18 Missed Calls In Fire, I Left Him

Chapter 4

Two in the afternoon.

The sun was blinding, making my eyes sting.

I stood at the base of the apartment building, leaning on my crutches.

The property manager handed me a document, the Fire Incident Investigation Report.

It clearly stated that the cause of the fire was aging, faulty wiring.

Attached was a copy of my hospital records, noting that the patient had suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning.

I signed the papers, folded them neatly, and tucked them into my bag.

"Sarah, I am truly sorry," the property manager said, rubbing his hands together nervously. "With the apartment in this state, the cleaning and renovation costs..."

"I'm not renovating," I cut him off. "I don't want this apartment anymore."

The property manager stood there, stunned.

Before he could say another word, a black car pulled up to the entrance.

The driver's side door opened, and Miller stepped out, dressed in a sharp suit.

The passenger door opened as well. Linda, wearing a dress, walked straight over to his side.

"Miller, do you think Sarah will really be okay with me borrowing her clothes?" Linda asked in a sugary, coy voice. "I accidentally spilled coffee on my dress, and we have a French dinner tonight."

Miller frowned, though his tone remained gentle. "She has so many clothes; just take whatever. She won't dare to object."

They walked toward the entrance while talking.

Then, they saw me.

Miller stopped in his tracks.

He stared at me, seeing my crutches and the mask covering my face. His frown deepened.

"Sarah? What the hell is going on? What happened to your leg?"

He walked over, his voice devoid of any concern, filled only with the annoyance of being disturbed. "And why aren't you at home?"

I ignored him, walking past him directly toward the elevator.

Miller grabbed my arm. "Are you deaf? I'm talking to you. What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?"

Linda leaned in closer, pinching her nose. "Oh my god, Sarah, why do you smell so much like burnt stuff? It's repulsive."

The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside and pressed the floor button.

Miller pulled Linda in after me.

"Sarah, I'm warning you: stop this right now," Miller said. "Linda's dress is dirty, so I'm taking her up to borrow one of yours. You better fix your attitude."

The elevator reached our floor.

As the doors slid open, a thick, suffocating smell of smoke rushed out.

The hallway walls were scorched pitch-black.

The security door stood wide open, revealing the blackened, desolate ruins inside.

Miller froze in his tracks.