1
The pungent smell of gasoline stung my nostrils and my head snapped back in repulsion. I opened my eyes and lifted my hands to place them over my mouth and nose to hopefully barricade some of the overwhelming scent.
Except my hands didn’t obey.
I tried again.
Panic ripped through my middle when I realized my arms weren’t going to obey any kind of command because they were secured behind me.
What the hell?
I looked down over my shoulder, trying to see the thick ropes binding my wrists. The lighting in here was dim.
Wait. Where was I?
My heart started to pound, my breathing coming in shallow, short spurts as I squinted through tearing eyes at the familiar shapes around me. A little bit of calmness washed over me when I realized I was in my home. Home was a place I always felt safe.
But I wasn’t safe. Not right now.
I sat in the center of my living room, tied to my dining room chair. I was supposed to be in bed sleeping. The boxers and T-shirt I wore said so.
I started to struggle, to strain against the binds that held me. I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew enough to realize whatever was happening was not good.
Movement caught my attention and I went still, my eyes darting toward where someone stood.
“Hello?” I said. “Please help me!”
It was so dark I couldn’t make out who it was. They seemed to loom in the distance, standing just inside the entryway, nothing but a dark shadow.
My eyes blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears flowing down my cheeks. The gasoline smell was so intense. It was like I was sitting in a puddle of the stuff.
“Help me!” I screamed again, wondering why the hell the person just stood there instead of coming to my aid.
The scrape of a match echoed through the darkness, and the catch of a small flame drew my eye. It started out small, reminding me of the fireflies I used to chase when I was a child. But then it grew in intensity, the flame burning brighter, becoming bolder, and it burned down the stick of the match.
The dark shadow held out the matchstick, away from their body, suspending it over the ground for several long seconds.
And then they dropped it.
It fell to the floor like it weighed a thousand pounds and left a small glowing trail in its wake. I watched the flame as it hit the floor, thinking it would fizzle out and the room would be returned to complete blackness.
But the flame didn’t fizzle out.
It ignited.
With a great whoosh, fire burst upward, everything around that little match roaring to life with angry orange flames. I screamed. I didn’t bother asking for help again because it was clear whoever was in this house wasn’t here to help me.
They were here to kill me.
To prove my realization, the dark figure calmly retreated out the front door. The flames on the floor grew rapidly, spreading like a contagious disease up the walls and completely swallowing the front door. The small antique side table by the door, which I’d lovingly scraped, sanded, and painted, caught like it was the driest piece of wood in the center of a forest fire.
Smoke began to fill the rooms, curling closer, making me recoil. How long until the flames came for me?
I began to scream, to call for help, praying one of my neighbors would hear and come to my rescue. Except I knew no one was going to rush into this house to save me. They would all stand out on the lawn at the edge of the street and murmur and point. They would click their tongues and shake their heads, mesmerized by the way the fire claimed my home. And my life.
I wasn’t going to die like this.
I twisted my arms, straining against the corded rope, feeling it cut into my skin, but I kept at it, just needing an inch to slip free.
I tried to stand, to run into the back of the house. If I couldn’t get loose from the chair, I would just take it with me. But my ankles were crossed and tied together.
I called for help again, but the sound was lost in the roaring of the flames. I never realized how loud a fire truly was. I never realized how rapidly it could spread. It was no longer dark in here, the flames lighting up my home like the fourth of July, casting an orange glow over everything. The entire front entryway and stairwell were now engulfed. I could see everything was doused in gasoline; the putrid liquid created a thick trail around the room. Whoever had been here completely drenched this house with the flammable liquid and then set me in the center of it.
I managed to make it to my feet, hunched over with the chair strapped around me. It was difficult to stand with my ankles crossed. But I had to try. I had to get out of here. I took one hobbled step when a cough racked my lungs. I choked and hacked, my lungs searching for clean air to breathe but only filling with more and more pollution.