Chapter 2 - The Locked Box
The entire party seemed to hold its collective breath as my father stepped onto the patio.
I stared at the rusted lockbox in his trembling hands, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.
I had never seen that box before in my entire life.
Chloe crossed her arms over her chest, shivering in her bright pink bikini despite the scorching summer heat.
“What do you mean she’s not telling the whole truth?” Chloe demanded, her voice cracking under the weight of the humiliation.
My father slowly walked toward us, his eyes fixed on the metal box as if it were a live bomb.
“For twelve years, I paid doctors and therapists to help suppress your memory of the fire, Chloe,” he admitted softly.
“I let Maya take the burden of the scars, and I let you live a perfect, unblemished life because I couldn't bear to lose either of you.”
He stopped right between us, resting the box on the glass patio table.
“But Maya didn't just drag you out of the flames.”
He pulled a small brass key from his pocket and inserted it into the rusted lock.
“I lied to the police, and I lied to the insurance investigators.”
The lock clicked open with a sharp, metallic snap that echoed across the silent yard.
My father lifted the lid and pulled out a stack of severely charred photographs and a thick police file.
“You see, girls, the fire didn't start in the guest bedroom curtains,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
I stepped forward, confusion washing over me.
“Dad, what are you talking about?” I asked, my confidence faltering.
“I remember the curtains catching fire.”
He handed me one of the charred photographs.
It was a picture of the guest room from the morning after the blaze, completely gutted by the flames.
“Look closely at the floorboards near the door, Maya,” he instructed grimly.
I squinted at the glossy image, noticing a distinct, darkened puddle shape burned into the wood.
“That is an accelerant pattern,” my father explained to the crowd of frozen teenagers.
“The fire wasn't an accident caused by a six-year-old playing with a lighter.”
Chloe gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Someone intentionally poured gasoline in the hallway and locked the bedroom door from the outside,” he confessed.
A wave of terrifying realization washed over me.
If the door had been locked from the outside, how had I gotten inside to save Chloe?
May you like
My father turned to face the crowd, his eyes locking onto a specific guest standing near the outdoor bar.
“Someone tried to murder my daughters twelve years ago, and I invited him to this party.”
