"Tomorrow... tomorrow let's take her to that dessert place she loves. She said she wanted to try the red bean custard last time. I never got around to taking her..."
The locksmith's saw cut through the final layer of foam.
The door cracked open an inch.
A wave of black soot laced with a suffocating stench poured through the gap.
The locksmith stumbled back, hands clamped over his nose and mouth. The inspector dropped to his knees and dry-heaved. Lawrence pressed his sleeve against his face and shoved the door wide open.
The room was charred black.
Walls. Ceiling. Floor. Every surface the eye could reach was coated in a thick, greasy layer of black residue.
The cheap coal stove had burned out. Its walls had cracked apart, and a slurry of ash and dark water pooled across the ground in a congealed mess.
Shattered pieces of the oxygen concentrator lay scattered everywhere, plastic and metal components warped and melted beyond recognition.
Dad's gaze drifted to the twin bed.
The mattress had melted under the heat, warped and sagging, its springs exposed like bare ribs.
Fused to the surface of that melted mattress was a blackened, curled mass. Drawn up tight like a shrimp.