Chapter 22 - The Key to the Past
"The music box," I gasped, the memory striking me with the force of a physical blow.
Brian looked up from the floor, his brow furrowed in confusion amidst the deafening shriek of the alarm. "What? What music box?"
"The antique porcelain music box your father-in-law—your *captor*—gave Chloe for her birthday two years ago!" I explained rapidly, urgency lending speed to my words. "The one we kept on the shelf in the living room because she loved the tune. You tried to open the bottom compartment of it last year to fix the spring, and you found a tiny, strange-looking brass key taped inside the mechanism!"
Brian’s eyes widened as the memory snapped into place. "The little brass key with the star engraving on the head! It was sitting right in the catch-all tray on my dresser upstairs!"
"Go!" I screamed, pushing him toward the stairs. "Go get it! I'll stay here and watch the timer!"
Brian didn't hesitate. He scrambled up from the concrete floor and bolted out of the sub-basement, his boots pounding against the stairs as he raced back up to the main floors of the house.
*04:15... 04:14... 04:13...*
The countdown timer on the monitor was plummeting into the danger zone. The vibration in the massive steel pipes running along the ceiling grew stronger, accompanied by a low, menacing hiss as the first wave of gas began pumping into the distribution lines beneath the floorboards. The smell of rotten eggs grew exponentially stronger, stinging my nose and making my throat constrict.
I coughed, waving my hands in front of my face as I stood guard by the console. Every second felt like an eternity. Upstairs, I could hear the distant, frantic sound of drawers being pulled open and items being tossed aside as Brian searched our bedroom in the dark.
*02:30... 02:29... 02:28...*
"Hurry, Brian, please hurry," I sobbed, tears streaming down my face as the red numbers ticked relentlessly downward.
Suddenly, a thunderous crash echoed from the upper hallway, followed by a terrifying sound that made my heart stop completely: a child's sleepy, confused cry.
"Mommy? Daddy? What's that smell?"
May you like
Chloe. She was awake. She had wandered out of her bedroom into the hallway, right into the path of the rising gas fumes.
***
