Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE MANAGER TURNED PALE AT THE BEDROOM VENT
A few minutes later, Lucas asked whether we could visit the upstairs sitting room.
I watched him stand slowly.
He steadied himself against the bed, waited until the dizziness passed, and took several careful steps.
Leo followed, moving with the same exhausted caution.
Neither boy complained.
That frightened me more than complaints would have.
Children eventually stopped describing suffering when everyone around them had learned to expect it.
I stayed beside them without rushing.
Halfway down the hallway, Lucas rested against the wall.
"My head feels funny."
Vincent immediately stepped forward.
"Do you need to sit?"
Lucas nodded.
We guided him to a nearby upholstered bench.
I noticed that Leo had also grown unusually quiet.
"Does this happen often?"
"Sometimes," Leo whispered.
"When?"
He considered the question.
"When the house gets warm."
Vincent frowned.
"The temperature is controlled."
Leo shrugged.
"I know."
I glanced toward a small display mounted beside the decorative molding.
The ventilation system had just started.
A faint mechanical hum traveled through the ceiling.
Then I noticed the smell.
It was sweet, almost floral, with an artificial sharpness beneath it.
I had smelled plenty of expensive home fragrances, but something about this one seemed unusually concentrated.
"What's that scent?"
Vincent looked confused.
"What scent?"
I inhaled again.
"Something floral."
"The house has fresh flowers everywhere."
"Not like this."
I moved slowly toward the decorative ventilation grate positioned between the boys' bedroom doors.
The smell intensified.
A cool stream of air brushed my cheek.
"Is there a fragrance system connected to the ventilation?"
Vincent frowned.
"I believe so."
"When was it installed?"
"I don't remember."
"Who controls it?"
"The climate system is automated."
I turned toward him.
"Who decides what goes through the system?"
He said nothing.
Behind us, something struck the floor.
Mrs. Harper stood near the staircase, staring at the ventilation grate.
A stack of folded towels lay scattered around her shoes.
Her face had gone completely white.
"Mrs. Harper?"
She didn't answer.
I stepped toward her.
"Are you all right?"
Her eyes moved from me to Vincent.
Then she glanced toward the boys.
"Please take them downstairs."
Vincent's expression sharpened.
"What's going on?"
The house manager swallowed.
"I think they should get some fresh air."
I watched her hands tremble.
"Why?"
She looked again at the vent.
"Because the upstairs system has started its evening cycle early."
A cold sensation crept down my spine.
"What happens during that cycle?"
She pressed her lips together.
Vincent moved closer.
"Margaret, answer her."
Mrs. Harper lowered her voice.
"I told them something was wrong with that system."
"Who did you tell?"
She looked toward the doctor's medical folder in Vincent's hand.
"Dr. Blake."
Vincent became perfectly still.
"When?"
"Months ago."
A terrible silence settled between us.
Then Mrs. Harper whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"I told him because the alarm outside their bedrooms kept going off."
Vincent stared at her.
"What alarm?"
Tears filled her eyes.
"The carbon monoxide alarm, sir."
I looked at the ventilation grate, then at the two exhausted children sitting only a few feet away.
"Where is that alarm now?"
May you like
Mrs. Harper began to cry.
"We took it off the wall."
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