“Please,” he said, glancing around. “Stay somewhere else. A hotel. A friend. Anywhere. Come back here tomorrow morning. I will explain.”
She pulled her hand back slowly. “Arthur, you are frightening me.”
“I know,” he replied. “But I would rather scare you than lose you.”
Something in his eyes stopped her from laughing it off. They were focused. Clear.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because something is wrong where you live,” he said. “And it will not wait much longer.”
All day, his words followed her. She tried to dismiss them as coincidence, as imagination, as grief making her vulnerable. Yet by evening, she found herself packing a small overnight bag. She booked a room at a modest inn across town, telling herself it was temporary, just to quiet her mind.
Sleep came in fragments.
At nearly three in the morning, sirens tore through the night. Red light flashed against the curtains. Lillian sat upright, heart pounding, dread settling into her bones.
By morning, the news confirmed it. A fire had broken out in her apartment building. The unit below hers had ignited due to electrical failure. Several apartments were damaged. One resident was hospitalized.