Chapter 37
CHAPTER 37
Hillary leaned back against the edge of the couch, letting out a long breath. The words replayed in her head: We’ve got him cornered. Michael was trapped, reduced to a desperate man hiding in an old garden shed on the far edge of the property. The image brought a flicker of relief. Cornered, like the rat he was.
Her gaze drifted to Claire, still asleep on the sofa, her face peaceful for the first time all night. For a moment, Hillary considered waking her, sharing the news, but the thought passed quickly. Claire needed rest. The nightmare wasn’t over yet, but this was a small reprieve, and Hillary wouldn’t take it from her.
The quiet hum of the room was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. Hillary turned to see Madame Fournier descending the grand staircase, her hands smoothing the fabric of her gown as she moved. She looked composed, as always, but there was a tension in her eyes that betrayed how deeply the events of the night had shaken her. It was as if she had spent hours pacing, checking every corner of the house, ensuring everyone was accounted for.
“Where are the police?” Madame Fournier asked as she reached the sitting room, her sharp gaze sweeping over the room.
Russ stepped forward, his expression calm but resolute. “They’ve got him,” he said. “Michael’s cornered in one of the old garden sheds. They’re securing the perimeter and waiting him out.”
Madame Fournier’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. Instead, she glanced toward the windows, the low light of dawn creeping through the heavy drapes. Her fingers brushed the edge of a side table, a small, unconscious gesture that hinted at her unease.
“Good news, right?” Hillary said, trying to keep her tone light. “The end of this nightmare.”
Madame Fournier turned her gaze back to Russ, ignoring Hillary’s attempt at optimism. “And the officers stationed here? They’ve left? That seems foolish.”
Russ hesitated. “They’re focusing on the perimeter around the shed. With Michael cornered, there’s no immediate threat to the house.”
Madame Fournier shook her head, her expression grim. “That’s a mistake.”
Hillary’s stomach twisted, the lump of worry in her throat threatening to take hold. “Why?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
“Because we’re vulnerable now,” Madame Fournier replied. “If Michael somehow slips past them—and don’t think for a moment that he won’t try—there’s nothing between him and us. No one here to protect us. And with so many guests asleep, unaware...” She trailed off, her sharp gaze moving to the front door as if she expected Michael to burst through it at any moment.
Russ’s jaw tightened, and he glanced toward the windows, clearly considering her words. “They’ve got him surrounded,” he said, though the confidence in his voice faltered slightly. “He’s not getting out of there.”
Madame Fournier crossed her arms, her nails tapping against the silk of her sleeve. “I hope you’re right,” she said simply.
Hillary forced herself to stand, brushing invisible dust from her ruined dress as she did. “We’re due for a lucky break,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt. “Let this be it.”
Madame Fournier’s shook her head. “Perhaps,” she said. She took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders.
Russ was standing in front of the tall window, staring out and considering what Madame Fournier was saying. His arms folded across his chest and his posture tense. Hillary could see the wheels turning in his head, replaying Madame Fournier’s words. She wished she could will herself to believe everything was under control, that Michael was truly trapped. But the lingering doubt clawed at her.
A loud crash shattered the fragile quiet.
The sound of breaking glass rang out, followed by a whoosh of air. Hillary barely had time to register the bottle’s flaming cloth before it hit the floor with a sickening splatter. Liquid fire erupted, racing across the rug and up the heavy curtains, the smell of gasoline overwhelming her senses.
"Move!" Russ bellowed, his voice cutting through her shock. He was already rushing toward the flames, his arm shielding his face from the growing heat.
Before anyone could react, another crash echoed from a different part of the house. Hillary turned, her heart pounding, to see flames licking up another set of curtains through the doorway. The crackle of fire grew louder, the air thickening with smoke. And then, as if the horror wasn’t enough, a third crash sounded, followed by the unmistakable roar of another fire springing to life.
"Dear God," Madame Fournier breathed, her voice trembling. Then, with a commanding yell, she came to life. "Everyone, wake up! Get out now! The house is on fire!"
Claire shot upright on the couch, her scream piercing through the chaos as she took in the flames spreading around her. “What’s happening?” she cried, her voice raw with fear.
“Michael,” Russ growled, his voice grim as he grabbed Claire by the arm and helped her to her feet. “It’s Michael.”
Hillary was already moving, grabbing a heavy throw blanket from a nearby chair and tossing it over the closest flames, trying to smother them. It did little against the rapid spread of the fire. The liquid that had spilled from the Molotov cocktail continued to feed the flames.
Smoke filled the room quickly, stinging her eyes and throat. She coughed, waving a hand in front of her face to clear the air, but it was no use. The acrid scent burned her lungs, and her vision blurred as she turned toward the door.
“Everyone, out!” Madame Fournier’s voice rang out again, carrying over the growing roar of the fire. “Wake the others! Move quickly!”
Hillary didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed Claire’s arm, steadying her as they moved toward the hallway. Around them, guests were stirring, their confusion turning to panic as they realized the severity of the situation. Some were already coughing, clutching at their throats as smoke billowed through the house.
“This way!” Hillary called, her voice hoarse as she waved people toward the front entrance. But her heart sank as she turned the corner and saw flames consuming yet another room. The fire was spreading faster than she could have imagined, devouring everything in its path.
Russ appeared at her side, his face streaked with soot. “We need to split up,” he said urgently. “There are too many people. We won’t get everyone out in time if we stick together.”
Hillary hesitated, fear clawing at her chest. The house was massive, a labyrinth of rooms and corridors, and the thought of getting separated in the chaos made her stomach churn. But Russ was right. They didn’t have a choice.
“Go,” she said, her voice shaking but firm. “I’ll take the east wing. You check the west.”
He nodded, his jaw tight. “Be careful,” he said, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned and disappeared into the smoke-filled hallway.
Hillary pulled her shirt over her mouth trying to filter the smoke as she made her way toward the east wing. Flames licked at the walls, and the heat was suffocating, but she pushed forward, banging on doors as she went.
“Wake up!” she shouted, her voice raw. “Fire! Everyone out!”
Doors opened, frightened faces emerging as guests stumbled into the hallway, their disheveled appearances a stark contrast to the elegance of the evening before. Some were coughing, others clutching at each other as they tried to make sense of the chaos.
“This way!” Hillary directed them, guiding them toward the nearest exit. “Stay low and move quickly!”
As she reached the end of the hallway, she spotted an elderly couple struggling to navigate the smoke-filled corridor. Hillary rushed to their side, wrapping an arm around the woman’s waist and helping her forward. “We’re almost there,” she promised, though her own lungs burned with every breath.
The sound of breaking glass and the roar of flames followed her as she led the group to the main staircase. The fire had spread to the upper floors now, and the once-grand staircase was barely visible through the thick smoke.
“Hillary!” Russ’s voice cut through the chaos, and she turned to see him emerging from the west wing, a group of guests in tow. His face was grim, his shirt torn and his hair disheveled, but he was alive. “We need to move. Now.”
Together, they herded the remaining guests toward the front entrance, the heat and smoke chasing them every step of the way. The once-beautiful foyer was now a war zone, flames licking at the edges of the ornate woodwork as the fire consumed the house.
As the last of the guests stumbled outside, Hillary turned back, her heart pounding. “Is everyone out?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Russ nodded, his expression grim. “I think so. But the fire’s spreading too fast. We can’t go back in.”
Hillary’s chest tightened as she looked back at the house, the flames illuminating the night sky. The sound of sirens in the distance offered a small glimmer of hope, but it did little to quell the fear that gripped her.
Michael wasn’t just a desperate man. He was a monster. And he wasn’t finished yet.
“Where is Claire?” Madame Fournier asked breathlessly. “Where is she?”