THE LOCKED BASEMENT

The distinctive clink of the Zippo lighter echoed in the cavernous basement like the cocking of a gun.

Vanessa spun the flint wheel. A bright yellow flame sprang to life, casting an eerie, demonic glow over her blood-spattered face.

“Don't do it, Vanessa!” Natalie screamed, her voice cracking as the fumes burned her throat. “You won't get away with this! The police will find Owen’s body!”

“They’ll find the tragic victim of a home invasion turned arson,” Vanessa replied coolly, her eyes fixated on the flame. “It happens every day in this country. Such a shame.”

She held the lighter out over the ten-foot drop.

Sophie buried her face in her mother’s chest, crying silently. Natalie held her tight, squeezing her eyes shut, bracing for the explosive heat.

Vanessa smiled and let go.

The silver lighter tumbled through the air, end over end, a tiny comet of death falling toward the gasoline-soaked concrete.

It hit the floor with a metallic clack.

But there was no explosion. No roar of flames.

The lighter bounced into a puddle of water that had collected near the old floor drain, instantly hissing as the flame was extinguished.

Vanessa stared down into the dark, her smile vanishing. She had missed the gasoline by three feet.

“Damn it,” she hissed, slapping her pockets for another match or lighter. She had nothing else.

In that split second of Vanessa’s distraction, a massive, bloody hand reached out from the darkness of the hallway and clamped tightly around her ankle.

Owen wasn't dead.

With a guttural roar of pure adrenaline, Owen yanked backward. Vanessa shrieked, losing her balance completely. She pitched forward, arms flailing wildly.

She tumbled over the edge of the drop.

Vanessa hit the concrete floor of the basement with a sickening crunch. She lay in the dark, groaning in agony, her flashlight rolling away and coming to a stop near the gasoline puddle.

Above, Owen dragged himself to the edge of the doorway. His suit jacket was sliced open, a dark crimson stain spreading across his ribcage where Vanessa had stabbed him. He was breathing in shallow, ragged gasps.

“Natalie...” Owen coughed, blood speckling his lips. “The breaker... flip the breaker.”

Natalie understood instantly. She left Sophie near the coal chute and sprinted across the basement, dodging Vanessa’s groaning form. She reached the large grey electrical panel mounted on the wall.

She threw open the metal door and found the main house breaker. She gripped the heavy plastic switch and slammed it upward.

The basement lights instantly flickered back to life, illuminating the nightmare with brutal clarity.

Vanessa was trying to sit up, clutching her left arm, which bent at an unnatural angle. The kitchen knife had fallen a few feet away from her.

“Don't move!” Natalie screamed, grabbing a heavy rusted pipe wrench off a nearby workbench. She stood between Vanessa and Sophie, wielding the heavy iron tool like a club.

Vanessa looked at the wrench, then at her broken arm. She let out a manic, breathless laugh, spitting blood onto the concrete.

“You think this is over?” Vanessa wheezed, her eyes wild. She looked up at Owen, who was slumped against the doorframe above. “He’s bleeding out. The phones are jammed. By the time you get out of here, he’ll be dead, and the gas fumes will finish you off.”

Natalie looked up. Owen was incredibly pale, his head resting against the wood, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Owen, stay awake!” Natalie pleaded. “Throw down your phone!”

“Can't,” Owen whispered, his voice barely audible. “She... she took it.”

Vanessa smiled a bloody, crooked grin. “I threw it in the toilet before I came down here. You’re trapped.”

Natalie’s mind raced. They were in a sealed box filling with toxic fumes, the stairs were gone, and the only person who could help them was bleeding to death ten feet above.

She turned to her seven-year-old daughter.

“Sophie,” Natalie said, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute, commanding authority. “I need you to be the bravest you have ever been in your entire life.”

Sophie wiped her tears and nodded, her small jaw setting with determination.

“I need you to climb the laundry chute again,” Natalie said, pointing to the metal square in the wall. “You have to get to the master bedroom. You have to climb out the window onto the porch roof and scream for the neighbors. Do you understand?”

Vanessa scoffed from the floor. “She’ll never make it up a straight vertical drop. She doesn't have the upper body strength.”

“Watch her,” Natalie said fiercely.

Natalie dragged the old canvas laundry bin beneath the chute. She lifted Sophie up, ignoring the shooting pain in her own splinted leg, and shoved the child into the metal shaft.

“Put your back against one side and your feet against the other,” Natalie instructed rapidly. “Shimmy up like a caterpillar. Don't look down.”

Sophie wedged herself into the cold metal shaft. It was dark, claustrophobic, and smelled of dust. Her small muscles burned instantly as she pressed her bare feet against the smooth metal, slowly inching her way upward.

“That’s it, baby, keep going!” Natalie encouraged from below.

Sophie climbed. Five feet. Eight feet. Her thighs screamed in pain, her hands slipping slightly on the slick metal.

Down in the basement, Vanessa suddenly stopped groaning. Her eyes shifted from the chute to the kitchen knife lying on the floor just three feet away.

Natalie saw the movement. She tightened her grip on the wrench. “Don't even think about it, Clara.”

Vanessa didn't hesitate. She lunged for the knife like a coiled spring.

Natalie swung the heavy iron wrench with all her might. The metal connected with Vanessa’s shoulder with a sickening crack, sending the woman sprawling back onto the gasoline-soaked concrete.

But as Vanessa fell, her good hand lashed out, grabbing Natalie’s injured leg. She twisted the splint violently.

Natalie screamed in agony, dropping the wrench and falling to her knees.

Vanessa scrambled on top of her, her fingers wrapping viciously around Natalie’s throat, choking off her air.

High above them in the metal chute, Sophie heard her mother’s scream.

Sophie looked down. In the faint light at the bottom, she saw Vanessa strangling her mother.

Panic and pure adrenaline surged through the seven-year-old’s veins. She didn't climb higher. She didn't keep going toward the bathroom.

Instead, Sophie reached into her pajama pocket. She pulled out the heavy brass key and the silver locket she had taken from Vanessa’s purse.

She held them directly over the center of the chute.

And she let go.

The heavy cluster of metal plummeted down the twelve-foot shaft.

It struck Vanessa directly on the crown of her head with a sharp, brutal crack.

Vanessa’s eyes rolled back in her skull. Her grip on Natalie’s throat instantly went slack, and she collapsed completely unconscious onto the concrete floor.

Natalie gasped for air, pushing the unconscious woman off her. She looked up the metal shaft, coughing violently.

“Keep climbing, Sophie!” Natalie choked out. “Get help!”

But before Sophie could move another inch, a massive, deafening crash shook the entire foundation of the house.

The heavy iron grate over the coal chute in the corner of the basement ripped completely free from the brick wall, tearing chunks of mortar with it.

Bright, flashing red and blue lights instantly poured through the opening, illuminating the basement like a strobe light.