The officer reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, handheld detector—a standard tool for checking air quality in old homes. He held it near the open vent, and within seconds, the device began a rapid, high-pitched chirping. The officer’s face went pale. “Carbon monoxide,” he whispered. “A heavy leak coming right from the furnace line.”
The “aggression” hadn’t been madness; it had been a desperate, heroic attempt to get the baby out of the path of the silent, odorless killer. Duke had smelled the danger and sensed the heavy, toxic air for days. When he tried to drag Leo out of the crib, he wasn’t attacking; he was attempting a rescue.
When he lunged at the window, he was trying to provide the one thing the room lacked: fresh air.