Chapter 24 - The Spark in the Dark
"Put the gun down, Vance," Thomas commanded, stepping slowly into the kitchen with a vicious smirk.
"You're out of your depth, Thomas," Vance said, not lowering the poker. "The state police are twenty minutes behind me."
"Then you have twenty minutes less to live than you thought," Thomas replied coldly.
Thomas pulled the trigger without hesitation.
The deafening roar of the gunshot reverberated within the enclosed tiled kitchen.
Vance twisted violently as the bullet caught his collarbone, throwing him backward against the heavy oak table.
Arthur did not hesitate; he drove the butcher knife down toward Thomas’s extended arm.
The steel blade sliced deep into Thomas’s forearm, severing muscle and tendon.
Thomas screamed in agony, dropping the revolver onto the tile as dark blood spurted from the wound.
Arthur grabbed Vance by the collar of his coat, hauling the wounded detective toward the rear cellar exit.
"Run!" Arthur yelled, kicking the revolver beneath the heavy cast-iron stove.
Behind them, Eleanor stepped into the kitchen, her eyes wide with unhinged excitement.
She carried a brass Zippo lighter in one hand, its yellow flame dancing in the freezing draft.
"Goodbye, Arthur," she whispered with a venomous smile.
She tossed the lighter backward toward the foyer, where the pool of gasoline stretched across the floor.
A terrifying *whoosh* echoed through the front of the mansion as the vapors caught instantly.
A wall of brilliant orange and blue flame erupted in the grand foyer, racing up the wooden staircase with violent hunger.
The heat slammed into the kitchen like a physical fist, scorching the air and filling the hallway with thick, oily smoke.
Thomas was on his knees, clutching his bleeding arm and screaming curses over the roar of the fire.
"The key!" Thomas shrieked, looking at Eleanor. "Get the key out of my coat!"
Eleanor looked down at him with utter disgust, her eyes glowing in the reflection of the growing flames.
"You served your purpose, Thomas," she said calmly, turning her back on him.
She pulled the kitchen cellar door open and descended into the darkness, shutting the heavy iron latch behind her.
Arthur and Vance were trapped in the kitchen as the wooden cabinets above them caught fire.
The smoke was thickening rapidly, blotting out the ceiling and choking their lungs with black soot.
"The bulkhead," Vance wheezed, coughing violently into his bloody sleeve. "Does the cellar have an exterior bulkhead?"
May you like
"Yes," Arthur gasped, pulling Vance toward the secondary service hatch near the pantry. "Under the porch."
---
