To the right was the dark path to the study.

Ethan looked up at me in the dim emergency light.

“We have to stop her, don’t we?” he whispered.

I looked down at the boy who had lost his mother to a quiet, invisible poison.

“Yes,” I said.

“We have to stop her.”

We turned right, our footsteps silent on the long runner rug.

The air grew thicker as we neared the study.

The smell of old paper and leather was familiar, but there was something else.

A faint, sharp smell of lighter fluid.

We reached the heavy double doors of the study.

The door on the right was slightly ajar.

A yellow light flickered from within the room, casting dancing shadows on the hallway wall.

It was not the light of a lamp.

It was the bright, erratic glow of an open flame.

I pushed the door open slowly, keeping Ethan behind me.

Celeste was standing by the desk.

The bottom drawer of the oak cabinet was pulled completely out, its contents spilled onto the floor.

A stack of medical folders lay on the desk.