When I flipped the switches on the circuit breaker, I turned off the power to every room in the house. If they do blow out the candles, they’ll be in almost total darkness.
Power is a funny thing.
When you have it, you take it for granted. When you don’t, it’s the only thing you think about. I’m going to take yours before you die.
It’s the least I can do. Maybe not the least. But Icando it. That’s the whole point of power.
Every one of them will be stuck in a different place. Everyone of them will die alone, like Ryan did. Kennedy is in the attic, and there’s no way out. Mila will never leave the cellar. Chase will be in the living room when he realizes there’s no saving Mila, and Chelsea is in the bedroom. If I know my friends, and by now, I think I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I do, Chelsea will panic and run for it, like she did while my brother drowned. But there’s only one way out for her, and that’s straight down from the balcony. Chase will play the hero, like he did when he covered up Kennedy’s inconvenient little murder. But I won’t let either of them get far. I can’t. It’s already gone too far. We have all gone too far.
Six candles burning in the dark
Find them fast before they spark
One is in the living room
One in the garden where the flowers bloom
One on the boat that bobs on the lake
One in the room where we sleep and wake
One in the attic over your head
One in the cellar where you’ll find one dead.
It occurs to me that I haven’t thought of a way out. There are still pills in my pocket. But I didn’t come here to die. I didn’t come here to kill, either.
I came here to learn the truth.
But the truth was murder.
The truth was lies.
So I leave Kennedy’s room. One last time before I go. There’s a sudden flare of light from downstairs, and I run to the balcony overlooking the loft. The candles on the living room table have finally burned to the bottom, and I watch infascination as the cards from the board game ignite as if made of some hyperflammable substance. A sudden wind blows the front door open, and the cards go swirling into the air like leaves lifted from a bonfire. As each card makes contact with a surface, a brilliant blaze blooms, spreading with almost supernatural speed. Everything is light and heat. Everything is sick and strange. The smoke is poison, the fire is ruin, but the house is dying. There is nothing left to save. I focus on the door, the one I was sure I locked. This is the one chance to turn back. Chase is still in the cellar, administering CPR like the Boy Scout he is. He has a shot at escape, if he were smart enough to take it. By some miracle or act of god, almost a supernatural force, the fire hasn’t come into contact with a gasoline-coated surface. But I find myself running, unable to stop myself, down the stairs, to the front door, padlocking it, and sprinting back up again, my lungs bursting, out of breath. I lift the can of gasoline and spill the rest over the side of the balcony. There is no turning back.
Chase runs back up from the cellar and stares up at me from the living room. “What did you do?” He looks at me like a stranger. But he’s the stranger.
“Don’t ask me that.” I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. Like I’m the villain.
He looks around helplessly. “The fire extinguisher’s missing.”
“Bad luck.”
A wall of fire rises behind him, and he backs away from it. “You killed Mila.”
“You killed Ryan.”
“It was an accident. This is so fucked up, Emily. This is so fucked.” He whips his head around, looking for an out.It’s almost comical, like a cartoon. But he’s smart. Smart-guy Chase. If there is a way out, he will find it. So I search the room too, surveying the scene from above. “You planned this.”
Remain calm. Focus. Look. There’s still room for him to edge sideways to the bookcase. He could possibly climb it and pull himself up to where I’m watching him from the loft, or it could fall over and crush him. Flatten him like a pancake. I don’t see another way. Two walls of fire are now blocking his exit, and there are no windows in the cellar.
“Only a little.” I hold Mila’s unlit lighter over the railing. It’s going to burn my fingers, and if I’m not careful, it could set the rest of me on fire. I have to do it quickly or not at all. There’s pure terror in his eyes, but I see sedation there too. The pills work quickly.
“Emily. Em. You don’t need to do this.” His eyes focus on the bookcase, and he flattens against the wall and begins to inch toward it. It was only a matter of time. He begins tearing books off the shelf, leaving the bottom row filled. Clever. That will weigh it down, make it less likely to topple over as he climbs.
“Why do people always say that?” It irritates me. Does he think I don’t know that? Like I’m a child with no sense of agency? “I choose to do it. You made your choices, I get to make mine. And you made alotof bad choices, Chase. Let’s be honest, this isn’t just about Ryan. You ignored me for years. You brought Mila toourplace not once but twice, you had sex with her behind my back, and then you paraded her in front of me after…” I can’t even say it. The words stick in my throat like something rotten.
I watch little sparks of hope die in his eyes as he begins to climb, looking up at me, stricken, reaching one arm over his head and finding his footing. “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?”