The Stairs

Shards of porcelain sprayed across the floor like frozen rain. Elena didn't flinch, her ears ringing from the concussive blast of the handgun in the narrow hallway. The smell of gunpowder, sharp and metallic, cut through the residual tang of bear mace. Valerie King stood ten feet away, the pistol's muzzle smoking, her eyes bloodshot and wild in the strobe-light aftermath.

"I missed," Val whispered, a hysterical edge to her voice. "I won't miss twice."

Elena didn't wait for her to realign her aim. She retreated into the darkness of the dining room, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, weaving behind the heavy oak table. She wasn't fleeing; she was leading. She knew the house was a weapon, and she had spent the last hour priming the traps.

Val stumbled after her, her boots heavy and clumsy. The vertigo from the sirens was still wrecking her balance, making her movements jerky and over-telegraphed. She fired again, the bullet burying itself in the back of a velvet chair, a useless strike against the furniture.

"Where are you, you coward?" Val screamed, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "Marcus is in the garage! He’s getting the tools! You’re dead, Elena! You’re both dead!"

Elena didn't answer. She reached the bottom of the grand staircase and looked up. The nursery was directly above, a fortress she had abandoned to become the hunter. She took the stairs two at a time, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.

She reached the landing and grabbed the bottle of organic olive oil she had retrieved from the pantry minutes ago. She didn't pour it over the stairs; she focused on the transition—the exact spot where the polished wood of the top step met the landing. She emptied the bottle, creating a shimmering, invisible pool of grease.

She ducked into the shadows of the linen closet, pulling the door shut until only a hairline crack remained.

Val appeared at the bottom of the stairs, her flashlight beam cutting through the dark like a blade. She saw the open door to the nursery and let out a guttural, triumphant snarl. She began to run, her footsteps thundering on the carpeted risers.

"I'm coming for him, Elena!" Val shouted, her voice thick with malice. "I'm going to turn the air off myself!"

She reached the final flight, her momentum carrying her upward, her focus entirely on the dark rectangle of the nursery doorway. She reached the top, her lead foot hitting the landing with all her weight.

The wood provided no grip.

Val’s legs went out from under her as if they had been kicked. She let out a sharp, surprised yelp, her arms windmilling in the dark.

She tumbled down three steps, dropping the gun.