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God, he couldn’t think with these wailing smoke detectors.
Here!
He gave an aggravated sigh and started throwing open cabinets.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
The fire started another imaginary wick and ran to the back wall of the kitchen again.
The refrigerator? The door was hanging half off the seal would have melted in this kind of heat. Gabriel yanked it anyway.
Nothing.
The cabinets under the sink.
Nothing.
The dishwasher, maybe?
Nothing.
The oven. Would someone climb in an oven?
He checked. No. Not in this house, anyway.
Another imaginary wick. Fire caught at the pantry door.
The open pantry. Why would the door be open? From the flames, it looked like the shelves started three feet above the ground. The pantry wasn’t that deep; even with the smoke, he’d be able to see someone under the shelving.
And they wouldn’t be alive anyway.
But when he stepped closer, the fire blazed around him, dancing excitedly.
Gabriel stuck out a hand. He felt the frame of the pantry, the inner walls, spongy and fragile from the damage.
And on the back wall, his hand found a handle.
Without thinking, he pulled. The wall seemed to swing forward on a hinge. He couldn’t figure it out. A hidden trash can?
He stuck a hand into the opening. Metal sides, some kind of vertical tunnel.
You idiot. A laundry chute.
The upstairs was completely consumed by fire. This level wasn’t much better. Would someone go down a laundry chute?
He could never fit. It would have to be someone tiny.
He thought of that anguished scream from the front lawn.
A child.
Holy shit. He needed to get back to the basement.
The stairs were on fire now, almost giving way beneath his weight. The basement was still a pit of blackness; he had no idea how he’d find a small kid. Based on the location of the kitchen, he slid away from the stairs, on hands and knees again.
He found the dead cat again.
Thank god he hadn’t eaten dinner.
