Ivan had no idea what was going on. Presumably, Debra should be on the third floor, but now the attic had suddenly caught fire.
On the second floor, Erica and Randy stepped out to see Barton help Andrew back to his room.
"Mr. Andrew Potter?"
Garland and Liza were shocked too. They'd never seen him in such distress.
"Minor fire. Mr. Andrew Potter needs rest," Barton said flatly. "Please keep quiet about this, especially from Mrs. Houston."
Liza frowned. "Why?"
"No questions. Trust that it's for her sake," Barton replied.
After they left, Liza muttered, "Weirdoes!"
...
Debra jolted awake the next morning, shooting upright before dizziness slammed her back down. Drake watched silently from a chair.
"Quick. I need to go upstairs." She tried to kick off the blankets, but Drake stopped her.
"Let me go." Her usual calm shattered into a raw panic. "I'm going to the third floor."
Drake hesitated. For once, he felt guilty. But he couldn't cave.
He caught her instinctively. "Are you insane?"
"Take me to the third floor," she pleaded, grasping his sleeve like the last straw.
Drake sighed, "After you take your meds."
"Okay." She grabbed the pills and swallowed them in one gulp.
Drake stared. "Never seen you this obedient."
He offered his arm. "Let's go."
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