I took a small step backward toward the doorway.

My heart was hammering against my ribs.

I needed to find something to defend myself if he realized I was stalling.

My hand brushed against the edge of the doorway.

On the small hall table just outside, there was a heavy brass candlestick.

I slid my fingers around the cool metal base.

I kept my eyes on Mark’s back.

“There’s nothing here,” he said, his voice rising in anger.

“You have to press the latch underneath the second brick,” I said.

He leaned closer, his face inches from the dirty soot of the fireplace.

“Which one?” he asked.

“The red one on the left,” I said.

He reached out his hand, his fingers tracing the mortar.

He was completely focused on the stone wall.

I gripped the brass candlestick tighter.

Suddenly, a bright light flashed outside the window.

Headlights swept across the trees in the yard.

Mark froze.

The sound of a car engine echoed from the driveway.

He stood up quickly, dropping his hand from the bricks.

He looked at me, his face twisting into a mask of pure rage.