Chapter 4 - The Fire WithinThe tires of my SUV skidded to a halt against the wet curb in front of the Victorian house on Hawthorne Avenue. The sky above was pitch black now, heavy with the promise of a freezing downpour.
No police cruisers had arrived yet. I couldn't wait. Every second I wasted standing on the sidewalk was another second Clara had alone with Harper behind those closed doors.
I threw my car door open, dashed up the porch steps, and twisted the front doorknob.
Locked.
“Clara!” I shouted, slamming my palm against the heavy oak wood. “Open the door! I know you’re in there!”
Silence answered me from inside the dark, brooding house.
I backed up, threw my shoulder against the door once, twice, three times—until the brass latch splintered from the frame with a loud crack, and the door flew inward.
“Harper!” I yelled, stepping into the dim foyer.
The air inside felt thick, heavy, and strangely warm. A sharp, chemical scent prickled the back of my nose—gasoline mixed with melting paraffin.
My training as a trauma nurse instantly cataloged the hazard, but my worst fears were confirmed when I heard a quiet, terrified sob coming from the top of the stairs.
“Ethan... help me...” Harper’s voice cried out from the upper master bedroom.
I vaulted up the staircase two steps at a time, drawing my breath sharp as I reached the landing. The door to the master suite stood wide open.
What I saw inside made my heart stop completely.
Clara stood near the center of the spacious bedroom, holding a lit road flare in her right hand. Its violent red-orange flame hissed and sparked, casting flickering, demonic shadows across the walls. Pools of liquid fuel had been splashed across the antique carpets and heavy drapes.
Bound to a wooden chair near the walk-in closet with heavy zip-ties was Harper, tears streaming down her pale face, her mouth taped shut with silver duct tape.
Clara stood beside her, looking breathtakingly calm, dressed in a pristine white sweater that contrasted violently with the impending destruction around her.
“You’re late, Ethan,” Clara said smoothly, a chilling smile touching her lips as she casually twirled the burning flare between her fingers. “I expected you home ten minutes ago.”
“Clara, put the flare down,” I said, holding my hands out slowly, stepping into the room with calculated caution. “You are completely cornered. The police are on their way. Child services has your file. It’s over.”
Clara let out a sharp, mocking laugh that echoed off the high ceilings.
“Over? Ethan, nothing is ever over until I say it is,” she hissed, her eyes wild with a manic, unhinged fury. “Do you really think a few police officers and some pencil-pushing bureaucrats can take my life away from me? I built this empire. I protected my daughter from a weak, ungrateful world that wanted to tear us apart!”
“You didn't protect her, Clara—you tortured her!” I shouted, inching closer while keeping my eyes locked on the burning flare. “You killed David, and you were doing the exact same thing to Harper!”
At the mention of David, Clara’s face contorted into a mask of pure venom.
“David was weak!” she screamed, taking a step closer toward the pool of gasoline near the curtains. “He tried to take my baby away! Just like you’re trying to do right now! But nobody takes my child. If I can't have a perfect family, then nobody gets anything at all!”
She raised the flare directly toward the soaked carpet near Harper’s chair.
My heart hammered against my ribs with terrifying force. I didn't calculate the odds. I didn't wait for the police. I lunged forward across the room with the explosive speed of a man facing mortal combat.
“No!” I roared.
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Clara swung the flare down toward the floor just as I collided with her full-force.
The flare slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the bare wood near the threshold, instantly igniting a tongue of orange flame that leaped up the side of the doorway with a ferocious roar.
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