Chapter 7 - THE FIRE NEXT DOORThe shockwave hit us like a physical wall, launching me forward onto the damp grass and shielding Lily beneath my body as a blinding wall of orange fire erupted through the kitchen windows. Glass blew outward in a shimmering rain of razor-sharp shrapnel. Thick, black plumes of toxic smoke billowed into the gray Saturday sky, swallowing the morning sun.
"Mommy! Mommy, my ears!" Lily wailed, clutching her head as smoke filled the backyard.
"Don't look back, sweetie! Keep crawling!" I screamed over roaring flames and the deafening crackle of burning timber.
I dragged us both across the lawn, scrambling over Mrs. Higgins’ white picket fence just as sirens began wailing in the distance—high, piercing, and multiplying by the second.
Within minutes, neighbor doors flew open. Mrs. Higgins stumbled out onto her porch in her floral bathrobe, screaming in horror as she saw our house engulfed in an inferno.
"Elena! Oh my god, Elena!" Mrs. Higgins shrieked, running over with a blanket and wrapping it around a sobbing Lily. "What happened? Where is Derek?!"
"He’s not here," I panted, my voice raw, coughing violently from the thick black smoke filling my lungs. My hands were covered in blood, my clothes scorched and torn, but my eyes were burning with cold, crystal-clear fury. "Mrs. Higgins, give me your phone. Right now."
She fumbled through her pockets and handed me her cell phone with trembling hands.
I didn't dial 911. The sirens were already screaming down our street, red and blue lights flashing against the smoke-choked sky. Instead, I opened the encrypted messaging app and dialed Derek’s direct cell phone number.
It rang twice before he picked up, his voice dripping with smooth, practiced concern.
"Elena? Honey, I just saw the news reports on my car radio. Are you and Lily okay? Where are you? Tell me you're safe!"
The master actor. The loving husband. The grieving widower playing his part to absolute perfection.
A cold, dark smile touched my lips as I stared at the burning skeleton of our home, watching two firefighters drag a high-pressure hose across the front lawn.
"The house is gone, Derek," I whispered into the phone, every word dripping with ice. "Marcus and Julian are trapped inside the basement. The police are pulling out the bodies right now. And by the way... I forwarded the backup drives from the attic straight to federal investigators twenty minutes before your brother tried to blow us to pieces."
The line went dead silent. The mask had finally slipped.
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"Elena..." Derek’s voice cracked, all the arrogance evaporating into pure, unadulterated panic. "Elena, wait, let’s talk about this—"
"Save it for the judge, Derek," I said, and hung up the phone.
