Harry tore out of the master bedroom and into the corridor. He was shouting Tim’s name so loudly his voice was cracking.
He crashed into the next bedroom. Saw his son laid out on the double bed, his hands folded across his chest.
Harry’s mind became a single long shriek of panic.
He raced to the bedside.
Tim’s skin was warm. He was breathing.
Harry put one arm beneath Tim’s knees, the other under his shoulders. Ignoring the agony blazing in his ribs, he lifted him in one smooth movement. As he turned, he staggered slightly, his head turning muzzy.
Do not stop. Have to keep going.
He made it out of the bedroom and into the corridor. The walls seemed to breathe in and out as he staggered for the stairs. Where was his car key? He couldn’t check his pockets now. Had to hope it was on him. Sure it was. Sure it was it was was was.
What had Doug given him? How much? Thank God he hadn’t drunk all his coffee. If it was a drug like Rohypnol, or another type of benzodiazepine that acted on the central nervous system, he’d lose consciousness in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. In half an hour, he’d be out cold.
He managed to twist his wrist to see it was 7.05pm.
You can do this, Harry told himself. He was halfway along the landing when he stumbled, crashing to the ground, Tim folding on top of him. He ignored the pain riding his body. Welcomed it, to help keep him conscious. He was about to lurch forward, to bring his legs beneath him and keep walking, when Doug appeared. He was carrying a bright green plastic fuel can in each hand.
Immediately Harry dropped his head, letting it hang loosely. He opened his mouth. Let himself drool.
‘Didn’t get far, did you?’ Doug sounded satisfied.
Harry made an agonised groan.
‘I’m sorry you got caught up in all this.’ Doug sighed. ‘But you were getting too close.’
Harry watched Doug walk into the master bedroom. Heard sloshing sounds. He hefted Tim fractionally, making sure he was ready to move. That was when he smelled it.
Fuel. Petrol.
Doug was going to burn down the house with his wife and children inside. And Harry and Tim, if he didn’t get them out of here in time.
7.07pm.
Precious seconds ticked past.
Doug came out of the bedroom, pouring fuel behind him. He walked up and down the landing, dousing the carpet. When the jerrycans were empty, he jogged downstairs.
Thank God he hadn’t started the fire up here first, Harry thought. Small mercies.
When he heard more sloshing sounds below, he pushed himself to his knees, Tim against his chest. He straightened up, ribs shrieking. The landing began spinning. He leaned against the wall, waiting for it to stop.
Move.
He staggered to the top of the stairs. Knocked into the banisters but he didn’t lose his grip on Tim. He couldn’t hear anything from below. He concentrated on walking slowly down the stairs. As quietly as he could.
Mustn’t fall. Must keep going.
He was halfway down when he heard a muffled whump. It sounded like a gas fire being lit but Harry knew that wasn’t what it was. Doug had just put a flame to the petrol. Another whump and then came the sound of flames, crackling.