I reached the bottom of the stairs and stood in the dark foyer.

The front door was only ten feet away.

I walked over to it, my boots making no sound on the runner, and reached for the deadbolt.

I turned it, but the lock didn’t move.

It was a double-cylinder lock, requiring a key from both the inside and the outside.

Nathan had the only key in his pocket.

My breath caught in my throat, a sudden wave of panic rising in my chest.

I was locked in.

I turned around, looking toward the back of the house, where the kitchen lay in deep shadow.

The basement door was located just off the utility room, behind the pantry.

I had to move quickly, before Nathan finished giving Eleanor her medication.

I walked through the dining room, past the heavy mahogany table where we had eaten dinner just hours before.

The house felt different now, larger and more hostile, its modern paint and family photographs masking something old and rotten.

I reached the kitchen, the stainless steel appliances catching the faint light from the streetlamps outside.