Chapter 2

The sound of something heavy crashing to the floor echoed from inside.

Marcus, the superintendent standing beside me, was sweating bullets.

"Chloe, hurry up and open the door! What are you waiting for?"

"I don't have a registered fingerprint."

"Look."

I pressed my hand against the black scanner. The red light flashed three times.

*Access Denied.*

Marcus gasped, frantically pounding on the door.

"Arthur! Arthur! Can you hear me?"

No response.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. It was Dad.

His voice came through the speaker, gasping and disconnected.

"Medicine... TV stand... Chloe..."

The next second, the line went dead.

He didn't hang up.

Either his phone had run out of battery, or it had dropped and shattered on the floor.

Marcus looked at me, his voice trembling. "Call 911. Call the paramedics and a locksmith. Now!"

As I dialed 911, footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A neighbor poked her head out, asking if everything was okay.

Marcus grabbed his toolbox, asking, "Who else in your family has access?"

"My mom, my brother, and his girlfriend."

"Call them! Every single one of them!"

I called my mother, Sarah. It rang until it went to voicemail.

I called my brother, Brandon. No answer.

I called his girlfriend, Ashley. She hung up on me, but sent a quick text on Snapchat:

*Chloe, stop making a scene. We’re having dinner.*

Looking at the words "stop making a scene," my hands and feet went completely numb.

Marcus called three different locksmiths.

The first said it was too late to come out.

The second said the homeowner had to be present.

The third, hearing that it was a medical emergency, finally agreed to come in twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes.

The man inside might not even have twenty seconds.

Marcus raised a crowbar, looking at me. "Do we break it?"

"Do it."

Just as I spoke, Mom’s callback came through.

The background was loud. People were singing and laughing.

"Chloe, what is wrong with you? Why are you calling like crazy in the middle of the night?"

"Dad’s having an asthma attack. The door is locked."

There was a second of silence on the other end.

Then, her voice shrieked, "The medicine is right under the TV stand! Can't you just open the door and get it?"

"I don't have a registered fingerprint."

The line went quiet.

Then, Brandon’s voice cut in, annoyed. "Stop playing victim, Chloe. Isn't the passcode your birthday?"

"The passcode was changed a long time ago."

"Who changed it?"

Silence. No one answered.

In the background, I heard Ashley murmur softly, "We’re celebrating our new apartment today. This is so depressing."

Her voice was crystal clear through the receiver.

Marcus snatched the phone from my hand and screamed into it, "Your husband is dying in there! Get your asses back here right now!"

Mom finally seemed to realize the gravity of the situation. Her voice shook, but she still directed her fury at me. "You stay right at that door! Don't touch anything! If anything happens to your father, I will make you pay!"

Just as the crowbar wedged into the door frame, the firefighters arrived.

The locksmith ran up the stairs, panting.

They crowded around the door, working in a frenzy.

The smart lock's alarm shrieked in high-pitched bursts.

I was shoved to the corner, my back pressed against the cold hallway tile.

When the door finally flew open, the living room lights were blazing.

Dad was collapsed next to the coffee table, his right hand stretched toward the TV stand. His fingertips were just inches away from the drawer.

The paramedics immediately knelt down to perform CPR.

Mom and the others still hadn't arrived.

The hallway echoed only with the paramedic’s urgent shouts.

"Clear! Oxygen!"

"Epinephrine!"

"Keep compressing!"

I stood just outside the entryway, my feet glued to the floor.

The drawer under the TV stand was half-open. The white bottle of his inhaler peeked through the gap.

As they lifted Dad onto the stretcher, the medicine bottle rolled out of the drawer.

It rolled across the hardwood floor and stopped right against my shoe.