Chapter 27: The Fire Alarm

The smoke detector was a small, white disc on the ceiling, blinking its steady, mocking red eye. It wasn't just a sensor. It was a camera. A microphone. A snitch.

I stood on the chair, balancing precariously on the cushions. My hands were shaking, not from the drugs, but from the adrenaline coursing through my veins like ice water. I held the lighter—a cheap, disposable thing I’d found in the pocket of an old coat in the closet—up to the plastic casing.

*Click. Click. Whoosh.*

The flame sputtered to life, small and blue.

I held it close to the sensor.

One second. Two.

Nothing.

"Come on," I hissed.

I moved the flame closer, until the plastic began to blacken and curl. Acrid smoke filled my nose, smelling of burning chemicals.

*Beep.*

A single, sharp chirp.

Then another.

*Beep. Beep. Beep.*

And then, the wail.

It was deafening. A piercing, rhythmic shriek that vibrated in my teeth. *BREE-BREE-BREE.*

Downstairs, the house erupted.

"What the hell?" Mark's voice, muffled by the floorboards.

"Is that the fire alarm?" Chloe. "Check the kitchen!"

"It's upstairs! It's the master bedroom!"

Footsteps pounded on the stairs. Heavy, frantic.

I dropped the lighter and jumped off the chair. I didn't run for the door. I ran for the closet.

I shoved the chair back into place with my foot and dove into the darkness of the closet just as the bedroom door burst open.

"Elara!" Mark shouted.

I peeked through the slats of the louvered door. The room was empty, but the alarm was still screaming. Mark ran in, covering his ears. Chloe was right behind him, her face twisted in annoyance.

"Where is she?" Chloe yelled over the noise.

"Bathroom!" Mark ran to the en-suite. "She's not here!"

"Check the window!"

They were distracted. Panicked.

I slipped out of the closet. I didn't go to them. I went to the hallway.

The pull-down attic cord was dangling right above me.

I reached up, grabbing the toggles. I pulled. The stairs creaked as they unfolded, a heavy, wooden accordion dropping from the ceiling.

"What was that?" Mark yelled from the bedroom.

"The attic!" Chloe screamed.

I scrambled up the steps, my bare feet slipping on the rungs. I reached the top just as Mark burst out of the bedroom.

"Elara!"

He lunged for the cord.

I grabbed the handle of the hatch and hauled it up. It was heavy, fighting gravity, but I pulled with everything I had.

The door slammed shut, severing the view of Mark's furious face.

I was in the dark. The air was hot, thick with the smell of fiberglass and old dust.

Below me, I heard pounding.

"Open it!" Chloe shrieked. "Get the ladder!"

I didn't stay to listen. I crawled across the beams, the insulation scratching my legs. I needed to find a way out. A vent. A dormer window. Anything.

I saw a sliver of light in the distance.

I crawled toward it, my breath loud in the silence of the crawlspace.

I reached the source. It wasn't a window.

It was a gap in the floorboards. A knothole, looking down into the room below.

I put my eye to it.

It was the office. Mark's home office. The one he always kept locked.

And sitting at the desk, illuminated by the glow of three monitors, was a woman.

She had blonde hair, pulled back in a tight ponytail. She was typing furiously.

It wasn't Chloe.

Chloe was downstairs, screaming at Mark.

I squinted, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. The woman turned her head slightly.

It was... me.

It was a woman wearing my clothes. My favorite blue sweater. Her hair was styled like mine.

She picked up a phone. She dialed.

"Yes," she said, her voice a perfect mimicry of my own. "This is Elara Vance. I'd like to authorize a wire transfer."

I scrambled back, my hand clapping over my mouth to stifle a scream.

They weren't just replacing me.

They had already started.