite wall.
Empty.
Leo's wheelchair.
She ran toward it.
One wheel had melted.
The safety straps had been cut.
Not burned.
Cut.
With something sharp.
Fresh.
She knelt beside it.
Someone had removed Leo from the chair before the fire reached this floor.
Then where was he?
Another sound.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Three knocks.
Coming from above.
Not random.
Rhythmic.
Leo's old signal.
When he was frightened as a child, he always knocked three times against furniture because shouting exhausted him.
Clara looked upward.
Third floor.
Still alive.
She forced herself higher.
Smoke grew thicker.
Visibility shrank to only a few feet.
The wallpaper peeled from the walls.
Wood splintered beneath her shoes.
Then...
She smelled something strange.
Not smoke.
Gasoline.
Her heartbeat stopped.
Someone had poured accelerant.
This wasn't an accident.
The fire had been fed.
She touched the floor.
Wet.
Even through the heat, she could smell it clearly.
Gasoline stretched along the hallway leading directly toward Leo's bedroom.
Like a trail.
A deliberate trail.
She reached the third floor landing.
Silence.
Too much silence.
The fire below roared like an ocean, yet this hallway felt eerily still.
Every bedroom door stood open.
Except one.
Leo's.
Its heavy oak door remained closed.
Locked.
Impossible.
Leo never locked his room.
He couldn't.
His hands lacked the strength to turn the old brass lock without assistance.
Clara grabbed the handle.
It wouldn't move.
She slammed her shoulder against the door.
Nothing.
Again.
Wood cracked.
Again.
The frame splintered.
Finally the lock burst apart.
The door swung inward.
The room was almost untouched by flames.
Smoke floated across the ceiling.
Curtains fluttered through a shattered window.
Books covered the floor.
Leo lay beside his bed.
His wrists tied behind his back.
His ankles bound with electrical cords.
A strip of silver duct tape covered his mouth.
His brace had been removed.
His wheelchair was gone.
His eyes widened with relief the moment he saw Clara.
She ripped the tape away.
"Leo!"
He coughed violently.
"They came back," he whispered.
"Who?"
"They said it had to look like an accident."
Clara's blood ran cold.
"Who said that?"
Leo looked toward the hallway.
"They're still here."
At that exact moment...
The bedroom door slammed shut behind them.
Click.
The broken lock shouldn't have worked.
Yet somehow...
The door had locked itself again.
Then a man's voice echoed from the other side.
Calm.
Deep.
Almost amused.
"You weren't supposed to make it this far, Miss Hayes."
Clara grabbed the fireplace poker leaning against the hearth.
Her hands trembled.
"Who are you?"
A brief silence.
Then the voice answered.
"Ask Arthur Sterling."
Leo's face turned completely white.
"He..."
Leo whispered.
"...that's the same voice I heard the night my father died."
May you like
The doorknob began to turn.
END OF CHAPTER 2
