The Smoke

The fire was a living thing, a hungry beast devouring the priest hole. Smoke poured into the narrow stone passage, thick and suffocating.

"Arthur!" I screamed, grabbing his arm. "We have to move!"

"Where?" he choked, coughing into his sleeve. "The door is blocked."

"Not that way," I said, pointing up. "The chimney."

The explosion had collapsed part of the flue, creating a jagged opening into the main chimney stack. It was precarious, choked with rubble, but it led up.

Toward the roof.

I pushed Arthur toward the hole. "Climb!"

"I can't," he wheezed. "My legs..."

"You have to!" I shouted. "Or we burn!"

I shoved him upward. He groaned, clawing at the soot-stained bricks. I followed, the heat from below searing my back.

We climbed. It was a nightmare of tight spaces and searing heat. My hands were raw, my lungs burning.

We reached the top. The chimney pot was narrow, but the mortar was old and crumbling. I kicked at the bricks until they gave way.

We tumbled out onto the roof.

The rain hit us instantly, a shocking, cold deluge. I gasped, sucking in the wet air.

We were on the flat section of the roof, nestled between two gables. Below us, the fire raged, consuming the library and the study.

I looked at the phone in my hand. The burner.

Two bars.

I dialed 911.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"My name is Helen Vance," I shouted over the roar of the fire. "I'm at the Vance Estate. The house is on fire. My husband is dead. My brother-in-law is dead."

"Ma'am, units are already on the scene," the operator said. "Are you safe?"

"No," I said. "I'm on the roof. And I have evidence."

"Stay on the line, Ma'am."

"I can't," I said. "I have to send something."

I hung up.

I opened the cloud app. I logged in. *10-14-95.*

The files were there. The ledger. The birth certificate.

And the audio file.

I hit *Send*.

*Uploading... 20%...*

A noise from the chimney.

A scraping sound.

I looked over.

A hand reached out of the chimney pot. A hand covered in burns and soot.

Then a face.

Simon.

He pulled himself out, gasping for air. He was alive. Burned, broken, but alive.

He saw us.

He saw the phone.

"Give it to me," he rasped, crawling across the shingles.

"It's over, Simon," I said. "The police are here."

"It's never over," he snarled.

He lunged for me.

I scrambled back, slipping on the wet slate. I nearly went over the edge.

Simon grabbed my ankle.

"The phone!" he screamed.

I kicked him in the face. He grunted, but didn't let go.

I looked at the screen.

*Uploading... 80%...*

"Let go!" I yelled.

I kicked him again. Harder.

He slid backward.

But he took the phone with him.

It skittered across the roof, toward the edge. Toward the fire below.

"No!" I screamed.

I dove for it.

My fingers brushed the plastic casing.

I grabbed it.

But my momentum carried me forward.

I slid toward the edge.

"Helen!" Arthur shouted.

He grabbed my coat. He pulled with all his strength.

I stopped. My legs dangled over the abyss of fire.

I looked at the phone in my hand.

*Upload Complete.*

I looked at Simon.

He was clinging to the gutter, staring at me with pure hatred.

"You ruined everything," he whispered.

Then the gutter gave way.

He fell.

Into the inferno.

Arthur pulled me back onto the roof. We huddled together, shivering in the rain.

"He's gone," Arthur coughed. "He's going to burn the house down with us in it."

"No," I said, looking at the flashing lights below. "Not us."

The ladder truck was extending its arm.

We were going to live.

But the house