"Mr. Chavez, I'm real sorry to bother you. From yesterday to now, we've gotten twenty-three complaints from this building alone. Some folks say black water's dripping through their ceiling. Others say toxic fumes are coming through the ventilation ducts. Just a little while ago, old Mrs. Li on the third floor called 911 — said she suspects there's a gas leak in your apartment."
Harrison crouched by the doorway, vomiting all over the floor, but he didn't forget to scream.
"It's all Libby's fault! She's roasting dead rats in her room! It stinks! It stinks so bad!"
Mom clamped a hand over his mouth, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Shh, sweetie, it's not rats. Your sister was just..."
She trailed off.
She didn't know how to spin it either.
The inspector from the Environmental Health Department was already walking toward my bedroom door, portable detector raised in front of him.
Beep-beep-beep-beep—
The detector's alarm spiked to a shrill wail. The numbers on the screen went haywire.
"Carbon monoxide levels are four hundred and seventy times above the safety threshold."
The inspector's voice cracked. He lurched back a step.
"At this concentration... anyone inside would be..."