None of the downstairs ones could open. When her dad had installed the metal grates, she’d asked him to permanently secure the windows as well. It had been just a short time after her mom had been killed, so Gabe had been in a haze of grief and guilt. He’d done what she’d asked.
Although Daisy hadn’t opened a single upstairs window in those eight years since, she was pretty sure it could be done—physically, at least. All she had to do was break through the paralysis that was gluing her feet to the floor.
“Daisy,” she said sharply, glad that no one was there to listen to her give herself a talking-to. “Get your butt over there and do it. If you die before you get to have sex with Chris, all because you were too chicken to open a stupid window, I’ll never forgive you.”
As silly as her self-directed lecture was, it allowed her to move her feet. By the time her knees bumped the window seat, her entire body was shaking, but she was doing it. Her brain refused to focus as she stared at the angled glass that made up the right side of the window. The center portion didn’t open, but both sides did. She just needed to figure out how to make her hands work.
Since talking out loud had helped before, she tried it again. “Okay, Dais. This isn’t rocket science. First, unlock the window.”
Ignoring the very large portion of her mind screaming at her that it was a bad, bad idea to open the window, she reached out a shaking hand and thumbed back the latch. Without allowing herself to pause, afraid that any hesitation would give her fears the chance to take over, she turned the crank that pushed out the vinyl-edged pane.
It resisted at first, before giving way with a harsh creak. Daisy focused on the end of the crank protruding from her clenched fist. If she didn’t look at the gaping window, then she could pretend it wasn’t opening. She kept turning until the crank resisted going any farther, and then she repeated the process on the second side of the window.
Breathing hard, she closed her eyes. Although her legs were going soft at the knees, and she wanted nothing more than to crumple to the floor, there were more windows to open. Plus, firefighters would be banging on her door soon, for the second time in twelve hours. Her laugh came out as a gasp. When had it become a common occurrence for firefighters to come to her house?
“Right.” She opened her eyes, staring straight ahead at the center portion of the window—the one that didn’t open. “Let’s go.” As she turned toward the door, she stifled another strangled laugh. If she survived, she’d probably end up with multiple personalities, judging by the way she was ordering herself around.
Once she was in the upstairs hallway and out of sight of the opened windows, moving was easier. She hurried to Gabe’s bedroom, not letting herself slow, so momentum drove her to the first window. His were flat, latching at the top and sliding upward.
She bit the inside of her cheek and tasted blood as she used both hands to turn the two locks. Bracing the heels of her palms against the top edge, she shoved open the window.
There was nowhere to look but straight ahead, at the vulnerable screen. A breeze blew against her skin, and she was shocked into stillness. How could she have forgotten what the wind felt like? Her nerves were raw, and she’d raised the window expecting only terror. The air, cool but hinting of spring, felt wonderful. For a second, she forgot her fear and the gas filling the house below her. She closed her eyes and smiled.
The sirens jerked her back to reality. Rushing to the second window, she unlocked it and pushed it open on autopilot before darting out of the room. In the hallway, she stopped, trying to slow her rushing thoughts. The bathroom didn’t have an operable window, and the third upstairs bedroom was used for storage. To reach the far wall, she’d have to dig her way through unused furniture and stacks of boxes.
Judging by the volume of the sirens, the fire trucks would be arriving very soon. She hesitated at the top of the stairs, not wanting to go back to the source of the gas leak. Daisy wondered if the fumes rose, like helium, or if they hung heavy, close to the floor. It was stupid of her not to have planned for something like that. She should have at least known where the main gas shut-off was.
The sirens were really loud now. If her windows hadn’t been open, she would have run into her bedroom to watch the trucks’ approach. Instead, feeling blinded, she forced her feet to descend the stairs.
The smell of the gas was stronger, or else her nose had had a chance to rest in the cleaner air upstairs. She waited by the front door, trying to keep her breathing shallow, although she had no idea if that would help keep the gas out of her lungs.
Even though she’d been expecting it, the urgent pounding made her jump. As she depressed the unlock button, she had a moment of panic that it would create a spark and set off an explosion. If a light switch could do it, why wouldn’t an electric lock? She sucked in a harsh breath, not releasing it until Ian had pushed open the inner door and took her arm. Two other firefighters headed for the kitchen.