Chapter 6 - THE RED TOGGLETime seemed to fracture.
Graham didn't hesitate. Instead of firing at Martha—which risked triggering an involuntary muscle spasm on the dead-man switch—he lunged forward with explosive speed, tackling Vanessa hard to the floor just as Martha slammed her thumb onto the red toggle.
Click.
The deafening roar of an explosion tore through the back half of the cottage.
Flames erupted along the baseboards, fed by the pressurized gas line Martha had rigged beneath the floor. Debris rained down from the ceiling as beams splintered and crashed into the living room.
Through the smoke and searing heat, Graham dragged Vanessa by her collar across the splintered floorboards, diving headfirst through the shattered kitchen window just as the inner wall collapsed inward in a sheet of white-hot fire.
They hit the damp grass outside, coughing violently as billow after billow of black smoke choked the night air.
A few yards away, Martha stood framed by the roaring inferno inside the cottage.
She hadn’t tried to run.
Instead, she stood in the center of the burning room, arms slightly spread, laughing maniacally as the roof timbers caved in on top of her, burying her sins beneath tons of burning ash and charred timber.
Sirens wailed in the distance—police cruisers and fire trucks tearing up the long gravel driveway of the Caldwell estate, summoned automatically by the automated estate security grid.
Graham stood up slowly, wiping soot and blood from his forehead, looking down at Vanessa, who lay curled on the grass, weeping uncontrollably.
May you like
“It’s over,” Graham muttered, his voice hollow.
Or so he thought.
