Pulse in the Tragus

What was I thinking?

The stairwell made a natural chimney and drew smoke from all over the first floor.

I had to move if I wanted to breathe.

The air was already starting to get thick as I made my way to the closet-within-a-closet that had been my hidey-hole.

I tore a strip from one of the old drapes and took it to the nearest bathroom to saturate it in water. When I was certain it wouldn't hold any more, I tied the cloth over my mouth and nose. It helped a bit.

Back to the closet for a quick equipment check.

Nothing I couldn't live without.... The cellphones.

An idea quickly formed in my head.

I turned on one of the phones and scanned for an unsecured WIFI connection within range. They used to be a lot easier to find...; got it.

I quickly connected both phones and then activated their video chat features.

Holding both phones in front of me I saw four of me, each not quite able to make eye contact.

One more adjustment and I had a wireless surveillance system.

I put one of the phones so that it had a clear view of the top of the stairs and I took the second one and my hammer and headed for the third floor work room and that open window.

It was getting harder to breathe.

Each step on that flight of stairs felt like a flight all by itself. By the time I reached the third floor, I felt like I had run up the stairwell of a medium sized office building.

I looked up toward the skylight and could see smoke starting to accumulate along the ceiling.

I kept close to the floor as I made my way toward the back of the house. All the time, one eye glued to the screen of the second phone.

Nothing.

This guy was good. He wasn't just going to give himself up.

Back now in the third floor work room: my own version of a killing jar.

I needed a place to hide, so if he made it this far, I could be certain it would be no farther.

There was a little half-height closet stuck under the roof line. It was the sort of place where you might put your suitcases and holiday decorations. It wasn't good for much else, but it was good enough for me.

I crawled in and pulled the door closed behind me.

It was pitch black inside closet except for the flickering glow of from the cellphone.

It was pretty impressive, the amount of detail that little camera could capture.

I could tell, for example, that the fires I had started had really taken hold. The bowed wall behind the staircase, with its heavy texture of parging, reflected the orange and yellow flames burning two floors below and also the cast shadows of the stair railing and hard edges between it and the flames.

Every so often a lick of flame would wander into the camera's field of view.

Every so often something would fall from the walls or the ceilings and the rush of air would send a cloud of smoke billowing up through the stairwell.

What didn't get sent up the stairwell was my quarry.

Where was he?

Even with the damp cloth over my face, it was getting stuffy in that closet.

The image from the second-floor camera was becoming more abstract as the flames got bigger and the smoke thicker.

It was strangely beautiful and hypnotic: light and dark danced in partnership with color and contrast; order with chaos; beauty with danger.

What was that?

A shadow passed close to the camera.

I saw something, but I don't know what it was and there was no way to roll back and take a second look.

Could have been something, could have been nothing.

No way to tell.

I dropped one hand from its death-grip on the phone and sent it on a journey into the dark to find the well-worn handle of the hammer. When the time came, it would come quickly.

I knew I was breathing heavily because the cloth I had tied to my face a few minutes earlier, was now mostly dry and virtually useless.

I could feel my pulse in the tragus of my ears. I almost didn't hear the sound of the approaching sirens.