Gary's Debt

"The Escape," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips as the attic air grew hotter. Elowen's laugh echoed through the floorboards, a sound that made the insulation crawl. She wasn't just a stager. She was a mother looking for a ghost, and she had decided I was the only thing standing between her and her dead daughter.

I scrambled away from the attic hatch, my eyes darting around the dusty, cluttered space. The only light came from the small, circular window at the far end, a single, unblinking eye staring out into the night.

The window.

I crawled toward it, my knees scraping against the rough plywood. Behind me, I heard the *click-clack* of heels on the ladder. She was coming up.

I reached the window. It was painted shut. Of course.

I grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from a box of Gary's "junk"—probably stolen from a previous tenant, maybe even Maya—and smashed it against the glass.

The sound was deafening in the small space. Shards of glass rained down onto the roof below.

I looked back. Elowen's head was poking through the hatch. Her blonde bob was perfect, her makeup flawless, but her eyes were wild.

"Leaving so soon, Thea?" she asked, her voice sweet and poisonous. "We haven't even started the decluttering process."

I didn't answer. I climbed onto the sill, ignoring the glass slicing into my palms. I looked down.

It was a long way to the ground. But there was a drainpipe running down the side of the house, just within reach.

I grabbed it. The metal was cold and slick with condensation.

"Don't do it, Thea," Elowen called out, stepping fully into the attic. She was holding the lighter. The flame danced in the draft from the broken window. "You'll break your neck. And then who will Gary blame?"

"He can blame you," I shouted, and I swung myself out.

The drainpipe groaned under my weight. I slid down, the friction burning my hands, my feet scrambling for purchase against the siding. I hit the ground hard, rolling into the hydrangeas.

I scrambled to my feet, gasping for air. The house loomed above me, dark and silent except for the faint orange glow in the attic window.

She had dropped the lighter.

I ran. I didn't look back. I ran toward the street, my bare feet slapping against the pavement.

A car screeched around the corner. A silver sedan.

It braked hard in front of me. The passenger door flew open.

"Get in!" a voice shouted.

It was Jordana.

I dove into the car, slamming the door shut just as the engine roared. Jordana floored it, the tires squealing as we sped away from Hydrangea Lane.

I looked back. Elowen was standing in the attic window, silhouetted against the growing flames. She was smiling.

And she was waving.

"Are you okay?" Jordana asked, her eyes fixed on the road. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

"I think so," I said, my voice shaking. "She... she tried to burn the house down. With me in it."

"She's escalating," Jordana said grimly. "Gary must be putting pressure on her."

"Gary?" I asked. "What does Gary have to do with Elowen?"

Jordana glanced at me. "You still don't get it, do you? Gary didn't just hire her. He owes her."

"Owes her what?"

"Money. A lot of it. Gambling debts. Why do you think he's so desperate to sell?"

I stared at her. "How do you know all this?"

Jordana sighed. She reached into the backseat and pulled out a manila folder. She tossed it onto my lap.

"Open it."

I opened the folder. Inside were photos. Surveillance photos.

Of Gary. Of Elowen.

And of me.

Me at the coffee shop. Me at the post office. Me sleeping in my bed.

"You've been following me," I whispered.

"I've been investigating," Jordana corrected. "I told you. I'm a PI. Maya's family hired me six months ago. The police wrote her off as a runaway. But her sister... she knew better."

"Her sister?" I asked. "The one on eBay?"

"M_B_88," Jordana said. "That was me. I needed to see if you had the locket. If you did, it meant you had access to the attic. And if you had access to the attic..."

"I found the diary," I said.

Jordana slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt on the side of the road.

"You have the diary?" she demanded, turning to face me.

"No," I said. "I left it. In the attic. Under the floorboard."

Jordana cursed. She hit the steering wheel.

"That diary is the evidence, Thea! It proves everything! Gary's negligence. The heater. The CO poisoning."

"CO poisoning?" I repeated.

"That's how Maya died," Jordana said. "The heater in the basement was faulty. Gary knew. He was too cheap to fix it. He just... disabled the detectors."

My blood ran cold. The missing batteries.

"So he killed her," I said.

"Manslaughter, at best," Jordana said. "But he covered it up. He got rid of the body. And he hired Elowen to sanitize the scene. To make it look like Maya just... left."

"And Elowen?" I asked. "Why is she helping him?"

"Because she's Maya's mother," Jordana said.

The world tilted.

"What?"

"Elowen Vance is Maya Bishop's mother," Jordana repeated. "She changed her name years ago. But she never stopped looking for her daughter. When Gary hired her to stage the house... she didn't know it was Maya's house. Not at first."

"But she found out," I said. "The locket. The photos."

"Yes," Jordana said. "And instead of going to the police... she snapped. She decided the house killed her daughter. And she decided to kill the house."

"And me," I whispered. "She decided to kill me."

Jordana looked at me. Her expression was hard, unreadable.

"She thinks you're part of it, Thea. She thinks you're helping Gary hide the truth. That's why she's been terrorizing you. She wants you out. So she can burn it all down."

I looked out the window. We were parked in front of a motel. The neon sign buzzed and flickered. *The Sleep-Ezy Inn.*

"We need to go back," I said.

"Are you crazy?" Jordana asked. "The place is on fire!"

"The diary," I said. "It's in the floor. If the fire doesn't reach it... we can still get it. We can prove Gary did it. We can stop Elowen."

Jordana stared at me. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face.

"You're not just a copy editor, are you?" she asked.

"No," I said, opening the car door. "I'm a tenant. And I want my deposit back."

We got out of the car.

But as we walked toward the motel office, my phone buzzed.

A notification from my smart-lock app.

*Front Door Unlocked.*
*User: Marcus.*

I froze.

"Marcus?" I whispered.

"Who?" Jordana asked.

"My ex," I said. "He... he has a key."

I looked at the notification again.

*User: Marcus.*
*Time: 11:58 PM.*

But Marcus didn't have the app. I had revoked his access.

Unless...

Unless he wasn't using the app.

Unless he was using the keypad.

And he knew the code.

Because I had told him.

"He's in the house," I said. "He's inside the burning house."

I looked at Jordana.

"We have to go back."

Jordana shook her head. "It's too dangerous."

"He's going to die!" I shouted.

"He made his choice," Jordana said cold, calm. "He took the money, remember?"

"He didn't take the money," I said, realizing it for the first time. "He didn't leave because he was paid off."

"Then why did he leave?"

"Because he found something," I said. "In the garage. Before Elowen got there."

I pulled out the receipt for the paint. The one with Marcus's signature.

"He didn't buy the paint to cover up the crime scene," I said. "He bought it to mark it."

I showed her the receipt.

On the back, scribbled in Marcus's messy handwriting, was a note.

*It's under the water heater. Don't let her find it.*

"What's under the water heater?" Jordana asked.

"I don't know," I said. "But Marcus went back to get it."

I ran back to the car. Jordana followed, cursing.

We sped back toward the house.

As we turned onto Hydrangea Lane, I saw the smoke. It was billowing into the night sky, thick and black.

The fire trucks hadn't arrived yet.

We pulled up to the curb. The house was glowing orange from the inside.

And standing on the front lawn, watching the flames, was Elowen.

She was holding a gas can.

And she was laughing.

"Where is he?" I screamed, jumping out of the car. "Where is Marcus?"

Elowen turned to me. Her face was streaked with soot, her eyes manic.

"He's with Maya," she said. "In the basement."

I didn't think. I didn't hesitate.

I ran toward the burning house.

"Thea, no!" Jordana yelled.

I kicked open the front door. The heat hit me like a physical wall. The foyer was filled with smoke.

"Marcus!" I screamed.

No answer.

I dropped to my hands and knees, crawling toward the basement door.

The handle was hot. I used my shirt to turn it.

I pushed the door open.

The stairs were on fire.

But at the bottom, huddled in the corner next to the old, rusted water heater, was a figure.

It was Marcus.

He was holding something. A small, metal box.

He looked up at me. His face was pale, his eyes wide.

"I found it, Thea," he coughed. "I found the proof."

He held up the box.

And then the stairs collapsed.