The handle was warm.
I turned it quickly, opened the door and immediately recoiled, raising my splayed hand in front of my face.
The flames were concentrated inside the end of the kitchen closest to me. It looked as if an oil or an accelerant had been sprayed around. A slick of liquid on the island countertop was alight. Shimmers of gaseous blue were rippling across splashes and puddles on the countertop running along the wall to my side.
The fire was still taking hold but it was already beyond anything I could put out myself and it would soon get worse. Patches on the wall were beginning to blacken and smoke. I could see more flames inside the microwave.
Using my bent forearm as a shield, I peered into the glare and heat, my ears throbbing from the raucous alarm.
That’s when I saw Donovan.
He was no longer collapsed backwards across the stove top. Now he was lying face down on the floor, motionless, between the kitchen island and the range cooker, one arm bent beneath him, the other draped in front.
I couldn’t see Sam.
I didn’t know where he was.
Everything was in near-darkness beyond the startling flames but I could just make out the front door through the smoke.
Was it still locked, I wondered?
I didn’t know.
‘Shit.’
I leaned out and glanced to my side. The doors to the patio were locked and even if I broke the glass and got out there, I’d be cornered in the back garden.
Make a decision.
The furore of the smoke alarm was making it difficult to think.
A puff of sparks exploded inside the microwave and I cried out and ducked, my gaze returning to Donovan.
He still hadn’t moved.
But I remembered how he’d used his set of keys to lock us inside the house. I remembered how he’d slipped them into his front trouser pocket afterwards.
I remained where I was for one more second, hating the idea of going near him, knowing I was going to have to do it anyway.