Embers

Chapter 1

The Call of the Universe

Cho sat hunkered down at his desk, his computer screen occupying his full attention. Swirling around him, the ebb and flow of the CBI office was a soothing lullaby of noise and bustle. He had learned how to shut the surrounding chaos out of his mind to focus on whatever case he was currently working on, undeterred from his assigned mission. Like a dog with a bone.

Jane on the other hand, welcomed the noise and rustling of papers, the ringing of phones and the sounds of footsteps all around him as he lay seemingly asleep on his butter soft, well loved sofa. Eyes closed, he let his breathing slow down to a calming beat. In….out….in….out. The white noise of the Serious Crimes Unit soothed him, filled him with a connection to lives outside of his own, lives still exciting and unspoiled by mistakes so heinous that they could never be undone. Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt and Lisbon, they might have their own challenges and sadness tucked securely behind masks of professionalism and toughness, but none of them had the permanent wound to the heart that Jane felt with every beat of his bloody and mangled organ.

Van Pelt leaned back in her chair and rotated her tense shoulders. She had been glued to her computer since early morning and now her body finally rebelled, demanding to be set free from the cramped confined prison of her desk. Sighing deeply, Van Pelt turned her gaze over to Jane and envied him his ability to sleep during his work day. Even now, after years of working shoulder to shoulder with the enigmatic man, she failed to understand that he wasn't napping, not really. Every fibre of his brain was alight with attention, listening, remembering, cataloguing and deleting information as his eyes flickered behind his closed lids. Seeing that a return to her computer screen would just be a futile exercise at this point, Van Pelt stood up to refill her coffee mug, hoping the jolt of caffeine would rewire her thought processes and reveal the data buried online that so far was eluding her.

Rigsby watched the woman he loved from his desk, plagued with pangs of unrequited longing for his gorgeous redheaded co-worker. Seeing her stroll towards the kitchen, he decided to follow her to the small break room. Any time spent with Grace was a gift that he feared could be taken away from him at any moment. Affairs of the heart were strictly against CBI departmental rules, but his heart had not received the memo. Trailing Grace like a puppy, he grabbed his coffee mug and soon stood beside her, inhaling her warm floral scent like a lifeline. Cho glanced up and grinned at the scene unfolding in the kitchen.

'Just tell her you love her' he thought to himself as he leaned back in his chair and studied his flummoxed partner Rigsby. Flexing his heavily muscled arms high above his head he yearned for activity. He was sick of being inside, behind his desk, filling out paperwork and doing grunt work. A new case hadn't come in for 4 days and although it gave the team a chance to catch up with their files, he much preferred working a crime scene and catching the bad guys.

Lisbon sat in her office humming softly to herself. The lack of a new case this week had been a blessing as she was now almost caught up on her never ending pile of forms, complaints and case work. Madeleine Hightower gave her plenty of leeway when it came to getting the paperwork done, but without a case, there was no excuse not to get her stack of forms completed soon. Lisbon stood up and opened her door, her need for coffee motivating her to stalk through the bullpen to see what her team was up to. Cho was at his computer, unaware of her presence. Glancing down the long expanse of the old room, Teresa smirked as she spied Jane flat on his back, hands folded across his chest 'dead man' style. She knew he was awake and taking in everything around him. As she crossed the room to speak to him she saw Rigsby and Van Pelt share a laugh between them at the kitchen counter, their bodies just a bit too close to be considered professional and distant. She would have to keep an eye on those two…

"Lisbon, either come and visit me or go and scold our two love birds" Jane said groggily, running a hand through his hair as he turned his head and opened one eye to catch her in the process of making a decision.

"No scolding today, but if Rigsby thinks he's fooling anyone…" Lisbon began but was cut off by Jane rolling over and grabbing her hand, pulling her over to his sofa.

"Come, sit. Relax."

"Jane! I have work to do. You should try it sometime, you might like it" Lisbon chided him, sitting beside him heavily.

"Lisbon, this…"Jane said, pointing to his head, "is a mighty fortress. Always alert, always working and always 'way ahead of you" he grinned. "Work is an ongoing, organic thing Lisbon. I just happen to experience it in a more fluid way than you and the rest of the team does."

Ignoring Lisbon's moan of derision, Jane sat up and crossed his legs, smiling beatifically at his 'boss', inviting a cutting come back. This was his favourite activity, winding Lisbon up, saying outlandish things, making her see the world in a less conformist way. He knew she liked it but would never say so. She needed to be the boss, after all.

A ringing phone at Cho's desk interrupted their verbal sparring.

"Where? When? Uniforms on site? Ok, got it. We'll be over in twenty. Thanks!"

"What do we have Cho?" Lisbon asked, all joking forgotten as she stood up to take command.

"Explosion in an art gallery this side of the river. Fire department on scene. Two bodies were found inside the showroom."

"God help them" Lisbon muttered, envisioning the people trapped inside the building and dying an horrific death.

"Why is the CBI being called in on this one? Can't the fire department and local PD handle it?" she asked.

"The gallery owner had been receiving threats from an unknown perp for weeks. He reported every threat, but when nothing ever panned out, local cops decided it was just harassment by an angry ex-customer."

Jane stood up and stretched his arms out behind his back, listening intently.

"Until today…" he concluded.

"Until today, yes. Now we may have a bomber on our hands. Local PD wants help with this one Boss" Cho added. "This may be an accidental explosion and nothing more, or a revenge motivated killing. They want it investigated by Serious Crimes" Cho explained.

Rigsby leaned against the desk nearest the doorway as Van Pelt hurried to her desk.

"We'll know more when the arson team finishes their report" Rigsby said, already slouching into his jacket and reaching for his weapon. He was the expert when it came to arson or explosions of any sort and would take lead on this investigation.

"Rigsby, take two agents with you and get as much evidence as you can from the scene and speak to the Fire Captain" Lisbon commanded.

"Ok Boss" Rigsby said as he headed out, already planning who to take with him. A new case gave him a jolt of excitement and roused his curiosity. Was there undamaged security footage of the building? Would it show the bomber setting his device in place? What kind of bomb was it? Could more bombs be hidden elsewhere in the city? His mind buzzed with questions as he drove away from the CBI building, followed closely by two other agents in their own car.

"Cho, you and Jane come with me. Van Pelt, look up any and all reports of bomb threats in the last 6 months. See how many panned out and how many were false alarms. See what, if anything, might connect them."

"Yes Boss" Van Pelt said with a small sigh. Being the computer expert in the office was great for her resume, but she hated being left behind to do grunt work so often. While she would never complain, she felt her skills on a crime scene just might come in handy too. Without another word, she slid back behind her computer and set to work. Jane was buttoning up his jacket and waiting for Lisbon to retrieve her keys, then they joined Cho who was waiting silently at the elevator.

(Uptown Sacramento)

The gallery was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape as gawkers gathered to survey the blackened, smoking rubble of the once chic art gallery. Firefighters picked through the smoking embers looking for hot spots, resembling giant yellow and beige ants on a stinking ant hill. Lisbon parked close to the yellow tape and flashed her badge at the police guard stationed to keep onlookers a safe distance away. Cho did the same and Jane just wagged his index finger at the cop indicating he was with them. Rigsby was deep in conversation with the Fire Captain when Lisbon approached, stepping cautiously over the remains of once-great works of art. Jane wandered off to sniff, poke and do whatever it was he did to determine what happened. By now his team just let him go off on his own, if they felt it was safe to do so.

Rigsby nodded his thanks to the Captain then joined Cho and Lisbon, his notepad in hand.

"Anything to work with Rigsby?" she asked.

"Fire Captain says the bomb was homemade, with components available at any hardware store. Simple, efficient and deadly."

"Is there enough of the bomb left to trace the parts?" Cho asked, hoping something survived the fire that could be traced to a store, perhaps paid for with a credit card. But that was hoping for a quick and simple solution to this crime. It rarely turned out to be so easy.

"Maybe, forensics will soon get their hands on the bits and pieces as they are retrieved from all...this" Rigsby said, waving his hand over the mess of bricks and blackened steel. "Then we'll know more."

Lisbon listened while she gazed over the smoking remains of the small building, searching absentmindedly for Jane. He always wandered off, it was a given by now, and he usually came back with something useful he had gleaned from his unsurpassed observational skills, or from schmoozing with bystanders. He could charm the paint off walls.

Jane stood on a pile of sooty ruins, his back to the crowd, who were watching the police and firefighters go about their work. He made an unusual sight. Incongruous in the sea of uniforms, he stood, beautifully dressed in a three piece suit, blonde hair shining in the late afternoon sun, his hand on his hip, deep in thought. Jane was as out of place as a fish on a bicycle, and quite a few of the cops on site tried to hustle him away, without luck. Only when Rigsby walked over to him to let Jane know the team was ready to go back to the office, did he rouse himself from his musings and come back to the noise and confusion of the crime scene.

"Thanks Wayne. I'm coming."

(9 weeks earlier)

A green van pulled up outside a small private art studio in a forlorn part of the city. After-school classes for children had just ended and the place was empty, save for the owner tidying up for the night. Virgil, the driver inside the van, sat watching the building, waiting, content to let the plan unfold as it should. No need to rush and screw things up. The Universe had told him what to do, and he was going to do it.

Ten minutes later the owner slammed the heavy front door shut and locked it. Then he got into his small car and drove away, not paying attention to the odd assortment of vehicles parked nearby on the narrow street. This part of town was quiet, nowhere near the trendy shops and restaurants of the city centre, but that was the reason the rent was so affordable on this old building. No one else wanted to rent it, and when the retired art teacher came along with a proposal to open a small studio to teach art lessons, the landlord jumped at the chance for rental money. A win-win situation all around.

The door of the van opened and a slight man of around 40ish eased around the vehicle and quickly walked over to the steel door protecting the art school. Producing a universal key, he unlocked the front door and stepped inside the waiting room. A computer and phone system sat on the front desk, but he ignored those. Walking further inside, Virgil came to the room where students would work on their current projects under the tutelage of the art teacher. Grinning at the ease of his mission, the man reached into the pocket of his large overalls and pulled out a small package. Opening one end with gloved hands, he flipped a small dial and closed the wrapping once more. He placed it in the middle of the long wooden table and smiled deeply. Yes, this would work out beautifully. He paused to look at the projects the students were working on. Collages of paper creating war-torn cities, ugly, monstrous vampires ripping people apart, garish splashes of paint on cheap canvases were laying on the tables and adorned the walls. All of it was nightmarish, none of it showed beauty or grace. He shook his head sadly and knew his mission was righteous. Seeing the art work the kids had been allowed to create confirmed to him that he was doing the right thing.

'Thank you...thank you for your Universal guidance my love' he thought tenderly. Sighing with frustration at the state of the world, the man slipped back out of the building, not bothering to lock the door again. Why bother?

There were no witnesses 20 minutes later when the device detonated, shattering the evening calm. The inside of the studio was blown apart, creating numerous small fires here and there, but mostly the art room was destroyed by the concussion of the bomb. A message was sent, that's all he had wanted to do. He wouldn't hurt the kids, nor punish the misguided teacher. Not unless he persisted in teaching the kids such terrible things.

Virgil watched the news later that night and smiled as he saw the fire fighters crawling around the damaged building looking for injured or dead victims. What a waste of time! Didn't they see the bigger picture? He could have set the entire block on fire but he didn't, did he? No, he was generous, kind, maybe some would even say, benevolent. He didn't want to hurt anyone, not yet.

In time they would understand.

(5 weeks earlier)

The green van sat idling outside a dilapidated playground. Whenever it had been built, it was now long past its prime and the technology designed for "play" was just downright dangerous. Children still came and tried to play on the rusty, lopsided swings, and they even attempted to use the teeter-totter, but it was so archaic and decayed by generations of rain and sun, that it barely moved at all, being almost welded into a permanent, dangerous tilt. Such a blight needed to be removed from the landscape, before someone really got hurt. The sun had set hours ago, and any children inclined to play had long ago been put to bed for the night.

The sandy haired man slipped out of the van and stood with his hands buried in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels in thought. This place made him so sad, and the rain falling didn't improve his mood. Virgil also felt angry. Why did he have to take responsibility for these blights upon the city? When would the planners get his message and take action themselves?

Walking over to the creaky wooden sandbox, the sand now long gone, he sat on one corner and fished around in his overall pocket and pulled out a black box. It shone slightly in the rain. Opening one end of it, he reached a slender gloved finger inside the device and flipped a small silver switch. Re-sealing the box, he placed it in the middle of the sandbox and stood up sadly. Taking one last look at the playground, he turned around and slouched his way back to his van. The light from his cigarette burned in the darkened cab of the van as Virgil pulled away, the rain washing away any trace of his presence within minutes.

A small face in an upstairs bedroom window three houses down from the playground turned away and the curtains closed once again. Only 15 minutes later, when the bomb had detonated, she and her entire family would be standing on the street with their neighbours, wondering why their playground would be on fire after that horrendous explosion.

(3 weeks earlier)

Virgil studied the broken down basketball court. The fencing sagged on three sides, none of the paint remained on the cement playing surface to show the tip off zone. The mesh "basket" had rotted years ago and the city hadn't bothered to replace it, no matter how many times Virgil had written to complain. Kids still tried to uses the large rectangle of cement for games, but without a fence or a basket, the game often went off the rails, leading to fights and brawls between the frustrated teens.

If notes to the Mayor didn't get things fixed around this city, then perhaps something more shocking would attract some attention. Virgil waited until the small hours of the morning when no one was on the street, and placed his small bomb under a park bench facing the basketball court. He was 3 streets away when it went off, shattering windows and setting off car alarms all around the neighbourhood. Good. Maybe now the city would take care of its citizens.

(2 weeks earlier)

Anger and frustration gripped the small man. It was happening again. Again he was forced to take action when the city wouldn't. He had driven through the city day after day and saw the degenerate gallery attract the attention of the wealthiest of the city's denizens. People with more money than sense, more money than morals or concern! Virgil had tried, every way possible, to make the Universe shut it down, but that damned art gallery was going to stay open. Even though he had sent anonymous threats to the owner to shut down his perverted "art" installations, nothing happened. Didn't anyone care about children anymore? What was happening to his beloved neighbourhoods and the businesses that dotted the landscape? He'd have to do something, something big this time, just to get the City Council and the Mayor to understand how evil the city was becoming. Decay, decadence, filth and smut, it was all on display 24 hours a day, on back streets and prominent shopping districts. The police should have been doing something about it if the Mayor didn't care! He'd give them a bit more time, time to come to their senses and stop all this perversion. Close the gallery and let some upstanding person take over the space, just like the Universe told him it should be.

The Universe knew everything, and he was simply a vessel, a tool to make the world a better place.

He'd bombard the Mayor with notes and telepathic messages, sent at night while the Mayor slept, yes, that's what he'd do. It might take a week or two, but he knew if he sat up each night and with the help of the Universal Energy, he could direct his thoughts towards Mayor Torrelli as he slept and all would be well. If not, he'd be forced to clean the city up once again.

(This morning)

Exhaustion was threatening to get the best of the man but Virgil hadn't given up yet. His nightly attempts to send messages to the Mayor had failed. The art gallery was still there. The statues, shameful paintings, disgusting lectures and the exchange of money for these monstrosities continued unabated. It was time to take action. Virgil held the incendiary device in his hands, saddened once again that he had to be the one to show the way, to clean up immorality, disrupt evil behaviour and shut this filthy enterprise down. His past warnings had not been strong enough. He had to do more, he realized sadly. Loud explosions weren't enough to frighten people, but destruction would, even if someone had to pay for his sins with his life. He stepped away from his small dining room table and tidied up the bits and pieces of wire, soldering equipment, packaging and brown paper. His skills for anything mechanical or electrical were finally being utilized for the common good. This time he felt sure the Mayor of Sacramento would get the message and clean up the city. After all, Virgil couldn't do it all by himself!

Virgil had on his best suit. He had shaved and tucked his hair up into a baseball cap, unaware how odd it would appear to wear a suit but ruin it with a baseball cap. Virgil left his van far down the street and walked up to the gallery, his head down in case there were cameras in the street. He waited until a swarm of young people left the gallery giggling and pushing each other on the sidewalk. As he looked through the window, he saw the gallery owner walk into the back room, leaving the showroom empty for a moment. He entered the building but was out again in just under a minute. All he needed to do was place his bomb somewhere in the room where it would cause the most damage. There were ample places to hide the small package, and once he had it secured at the base of a statue, he was on his way.

Two minutes later he was well on his way back home, the timer on the device ticking down to the final moments in the life of the gallery. He couldn't know that it would also be ticking down to the final moments of life for the gallery owner and his assistant.

It was all over the news that night.