The lights were on inside but there was silence from within.
I edged forwards, put my free hand on the open door and listened, a soft breeze tugging at my clothes.
I couldn’t see or hear any sign of Sam.
‘What are you doing?’ Bethany hissed.
I looked back at her and pressed a finger to my lips.
Extending my other hand, I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the door, eased it open and placed a careful foot just inside, fighting hard against the need to cough again.
Every little sound seemed magnified.
The rasp of my jeans against my thigh.
The movement of the wind through my hair.
The softest creak of the door hinge, and the settling of the floorboards under my weight, and the muted hush and strange absence of sounds from within.
I eased the door back further until I could see all along the empty hallway towards the kitchen, the staircase in front of me, the open doorways to my left.
The hammer felt too heavy in my hand.
I heard a moan.
It sounded feeble and pained, confused, forlorn.
I almost whispered John’s name but I managed to stop myself.
Slipping off my shoes, I shuffled forwards.
The moan had come from the second room on my left, the one that now functioned as John’s bedroom.
I took several careful steps, then stopped and listened.
There was no obvious response of any kind.
I couldn’t hear Sam.
He wasn’t anywhere in front of me.
Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I could feel the heat of the fire seeping through the wall at my side. The smell of the smoke seemed to be permeating the brickwork but it could just as easily have been coming from my clothes and hair. My lungs itched with the need to cough.
Another moan, this one more dismal and prolonged.
I was certain now it was coming from John’s makeshift bedroom.
Swallowing against the dry tickle in the back of my throat, advancing cautiously, I passed silently around the bottom of the stairs and tiptoed towards the room.