“Really quick-like. I hardly looked into the kitchen at all. And I definitely didn’t go near the basement door. I know that the switch for the ceiling light didn’t work. The only other thing I noticed was that the time display on the microwave was off. Which means the problem must be the circuit breaker, right?”

“That would be my guess.”

He stepped into the kitchen with Kim very close behind him, her hand on his back in the semidarkness. The only light came from the shifting reflections of the flashlight beam off the walls and appliances. He heard what sounded like a faint tap. He stopped and listened. He heard it again a few seconds later and realized it was nothing more than a slow drip in the metal sink.

He went forward quietly, in the direction of the rear hallway that led from the kitchen to the basement stairs and the rear door of the house. Kim’s hand moved from his back to his arm, gripping it firmly. When he got to the hallway, he could see that the door to the basement was closed. The exterior door at the end of the hallway appeared secure, with the dead bolt’s twist knob in its locked position. The sound of the water drip from the kitchen behind him seemed to be captured and amplified by the enclosed space.

When he reached the basement door and was about to open it, Kim’s fingers dug into the back of his arm.

“Take it easy,” he said softly.

“Sorry.” She loosened her grip, but not much.

He opened the door, shining the light down the stairs, listening.

Drip … drip …

Nothing else.

He turned back toward Kim. “Stay right here at the door.” She looked terrified.

He searched for something to say—something pedestrian, maybe a distracting question—to calm her down. “The electrical service box … does it have one main circuit breaker in addition to the breakers for all the individual circuits?”

“What?”

“Just wondering what kind of box it is that I’ll be dealing with.”

“What kind? I have no idea. Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all. If I need a screwdriver, I’ll call up to you, okay?” He knew that all this was irrelevant, no doubt confusing to her, but confusion was better at this point than a panic attack.

He descended the stairs carefully, sweeping the light back and forth.

Everything seemed perfectly still.

Then, just as the thought came to mind that a banister would be a wise addition to the rickety staircase structure—just as he was placing his weight on the third stair tread from the bottom—there was a sharp crack, the tread collapsed, and Gurney pitched forward.

It all happened in less than a second.

His right foot descended along with the broken tread into empty space as his body pivoted forward and downward, his arms rising instinctively to protect his face and head.