He didn't finish the sentence.
Officer Lawrence's face drained of color.
"Mr. Chavez. This door has to be opened. Now."
Dad still had that reflexive smile hanging on the corner of his lips. He stepped in front of the door without thinking.
"Officer, it's really not that serious. Probably just a little girl's prank. My daughter has a temper. She locked herself in there two days ago, and I—"
"Mr. Chavez."
Lawrence cut him off.
"At this concentration of carbon monoxide, a person loses consciousness within ten minutes. It's been two days."
The hallway went silent.
Dad's smile dissolved. Mom covered her mouth with both hands.
The locksmith stepped out of the elevator right on cue, a power saw over one shoulder and a pry bar over the other.
He walked up to the door and studied the frame, sealed tight with expanding foam.
"What the hell happened to this door? Who did this?"
No one answered.
The saw roared to life. Layers of hardened foam were carved away strip by strip.
The lock cylinder snapped under brute force. The metal sheeting around the frame buckled and curled.
Mom stood behind Dad. Suddenly, she grabbed his sleeve.
"Honey, when you go in... don't yell at her."