Matthew shut his eyes tight just as the smoke started to sting and slapped his tongue around his mouth as it got dry. The vapors seeping into his nose only intensified his feelings of his head being on fire. He dropped to the floor knowing if he didn't they would see him, and if they saw him, his life was over, and every sacrifice would be in vain. Through his clothes, he could feel the heat below him getting stronger. He placed his hands on the ground to regain his footing, recoiling and hissing in pain. Chastising himself, he sat up and looked around, trying to remember where the box was... if he had even brought it with him.
	He poised himself in a stealth walk, careful not to touch his apartment's aged, dry floorboards with his hands. He pressed his back against a wall, taking great care not to give his onlookers an opening. Every window was a gateway to the afterlife; the smoke being the whispers of the dead, beckoning him, their invitation becoming more and more enticing the longer he stayed.