A small delicate flower blooms into life, as if out of nothing but the ether of the world. Casting its light out as the night approaches to smother it, the flame grows in beauty. It consumes and gestates, an embodiment of life itself, as the flame turns into a fire. Cadmium, vermilion, ocher, shades and passion and raw aggression dance within the plasma; eating though its own life. A towering tongue of scarlet leaps out of a quaint home. A picturesque American dream, one of a million cookie cutter houses that populated the town. Until now identical with the rows of picket fenced properties – until now unmarked by the Phoenix. Out through the roof the Phoenix screamed, dancing in a barbaric tribal dance, ethereal and beautiful. Like rose petals swimming in a pool of ink, the fire stood out as a flare in the night. Burning bright and fast, the Phoenix convulsed in undulating death throes, its life having been depleted. The fire burns out, the spark dies, and all that is left are the ashes. Smoldering coal before the rising sun.
“Sir, sir!” Hank’s incessant voice buzzed at my ears. Well intentioned as he might be, I hated that little gnat. On second thought, perhaps hate is a bit strong, but he certainly drove me to the ends of my frayed nerves. If his father wasn’t my deputy, I’d throw his ass out on the street faster than you could sign the release form.
“Sir, there’s... Well, if you’re busy.” He shirked away after seeing the begrudging lack of sleep in my eyes.
“Go on Hank.” That’s it, he’s too soft. A police officer needs to be strong and assertive in the face of crime, not some submissive doughboy like Hank. He always gave those Bambi eyes whenever he was confronted – like he was about to cry. Made me want to smack that knock-kneed look right off his face. Tell him it wasn’t right for a man to act like a child, especially one of his age.
“Well sir, there’s been another.”
“Another what; robbery, break in, or clogged toilet?”
“Arson. Another arson sir.” The bottom of my stomach fell out – that ugly feeling of vertigo came dow on me as my fingers went numb. “The Fire Company ket it from spreading. So thankfully no other houses were damaged, but the the one that was light couldn't be saved – nothing but ashes.” Hank started to choke up. “The Fire Company said something about it being started with...” Hank stuttered out, “gasoline.”
“Whose house?” Is all I could think of to say in my ashen-faced state.
“The Rosengberg’s.”
“There's something else, isn’t there?” As soft as he was, it wasn’t like Hank to get as caught on his own tongue over what a fire was started with. “Who?”
“Little Carl Rosengberg.” Somehow I knew someone had died. Somehow, whether it was in Hank’s shamefully upset face or the fact that this fire ends a two month dry spell of the arsonist, I could feel the dread from the beginning. “The higher-ups are going to be mad about this one, I mean, considering after the statement the mayor made after what we thought was the last one.”
“OK, Hank.”
“I mean, right now everyone is mourning and all, and will probably...” Hank paused to gather his breath, “probably start thinking about the funeral.”
“That’s good, Hank.”
“Mayor’s gonna probably make a speech or something about justice, and start coming after us. You could be replaced, chief.”
“That’s enough, Hank.”
“I could be replaced. Mayor’s gonna skin us all for getting nothing done on this case.” His words were coming out fast now, beads of sweat squeezed onto his forehead by the panic he was going though. Running through a tapered tunnel; sprinting in panic as the walls close in around him as he approaches the bottleneck. “He’ll yell at us for not having any suspects. We don't have evidence. We don’t have motives. We don’t have anything on him! We just run around in circles finding nothing but piles of ash!”
“SHUT UP!” The room swayed as if standing up from being spun on the merry-go-round, blood rushing to my head. “You think I don’t know all this? I do!” I had been stewing in this guilt for the last month, drawn between horses with the stress of not knowing when the next fire would spring up. I knew it would happen again, but with the perp being as good as a ghost to me, all I could do was wait helplessly for my little demon to strike again with hellfire.
“I saw the fire, sir. To be honest, I’m still scared stiff. I signed up to help people but there was nothing I could do. I just stood there and watched it burn.” Hank’s words were mixed in with the scent of cigarette smoke and stale bourbon by the slowly turning fan overhead. The sign of my demons over the past four months – quintessential noire.
“I’m sorry Hank, it’s not your fault though. There isn’t a thing in the world that can stop a blaze like that.”
“Sir, sir!” Hank’s incessant voice buzzed at my ears. Well intentioned as he might be, I hated that little gnat. On second thought, perhaps hate is a bit strong, but he certainly drove me to the ends of my frayed nerves. If his father wasn’t my deputy, I’d throw his ass out on the street faster than you could sign the release form.
“Sir, there’s... Well, if you’re busy.” He shirked away after seeing the begrudging lack of sleep in my eyes.
“Go on Hank.” That’s it, he’s too soft. A police officer needs to be strong and assertive in the face of crime, not some submissive doughboy like Hank. He always gave those Bambi eyes whenever he was confronted – like he was about to cry. Made me want to smack that knock-kneed look right off his face. Tell him it wasn’t right for a man to act like a child, especially one of his age.
“Well sir, there’s been another.”
“Another what; robbery, break in, or clogged toilet?”
“Arson. Another arson sir.” The bottom of my stomach fell out – that ugly feeling of vertigo came dow on me as my fingers went numb. “The Fire Company ket it from spreading. So thankfully no other houses were damaged, but the the one that was light couldn't be saved – nothing but ashes.” Hank started to choke up. “The Fire Company said something about it being started with...” Hank stuttered out, “gasoline.”
“Whose house?” Is all I could think of to say in my ashen-faced state.
“The Rosengberg’s.”
“There's something else, isn’t there?” As soft as he was, it wasn’t like Hank to get as caught on his own tongue over what a fire was started with. “Who?”
“Little Carl Rosengberg.” Somehow I knew someone had died. Somehow, whether it was in Hank’s shamefully upset face or the fact that this fire ends a two month dry spell of the arsonist, I could feel the dread from the beginning. “The higher-ups are going to be mad about this one, I mean, considering after the statement the mayor made after what we thought was the last one.”
“OK, Hank.”
“I mean, right now everyone is mourning and all, and will probably...” Hank paused to gather his breath, “probably start thinking about the funeral.”
“That’s good, Hank.”
“Mayor’s gonna probably make a speech or something about justice, and start coming after us. You could be replaced, chief.”
“That’s enough, Hank.”
“I could be replaced. Mayor’s gonna skin us all for getting nothing done on this case.” His words were coming out fast now, beads of sweat squeezed onto his forehead by the panic he was going though. Running through a tapered tunnel; sprinting in panic as the walls close in around him as he approaches the bottleneck. “He’ll yell at us for not having any suspects. We don't have evidence. We don’t have motives. We don’t have anything on him! We just run around in circles finding nothing but piles of ash!”
“SHUT UP!” The room swayed as if standing up from being spun on the merry-go-round, blood rushing to my head. “You think I don’t know all this? I do!” I had been stewing in this guilt for the last month, drawn between horses with the stress of not knowing when the next fire would spring up. I knew it would happen again, but with the perp being as good as a ghost to me, all I could do was wait helplessly for my little demon to strike again with hellfire.
“I saw the fire, sir. To be honest, I’m still scared stiff. I signed up to help people but there was nothing I could do. I just stood there and watched it burn.” Hank’s words were mixed in with the scent of cigarette smoke and stale bourbon by the slowly turning fan overhead. The sign of my demons over the past four months – quintessential noire.
“I’m sorry Hank, it’s not your fault though. There isn’t a thing in the world that can stop a blaze like that.”
* * *
“You’re late.”
“I know that. I have a watch and a headache to tell me that, so don’t start riding my ass about it.”
“You’re still late,” Mumbled Rob into his cigarette as he attempted to light it. Snarky comments like that set me off, no matter how valuable of a partner Rob is. It's not his fault for being mad though; everyone was going to start feeling the tension of the case soon. Considering that the last spell of fires almost ripped us apart; hell, I even came down with a 104ยบ fever and an ulcer. "You sure you're up to working the field with the meds?"
"As opposed to watching the town burn around me? I think I'll deal with the headaches."
Lines of tension creased Rob’s complexion as he squinted his eyes in the morning sun. Though clean shaven, the wiry hair had the tendency to give him a scruffy look around the edges, as if it were his first day of being homeless. He nervously handled his cliched coffee mug – the one that read "Clearfield Police Dpt." on the front in stark black lettering.
"Any evidence turn up?"
Rob let out a sharp laugh, "As if – four month of this; the guy’s not going to slip up now. He knows everything there is about the way we process forensics; he doesn't leave any tracks."
"Do you think it could be an inside job?"
"We've been over this before and we still don't have any suspects from within the department." A moment passed both standing there, staring into the ashes, looking for shapes in the smoke. "Look, I don't know if I really should be telling you this. Well, actually I do and I'm not, but the mayor gave an address earlier this morning and made some threats at your job."
"Yeah, Hank told already."
"Well, what he didn't tell you was that the mayor talked to me after the ordeal asking if I could 'fill the shoes should the need arise.' I think he means to fire you."
Numb from the medication and shock of the day so far, my mind stalled as the news sunk in. Then the panic, like needles pushing into my skin, made me begin to squirm. I could almost see him; the shadows of the arsonist running through the smoke, only to wisp away when I focused on him.
“How can they fire me? I’ve done nothing short of work myself into a coffin and that’s not enough? How can they fire me!”
“A kid died; that can’t be ignored.”
“And somehow I don’t feel twice as guilty as the next guy?”
“Cael, calm down! I shouldn’t have told you anyway.” I took a deep breath, bracing myself against the brisk air.
“I appreciate knowing regardless. Let’s just see if we can find any eyewitnesses at this point.”
* * *
That was all six months ago. Rob was right about the mayor. The letter came about a week later, crisp and official, ever so politely asking me to remove my belongings from the office and collect my last paycheck. Not before stating I was “relived of duty,” after a longwinded and circumloquacious method of stating my general incompetence. I burned the letter along with everything from my office, save for the arson file, which I managed to copy without anyone noticing. I don’t now what I was thinking, still thinking, about running off with the dream of miraculously solving the case like some renegade private eye, and yet the notion obsessed me. The fire consumed me, and burning the image of the flame in my mind was the only thing that distracted me from the guilt.
Over the time spent in solitude, I had managed to grow the case file. Rumors whispered in the back of diners, shadows caught by sparse observers. I began to track the movements of people within the town; looking for patterns that matched up with the fires, and there had been fires. At least a dozen more piles of charred dreams joined the victim list under Rob’s watch. Yet he managed to make it appear that he was finding evidence and approaching a suspect; so the mayor was satisfied for the time being. He wasn’t going to find anybody though.
Rob seemed to think that there was no motive behind this crime; that it was the actions of some madman. I, however, knew that there had to be a motive behind this. Even if it were the outplay of some deluded fantasy, there’s always a motive. If one was acting randomly, they would not be so thorough with covering up the evidence. This was planned and deliberate. So I waited and watched, building up files and cases for just about anyone I could think of. If I couldn’t make sense of one person committing the crime, I would ditch the file and move on to build up a case against someone else. Unorthodox investigative work, but I was no longer employed, so what did anyone care?
Three loud cracks shook the dust from my ceiling. “Cael Baker, we have a warrant for your arrest! Open the door and come out with your hands behind your head!” Was barked at me through the muffled drywall. Was Rob really desperate enough to suspect me? Amateur, you never simply bark orders to people within their house; gives them a chance to arm themselves should they be resistant.
I stumbled through the darkness over the past six months of clutter and depression. The crack in the door let in a ray of sunlight illuminating the suspended dust in the air, as if only to snitch to Rob the squalor I had come to live in.
“What, is it illegal to be destitute now, or have you really run out of suspects this quickly?” Rob’s face was hung with regret as I said this to him. He had come with a small squad of officers, all armed.
“Cael, stop shouting and put the gun down.” What is he, insane? I didn’t even raise my voice “Cael, put the gun down.” He was urgent now, on the verge of panic. Oh God, he’s trying to frame me, shouting to fool any eyewitnesses. I burned my gun months ago along with everything else from the office. Is he insane? Roaring at the top of his lungs, Rob commanded, “Put it down now!” He, along with the others drew their weapons. A loud buzzing blew through my ears as I felt another med migraine coming on. The uniforms screeching like animals; words pelting me with stones as tongues of red and orange leapt across my vision. I don’t have a gun. I don’t have a gun. The buzzing traveled to my limbs as I was made faintly aware of a thud at the base of my skull – my conscience slipping away from my body. I don’t have a gun.
* * *
“Did he know what he was doing?”
“I can’t say, mental disease is hard to pin down. Schizophrenia is always an option but I really can’t say that’s what this is. Without knowing the exact diagnosis, we can’t now what’s going on inside his head.”
“Somehow I think he did, some part of him had do have known. Look at all the setup, the gasoline store, how could this have happened?”
“We really can’t say. Personally I think he’s as loopy as the drugs he took, and even then I don’t think he knew he was addicted. He seems to have made up or removed memories in order to keep his reality sane. Or, it could be that he simply had random bouts of insanity. We need to have more time to observe him.”
“I knew Cael for fifteen years; we worked inseparably. He isn’t a killer. He isn’t obsessed with mindless destruction and when I saw the fingerprint matchup I didn't believe it at first. But when I went to arrest him, what I saw wasn't the man I’ve worked with for all that time. Maybe somewhere within him Cale was still there, but all I saw was a cornered rat, a demon in a man’s skin.”
Outside muffled voices drifted. I couldn’t really understand what they were saying, something about psychology and all that jazz – never really suited me. I suppose I was in some sort of room, but the details of how I arrived there I could not remember. All of that was uninteresting anyways. Right now I was looking for the arsonist. Searching for a fire, a rose, a conflagration. I could see it too, peals of cadmium and vermillion within myself. My own personal demon. A blaze that started from nothing, grew and burned, and now died down. Now the life withdrew – withering away into the nothing it came from. And I sat there, quietly watching the smoldering ashes.
