Don't Open That Door!

The explosion came unexpectedly, without any warning. The blast reverberated through the Emerson mansion like a violent shudder, knocking me off my feet. In the big atrium where the three of us had been standing, a deafening BOOM pierced the air. A shower of breaking glass, from what had been the crystal chandelier, rained down onto the marble floor all around me. Chunks of plaster and debris cascaded down from the ceiling in a thick gray cloud. I sat helplessly on the floor as the sounds echoed eerily through the room.

Then there was a long hollow silence which, in its own way, was as deafening as the explosion itself had been—except that there was a ringing in my ears.

I became aware of myself coughing, as my lungs fought to pull oxygen from the heavy cloud of dust. Off to my right, Maurice was doing the same thing. His face and the shoulders of his suit were covered with powdered drywall and speckles of broken glass from the chandelier.

"Jesus!" he said between coughs, as we both stood up. "What the hell was that?"

Wiggins had dived to the floor at the first sounds of the blast. Slowly, he eased himself to his feet. Like Maurice and me, he was covered with dust and pieces of glass. His wrinkled hands were trembling and all of the color had drained from his face. He tried to speak but no words came.

Finally, he stammered weakly, "Something terrible has happened."

Maurice shot him a withering glare. "No shit, Sherlock!"

Wiggins didn't answer. He just stared at Maurice with eyes that were glassy and distant.