Chapter 5 - The Oxygen Tanks
I sprinted wildly down the emergency stairwell, taking the concrete steps two at a time.
The incredibly loud fire alarm perfectly covered the frantic sound of my echoing, desperate footsteps.
I deeply knew I could not safely go back to my own apartment because the police were definitely already watching it.
I urgently had to return to my father's house to find the physical evidence Mark had undoubtedly left behind.
I slipped quietly out of a side exit and disappeared rapidly into the freezing, dark city streets.
I walked endlessly for three agonizing miles, hiding securely in shadowy alleys whenever a police cruiser drove past.
When I finally reached my father's suburban street, the house was completely dark and terrifyingly quiet.
The yellow police tape blocking the entire driveway fluttered aggressively in the harsh winter wind.
I carefully ducked under the thin plastic tape and crept silently toward the back patio door.
I knew my father always kept a spare house key hidden cleverly inside a fake plastic rock near the garden hose.
I quickly found the rock, retrieved the cold metal key, and slipped quietly into the dark kitchen.
The house incredibly still smelled faintly of burnt coffee, but the underlying scent of fear was much stronger now.
I desperately needed to find the backup portable oxygen tanks my sister kept stored securely in the basement.
If my father had dangerously tampered with those tanks, it would flawlessly prove a long-term premeditated conspiracy.
I rapidly pulled out my phone and used the dim flashlight app to bravely navigate the cluttered hallway.
The wooden stairs leading down to the deep basement creaked loudly beneath my shifting weight.
When I successfully reached the bottom, I aimed the weak beam of light directly at the designated medical storage shelves.
The large green oxygen tanks were perfectly lined up exactly where they strictly belonged.
I walked over carefully and inspected the heavy brass valves securely positioned on the top of the metal cylinders.
The tamper-evident seals on every single tank had been carefully sliced open and flawlessly glued back together.
I firmly twisted the valve on the first tank, fully expecting to hear the familiar hiss of pressurized, life-saving air.
Instead, a strange, incredibly foul-smelling yellow mist began slowly leaking directly from the nozzle.
My father had not just hidden her main machine; he had intentionally filled her emergency backups with toxic industrial gas.
I quickly shut the valve entirely, coughing violently as the harsh chemical burned the back of my very dry throat.
I immediately pulled out my phone to take a clear, undeniable video of the tampered medical equipment for the detective.
Before I could actually press the record button, the heavy wooden basement door at the top of the stairs slammed completely shut.
I vividly heard the distinct, heavy click of a metal deadbolt sliding firmly into place from the outside.
I dropped my phone in absolute panic and sprinted fiercely up the wooden stairs in total darkness.
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I threw my entire body weight aggressively against the thick door, but it absolutely refused to budge.
A thick stream of yellow gas suddenly began pouring rapidly through the heating vents directly above my head.
