Chapter One

Sitting in her dingy apartment, four stories up, one window out, and one doorway to the hall, Penny sat stoically wondering what she would do if there was ever a fire in the building. She was stoic because for one, her building was not burning down (or not that she knew) and two, because this was something she always thought about when nothing more played itself out in her mind.

The hallway might be a way out, she thought, depending on where the fire originated, assuming one could get to the stairwell on the opposite side of the building. The elevator would probably not be a wise option. The window had promise provided that a fire department was parked outside on the sidewalk with one of those rickety ladder trucks handy. Best not think about that, though. And what if the truck went to the other side of the building? That would leave trying to climb out the window and hoping for the best. It was a straight shot down, with little hope of ledges to hang on to, as the facade of the building was perfectly smooth, if bricks could be called smooth. No balconies, clever architecture to grasp, no fire escape. Say, whatever happened to fire escapes? Surely, they were a good idea? Perhaps they had gone out of vogue as crime rates rose? Perhaps they were just relegated to the backs of buildings now?

What on earth was she doing in such an uninteresting, possibly unsafe place? How had this happened? Again, best not to think of that now. That would lead to invariable depression and nobody likes a sad girl. That is what her mother had always said, especially during the turbulent, dark years of teenage-hood. But, she was not a teenager anymore. Did that mean she could be a sad woman? Did people like a sad women. Probably not, she thought, edging out what was being to feel like the beginning of a pity party.

Fire. That was the subject. What was she going to do if this place ever caught on fire? Could she tie a decent enough knot in her bed sheets, of which she only had what was on her bed currently. At least it was something. Perhaps tomorrow she should look into finding one of those personal safety escape ladders? They would at least get her low enough so that she could survive a jump or a fall to the cold city pavement below.

Now she could hear the voice of her ex-husband, always invading her mind these days.

“Don’t you worry your pretty blond head over that,” the voice said.

“Shut up,” she replied. It was true. That is what he always said, though it never did much good. These were honest worries. One should always have a plan of escape, especially from fire, which had been her long-term phobia. It was an old friend, more familiar than even this apartment. Even the comfort of a roaring fire blazing in a stone fireplace on a snowy evening was not so comforting to Penny. Rather she worried about sparks flying, and really, how secure was that fire screen? Could not a small spark escape setting the place on fire?

She knew her ex never thought about these types of factors, let alone fire. But it could happen; in fact it seemed to happen a lot. The newspaper was always mentioning this family or that, put out by the ravenous of the inferno beast. And if he did not think about this as a potential personal outcome, she would. And she would have a plan.

Their house, the one she left behind in the suburbs, was perfect for exiting in times of emergency. When they decided to by a house, she had insisted on living in a house that had but one floor. It also had a lot of windows, which added another fear, but one that she could live with provided every window had a motion sensor and alarm installed. Sadly, when the husband went away, so did the house and alarm system. Penny was never sure which she missed more - the husband or the electronic security. Now she also missed living close to the earth where she could get out without worrying about breaking any random bone, inflicting a ton of pain. Penny hated pain.

And what was this thing about pain? Where had that come from? She had never been in a fire, nor had she ever seen a fire in full action. But the idea terrified her. This was the monster in her closet. When others were afraid of the dark, she was afraid of the light, the blazing red of destruction. When others knew there was a monster waiting to get them, lurking in the shadows of last year’s clothes and smelly sneakers, Penny’s monster licked out into the darkness with a sizzling tongue.

In her pity party reverie, there was a sound. It was a subtle sound that interrupted all thoughts of fire, monsters, pain, husbands. It was the type of sound that could elicit its own brand of fear. A singular noise that turned repetitive. On and on it went like a silent alarm of doom, setting Penny on edge, even more so.

The sound vibrated to the very roots of her teeth, causing her hands to shake, not quite like full-blown Parkinson’s, but pretty close. The sound continued on and on and…

Will the ringing stop? Is it the fire alarm? The telephone? The alarm clock? Or is it all in her paranoid head? Come back later to find out…