“I don’t smell anything burning, so it must be,” Levi replies.
“I’ll check the kitchen and living room. You check the bedroom and bathroom.” I direct as I hop to my feet and head for the kitchen.
I examine every line, hose, and connection, anything that could possibly have a gas leak, but I find everything in working order. Returning to the living room, I hunt for anything that could possibly use gas.
Again, nothing.
The sound of a splash catches my attention. At first, I assume it's Levi in the bathroom, but when I hear it again, I discern that the sound is coming from outside.
Peering through the curtains of the large window in the living room that looks out over the front lawn, I discover the source.
A man dressed head to toe in black holds a red gas can upside down, spilling its contents across the front porch. The man must feel me watching because he stops, his attention snapping to me. A ski mask covers his face, and all I can see are his steel eyes. They narrow, sharpening with a venomous anger.
I keep my eyes on him as I holler, “Levi!”
“Levi!”
“What’s going on?” Levi questions as he comes running. I point to the man who has resumed pouring out the gas. Levi’s eyes stare at the man, unable to blink. “Shit!” Levi darts for the front door, turning the knob to pull it open, but it stops with a rattle. “It’s chained,” he communicates to me with a frustrated grit.
Lifting his foot, he braces it on the frame of the door and grabs the doorknob with both hands. Levi uses his foot as leverage as he yanks on the door, trying to break the chain.
“Stop that,” I command. “You’re going to pull a muscle.”
Levi glimpses at the man through the small window at the top of the door. “Is that a match?”
My heart hammers in my chest as I glance out the window and find the masked man holding a lit match. “Fuck!”
“We can’t just run at him,” Levi reasons. “He’ll just throw the match at us, and we don’t know all the spots he poured the gas.”
“So we’re just going to sit here?” I questioned frantically. Taking another peek, I don't want to lose sight of the man. Our situation is precarious enough.
The man's focus ping-pongs back and forth between Levi at the door and me at the window.
I can't see more than his eyes, but the way they pinch at the corners tells me that he's enjoying this. He tips his head toward the sky and belts out a maniacal laugh—one that chills me to my bones. He takes one more look at us, then turns and walks down the lawn toward the street.
My eyes squint quizzically. “Where the hell is he going?”
Levi remains silent as we both observe the man, waiting for any sudden movements that will force us to spring into action. He's about to step off the curb when he tosses the match over his shoulder, and it lands in the grass, instantly igniting it.
“Get a fire extinguisher!” I yell at Levi as I run to the desk, pick up the chair, and hurl it through the window.
The glass shatters, breaking into a million pieces with a high-pitched crack. Having found a fire extinguisher like I told him to, Levi jumps through the broken window and sprays the chemicals on the fire.
I rush out after him using my boots to stomp out the smaller fires.
I assume someone called 911 because by the time we have the fire extinguished I can hear sirens speed in our direction.
“Where did that sucker go?” I ask as I pant from exertion, resting my hands on my hips and tilting my head back.
“I don't know,” Levi answers. “But look.”
I glance in the direction he points to with his finger. Tilting my head to the side, I tried to make out the burned letters in the grass. “What does that say?”
“What does that say?”
“Hypocrite.” Levi breathes out in a whisper.
Our eyes connect, and the paralyzing shock emanating from his person matches my own.
