They All Fall Down by Roxanne St. Claire Read Free Book Online Page B

imagination. But what is that smell? Good God, did someone blow one in here?
    I turn in a circle, my gaze stopping on the lock, my book bag, the mail, the partially opened pantry door. Did I leave it like that?
    Another set of chills rises over my arms because I swear, I did not leave that door open. I take a step closer and then I hear something.
    A low, soft, slow …  hiss .
    What the hell is that noise?
    I look at the stove to see that the back burner knob is twisted to the right —on —but there are no flames. What does that mean?
    It means that poisonous gas has been seeping through the whole house, and if I hadn’t just noticed, I’d have been dead in about ten minutes.

CHAPTER VI
    T hrowing myself at the stove, I flip the knob so hard it pops off in my hand. With a small shriek, I lean closer, listening for the sound of escaping gas.
    Everything’s off. But how—
    No. Not yet. If I think, I’ll freak. I have to move. Or worse—I’ll faint.
    If Mom hadn’t called I would have died in my sleep!
    I lunge toward the stove-top exhaust fan, turning it on max, then bolt to the kitchen door, unlocking it with trembling fingers to throw it open. I don’t care who’s out there, or who was in here.…
    Yes I do .
    I fill my lungs with air, gulping and gasping like a person who’s been held underwater. Instantly feeling clearer, I look side to side, not even sure what or who I’m looking for, a million thoughts at war in my head.
    Did someone break in? Did Mom leave the stove on all day? Was Dad here? Or was it someone else? Did I bump the knob by accident? Did I really lock the door? What did I hear when I thought it was Mom?
    But the questions are all just background noise to the words my brain is screaming.
    I almost died. I almost died. I almost freaking died … for the second time in less than twenty-four hours .
    The side yard is empty except for the trash cans, neatly closed and lined up the way Mom likes them. The way Mom likes everything—orderly. She’s obsessive about neatness. And safety. And timeliness. And she checks the stove about ten times a day, including before bed and before leaving the house, even if nobody has cooked on it.
    It’s her thing.
    So who messed with the stove? The whole place could have exploded with one stray spark!
    I’m thinking more clearly now, breathing steadier with a heart rate approaching … No, not normal yet. But I venture back inside and stand very still to try to re-create what on earth happened in here.
    I can’t. There is absolutely no answer. No one was in here.
    But I heard footsteps. Didn’t I? I was so sleepy.… Of course I was! I was inhaling poison and knocking on death’s front door.
    With a whimper of fear, I open the cabinet under the cooktop, not even sure what I’m looking for, but immediately I see an electrical cord hanging there, pulled from its plug in the wall. I vaguely recall Dad talking about that when he installed the new gas cooktop for Mom. Something about anigniter? Something that makes sure there’s a flame and we don’t breathe gas.
    How did that get unplugged? And how did the burner knob get turned on?
    After fixing the plug, I drop into the chair. The exhaust fan is loud enough to drown out that thought, and I’m certain the smell of gas is dissipating. But I have to clear out this house and I have to …
    Tell Mom.
    In the distance, I hear the soft ding of my phone, still upstairs, alerting me to a text. Mom in high worry mode, no doubt. And with good reason. I jog back upstairs to assure her I’m still alive—and for once, I’m not kidding. The phone’s on my bed next to my laptop. I unlock the screen to see an unknown number.
    Another new friend? Another invitation to hang out with someone I barely know? I tap the message and read.
    Lares et penates, Quinte? Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.
    What? The last phrase clicks into place instantly —I will either find a way or make a way . Every Latin student learns that