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Invisible by james patterson5/28/2023 It will just hurt for a few minutes, it will be teeth-gnashing, gut-twisting agony, but then the heat will shrivel off my nerve endings and I’ll feel nothing, or better yet I’ll pass out from carbon monoxide poisoning. This is my last chance, and I know, but don’t want to think about, what happens if I fail-that I have to start preparing myself for the pain. The enemy is cornering me, daring me, Go ahead, Emmy, go for the window, Emmy. Still a chance to jump off the bed to the left and run for the window, the only part of the bedroom still available. The orange flames rippling across the ceiling above me, dancing around my bed, almost in rhythm, a taunting staccato, popping and crackling, like it’s not a fire but a collection of flames working together collectively, they want me to know, as they bob up and down and spit and cackle, as they slowly advance, This time it’s too late, Emmy. The putrid black smoke that singes my nostril hairs and pollutes my lungs. The searing oven-blast heat within the four corners of my bedroom. I don’t know how long it’s been going off, but it’s too late for me now. The house alarm is screaming out, not the early-warning beep but the piercing you’re-totally-screwed-if-you-don’t-move-now squeal. This time, it’s too bright, there’s too much smoke. THIS TIME I know it, I know it with a certainty that chokes my throat with panic, that grips and twists my heart until it’s ripped from its mooring.
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