The Fire Spreads

"Who Disabled It?" I whispered, my voice sounding small in the empty room. It was 10 AM on a Tuesday. The house was mine. The deed was recorded. The keys were in my pocket.

But the question lingered like the smell of smoke I could never quite scrub out of the floorboards.

I sat cross-legged on the floor of the nursery, staring at the second carbon monoxide detector I had pulled from beneath the loose floorboard. It was an older model, chunky and yellowed with age, but the batteries inside were fresh.

And the switch on the back was set to 'OFF'.

"Gary," I said, trying the name out. "It had to be Gary."

It fit the narrative. Gary was the cheap landlord. The negligent owner. He knew the heater was faulty. He knew it was leaking. Disabling the detector was exactly the kind of lazy, dangerous shortcut he would take to save a few hundred dollars on repairs.

But then I thought about the attic.

I thought about the diary.

*I feel so tired,* Maya had written. *Elowen made me tea. It tasted funny.*

If Elowen had drugged her... if Elowen had wanted her to sleep...

Would she have risked an alarm waking her up?

I picked up the detector. It felt heavy in my hand, a plastic brick of guilt.

"Or maybe it was both of them," I murmured. "A partnership of negligence and malice."

I stood up and walked to the window. The new glass was clean, free of soot and fingerprints. The bars were gone. I looked out at the cul-de-sac.

Life had returned to normal on Hydrangea Lane. Mrs. Gable was watering her petunias. The mailman was delivering bills. No one looked at the house. No one wanted to remember the fire, or the riot, or the girl who had died in the basement.

I walked downstairs to the kitchen. It was still a mess of construction—I was tearing out the island, replacing the granite with butcher block. I wanted to see the scars. I wanted to see the history.

My phone buzzed on the counter.

A text from Jordana.

*Did you find it?*

I typed back.

*Yes. It was off.*

Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

*Burn it,* she wrote. *Burn it and forget it. You own the house now. You own the truth.*

I looked at the detector sitting on the table.

Burn it.

It was good advice. It was safe advice.

But I couldn't do it.

I grabbed my keys and walked out the back door. I crossed the yard to the edge of the Greenbelt. The kudzu was already reclaiming the scorched earth where the garage had stood.

I walked into the trees. The air was cool and smelled of damp earth.

I found the spot where I had hidden the metal box. I dug it up with my hands.

I opened it.

Inside were the index cards. The USB drive. And Maya's phone.

I placed the carbon monoxide detector inside.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

I closed the lid.

I buried it.

Deeper this time. Deep enough that no one would ever find it.

I stood up and brushed the dirt from my hands.

It wasn't closure. Closure was a myth sold by therapists and real estate agents.

It was containment.

I walked back to the house. I stepped onto the back porch.

And then I saw him.

Standing at the edge of the yard, watching me.

He was wearing a grey hoodie and jeans. He looked thin. Tired.

Marcus.

I froze. My hand went to my pocket, to the pepper spray I now carried everywhere.

"Thea," he said. His voice was rough, like he hadn't used it in days.

"Get off my property," I said.

"I just wanted to see," he said. "I wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm great. I'm a homeowner."

He flinched.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," he said. "The fire. I just wanted to help."

"You wanted to get paid," I said. "And when the check bounced, you wanted revenge."

He looked down at his shoes. "I missed you."

"You missed the free rent," I said.

I walked toward the door.

"Thea, wait."

I stopped. I didn't turn around.

"I know who did it," he said.

I stiffened.

"Did what?"

"The detector," he said. "I saw him."

I turned slowly.

"Saw who?"

"Gary," Marcus said. "That night. When I was in the garage. I saw him go into the basement. He had a screwdriver."

I stared at him.

"You saw him?"

"Yeah," Marcus said. "I didn't know what he was doing. I thought he was fixing something. But then... later... when I heard about the girl..."

He looked up at me, his eyes pleading.

"I didn't say anything because I was scared. He threatened me. He said he'd evict us."

"So you let her die," I whispered.

"I didn't know!" he cried. "I thought... I thought she just left!"

"Get out," I said.

"Thea, please..."

"Get out!" I screamed. "Get off my land!"

He backed away. He turned and ran.

I watched him go.

I walked back into the house. I locked the door.

I leaned against it, my heart pounding.

Gary.

It was Gary.

He had killed her to save money on a heater.

And Elowen... Elowen had spent three years trying to prove it.

I walked to the living room. I sat on the floor.

I looked at the wall where the smoke detector used to be.

I thought about Elowen. Sitting in the asylum. Staring at a wall.

Did she know?

Did she know that her obsession, her grief, her madness... was justified?

Or did she still think it was her fault?

I pulled out my phone.

I opened the contact list.

*Jordana (PI).*

I hesitated.

If I told her... if I told her what Marcus said...

She could reopen the case. She could get Gary charged with murder.

But she would need Marcus to testify.

And Marcus was a liar. A squatter. An arsonist.

Would anyone believe him?

Would I?

I looked at the phone.

I thought about Maya.

I thought about the girl in the photo, smiling with her cat.

She deserved the truth.

But the truth was buried in the Greenbelt.

And I was the only one who knew where to dig.

I put the phone down.

I stood up.

I walked to the kitchen. I picked up a paintbrush.

I dipped it in the can of black paint.

I walked to the nursery.

I painted over the last spot of white wall.

I painted it black.

And as the darkness covered the light, I made a choice.

I wasn't going to call Jordana.

I wasn't going to call the police.

I was going to keep the secret.

Because the house needed secrets.

It needed ghosts.

And now, it had two of us.

Me.

And Maya.

I finished the wall. I stepped back.

The room was dark. Quiet. safe.

I walked to the window. I looked out at the street.

The sun was setting. The shadows were lengthening.

I saw a car drive by. Slowly.

It was a black SUV.

It slowed down in front of the house.

Then it sped up and drove away.

I smiled.

Let them watch.

Let them wonder.

I wasn't a guest anymore.

I was the landlord.

And I had just signed a lease for life.

My phone buzzed.

A notification from my bank.

*Payment Received: $500.00.*
*From: M_B_88.*

I stared at the screen.

M_B_88.

Jordana's eBay handle.

But Jordana didn't owe me money.

I opened the transaction. There was a note.

*For the locket. Thank you.*

The locket.

The one Gary had taken. The one Elowen had been looking for.

Jordana had it?

How?

unless...

Unless she had taken it from Gary.

Before the police arrived.

I looked at the time.

*5:00 PM.*

The banks were closed.

This was a scheduled payment.

Set up... yesterday?

I felt a chill.

Jordana hadn't just been investigating.

She had been shopping.

Collecting evidence.

Or trophies.

I looked at the black wall.

Maybe I wasn't the only one keeping secrets.

Maybe the house wasn't the only thing that was haunted.

I walked to the front door.

I locked the deadbolt.

I slid the chain.

And then, I heard it.

From the basement.

A rhythmic, steady *thump*.

Like a heater turning on.

But the gas was off.

I had cut the line myself.

I walked to the basement door.

I put my hand on the knob.

It was warm.