“We will handle it,” Thomas said, though his own eyes were fixed on the darkened hallway.

Inside the library, a sudden burst of white chemical dust hissed loudly, choking out the orange glow behind the doorframe.

Deputy Carter coughed violently, his boots shuffling on the parquet floor inside.

“It’s out!” Carter yelled, his voice muffled by the sleeve of his uniform jacket. “Trash can and the corner of the rug. He used lighter fluid.”

My chest heaved as I took in a breath of the polluted air.

I looked down at the floor near my feet.

The silver revolver lay there, reflecting the flashing red and blue lights from the patrol cars parked in the driveway.

Sheriff Miller kicked the gun away from Mark’s reach, sending it sliding across the floorboards until it hit the baseboard.

Patricia stood near the dining room door, her hands pressed against her mouth.

Her expensive beige silk blouse was stained with a few droplets of the spilled tea.

She looked at her son, then at the gun, then at the smoky hallway.

Her chest was rising and falling rapidly.