"Forty years, Tom. Forty years of being invisible."
"Janet?" Tom's voice cracked with growing horror. "Honey, what's happening?"
"I'm done being the woman behind the great man."
"Check everything," Cory hissed to Izzy, already moving.
Tom staggered backwards, blinking hard. "Janet, what have you done?"
"What I had to do." Her voice held no emotion now. "Don't bother trying to escape. I'm armed, and I'm a better shot than you ever were."
"She's right," Tom mumbled. "She learned to hunt before I did."
They had weapons, too, but the only way to use them would be under the chink in the front door. Practically useless.
"Why is it so warm in here?" Izzy asked suddenly.
Cory followed her gaze to the old oil heater in the corner. It was running full blast, the metal glowing cherry red. Too hot for the space. And something about the flame looked wrong?—
"The heater," he breathed. "She's tampered with it." Even as he said it, he could smell it—that faint, sweet odor that shouldn't be there. His pulse spiked.
Izzy was already at the heater, dropping to her knees to examine it. "Cory, look at this."
He joined her, and his stomach dropped. Where the control knobs should have been, only jagged metal stubs remained. Someone had taken a hammer to them, leaving sharp edges and twisted metal.
"She destroyed them. And the fuel shutoff—" Izzy fingers traced the smooth pipe where a valve should have been. "It's gone. Completely removed."
"There's usually an emergency shutoff." Cory searched the side panel, found the housing—empty. Red wires sparked where a button had been pried out. "She thought of everything."
Izzy checked the fuel line connection. "She sealed the valve stem. That's—is that epoxy?" She tried to grip what remained of the valve, but it was solid, immovable. "This took time. Tools. She planned this."
"Carbon monoxide," Cory confirmed what they both knew. Already he could feel the edges of a headache forming. "We've got maybe fifteen minutes before serious symptoms. Twenty before?—"
"I know." Izzy stood, scanning the room. "Old heaters like this sometimes have secondary shutoffs, but..."
They exchanged a look. Both knew the truth—Janet had been thorough. This wasn't a crime of passion. This was calculated destruction.
"Janet." Tom pounded weakly on the door. "Please. Whatever I did?—"
"Forty years of being invisible, Tom. FORTY YEARS." The rage in her voice was terrifying. "But I'll be the grieving widow who tried to stop her disturbed husband. Your confession noteexplains everything—how you lured them here, planned to kill them and yourself."
"Never wrote any note..." Tom was sliding down the wall now, legs giving out.
Cory's vision swam slightly. Too soon for that—unless the concentration was higher than he thought. They needed out. Now.
"Door hinges," he said. "Inside mounted. If we can knock the pins?—"
"She'll shoot us the second it opens." Izzy's words slurred slightly.
They had to try something. Anything. The room was spinning now, that sweet smell growing stronger. Tom had gone quiet, slumped in the corner.
Cory grabbed Izzy's hand. The gesture surprised them both.
"If we don't make it?—"
"We're making it." Her fierce determination cut through even as her voice wavered. "Chantal needs us."
The Lord's Prayer rose to his lips unbidden. "Our Father, who art in heaven?—"
