Something smelled… funny.

I pushed my stool back from my dressing table and walked out into my apartment. The closer I got to the front door, the stronger the smell was. I couldn’t place—

Burning.

Something was burning.

I spun, checking every inch of my apartment. There were no lit candles, and I hadn’t used the oven at all day today, so I knew it wasn’t that. Nor had I turned on my hair tools for it to be one of those.

Oh, my God.

What if something was wrong somewhere else?

I ran to my front door and tugged. It didn’t open. It was locked. I’d locked it before I got in the shower.

I fumbled with the keys from the coffee table and got it in the hole on my third attempt. The lock undid with a click, and I pulled the door open to black smoke filling the hallway. Fire alarms blared through the air with the one exception:

Mine.

I’d never replaced the batteries.

Mr. Jennings’ door was closed opposite mine, and I dashed back inside for my phone. I had no idea where the fire had started or what was going on, but I had to call nine-one-one and see if my neighbor was okay.

With a shaking hand, I tapped the number and hit call. The operator answered and I had no idea what I was saying. I was on my knees, banging on Mr. Jennings’ door, trying to stay as low as I could to avoid taking in too much smoke.

I was halfway through saying I was trying to get my neighbor when the door opened. “Hold on! He’s here!” I almost shouted to the operator.

“Good grief!” Mr. Jennings shouted. “What’s going on?”

“Ma’am? Do you have him?” the operator asked in my ear.

“I do. Yes!” I got up as far as I dared.

“Both of you inside the apartment. Shut the door.”

“Arthur, we have to get inside. I don’t know where the fire is but the fire department is on their way.” I crawled into his apartment. “Come on!”

“Yes!” He shoved the door shut and came in with me.

“Are you inside?” the operator—Polly, her name was—asked.

“We’re inside,” I confirmed, moving for his fire alarm. I’d never hear her with it blaring, and we already knew there was a fire in the building.

“Get a damp towel and block the bottom of the door to stop the smoke coming in, okay, Reagan? Get as low as you can to the ground.”

Panic built inside me. “Arthur has a bad hip. He can’t get down.”

“Okay. Block the door like I said and go to the room that is the farthest away from the apartment door, do you hear me?”

I nodded, putting her on speaker.

“Do you hear me?”

“She’s nodding,” Arthur replied, taking the phone. “Towels in the bathroom.”

Right.

Of course.

I ran through his apartment to the bathroom and grabbed three towels. I soaked them under the tap in his tub before squeezing them and running them back through to the door, dripping water everywhere.