Element 2 – Fire

The sound of sirens filled the cold morning air, waking up confused residents. Fire trucks raced down the street, police cars and an ambulance in tow, toward a tower of black smoke rising from a warehouse, just barely visible in the darkness of the early morning.

Detective Baxter sighed as he cruised down the street at a high speed, his partner, Johnathan, in the passenger seat, gripping the arm rest tightly. "Just relax, son." Baxter instructed, "We're nearly there."

"As long as we don't cause a second scene before we get there!" John hissed, cringing heavily.

"We're fiiiine." Baxter grinned, "You need to learn to chill."

John nearly screamed as they took a sharp turn. Tonight was the night he was going to die, he was sure.

They came to a halt outside the scene a few minutes later. The fire department had taken control of the small blaze and extinguished it, leaving the ground a soppy mess. The duo stepped out of the car and the black man confidently strode toward the scene, his blonde partner in tow.

"We thinkin' arson?" Baxter asked the fire chief.

The taller male nodded, "Possibly. There's no electricity running to this building, so an electrical fire is pretty much impossible. The likelihood of an accidental fire is pretty low too."

"Figures." Baxter sighed, "It okay to head in?"

"Yeah. The structure is sound. You're gonna wanna see what's in there."

That didn't sound good. Baxter nodded and headed inside, John following close behind. The stench of charred flesh hit them immediately. Baxter lifted his scarf to his face to cover it, remaining composed, but John couldn't help but gag slightly before doing the same.

In the center of the room sat the remains of a burned chair, rope, and a human body. Baxter knelt beside the pile of smoldering remains and carefully examined it, doing his best to ignore the awful smell.

"Same person, you think?" Came John's muffled voice.

"Mostly likely." Baxter replied, "Victim bound to a chair. Could be a copycat though since the method of death isn't the same." He frowned heavily and pulled out a pen to gesture toward some flesh lines near the rope that were pink, "See these?"

"Yeah?" John squatted beside him, examining the skin.

"These lines aren't as burnt as the rest. See how it looks like it's been pulled away from the rope? It's gonna take an autopsy to prove it, but the victim may have been alive when the fire started. Victim is likely the point of origin for the fire too, but don't quote me on that yet."

"Jesus Christ." John muttered, standing.

"Nah." Baxter stood as well, "I suspect our killer is the exact opposite of Jesus Christ."

Damien stuffed the last bit of his clothing in and zipped up his suitcase. He carried it out the door, growling at the cold, and tossed it in the back of his car. He was headed for a smaller town called South Park, where he was certain he could live a pretty chill life for a while. Certainly beat this shithole of a town. Though, he would miss his tattoo guy.

He yawned as another police car sped by, headed in the opposite direction as a whole squad earlier, and very leisurely strolled back inside to check the last few rooms for anything he might have left behind. Once he was satisfied he shut off all the lights and left. He climbed into his car to begin his long journey south.

Unfortunately, he had to drive in the same direction as that smoking building. Ugh. He hoped there wasn't a major traffic jam. He was already behind schedule enough as it were. The last thing he needed was to waste gas idling or have to get out of his car and stand there an hour while the cops searched all his shit.

His engine roared to life and he quickly left his apartment behind. The roads were relatively empty thanks to the time of day. Most everyone was either at work or at school. He cruised down the street at a steady speed, remaining cautious of the speed limit.

Soon enough he pulled up in front of the building and, unsurprisingly, found that there was a blockade. The car in front of him had to turn around, but an officer waved him to come closer. He pulled up and rolled his window down, giving the officer a tired smile, "Afternoon, officer."

"Afternoon." The blonde man stepped up to his car, "Leaving town?"

"Yeah." He nodded, "Been packing all week. I'm moving to South Park."

"Ah." The man nodded, "Well, I can let you through then. We're just trying to deter lookie-loos."

"That makes sense. Thanks a bunch."

"Sure thing." The blonde man smiled and stepped back, waving him through.

"Good luck catching the guy, officer." He drove through carefully and sped away from the town.

Phillip silently clocked out for the day shortly before bidding his manager goodbye. He bundled up before leaving the little café and heading down the sidewalk toward his small apartment. He walked briskly, not caring much for the cold night air.

He fumbled with the key a bit at the door, but finally managed to get it open and stumble inside. A huge sigh of relief escaped him as warmth embraced his chilled bones. He closed and locked his door, then kicked his shoes off and walked over to the coffee table. He flipped the TV on for some noise while he headed into the kitchen to prepare himself dinner.

"Another body was found early this morning at a warehouse just outside Sterling. The police have not positively identified the victim yet, but say the victim was set aflame. More details as this unfolds."

Pip sighed and shook his head. What was the world coming to? How tragic for Sterling. Murders didn't happen in South Park. It was a very quiet town. But, then again, so was Sterling before all this. Hopefully, they caught whoever was doing this soon so no more innocents had to die.

Damien yawned as he pulled up in front of a small motel just off the highway. He parked in front and shut off his engine before climbing out. He'd been hoping to make it in to South Park before nightfall, but he still had a few hours to go, so might as well crash for the night. It was getting late and he could easily continue tomorrow.

He wandered into the lobby, a tired expression on his face, and stopped at the counter. No one was in sight so he dinged the bell a few times, quickly growing irritated.

Finally, a skinny man with a deep frown stepped out from a back room. He was older, 50s or 60s, and seemed none-too-happy about the late-night guest. "Can I help you?" He growled.

"Room for one for the night."

"You know it's nearly 2am, right?"

"No shit." Damien snapped, "I just need a place to crash for a few hours."

"Fine, fine. It's $50."

"Fine." Damien yanked his wallet out and slammed the money down on the counter. He was handed a set of keys and given a room number, to which he gave a gruff "thanks" before taking his leave.

He took his car around the back to his room, 12, and threw the door open. Though he'd been hoping to sleep soon, he knew he wouldn't be getting much rest tonight.

Oh, well. He could always sleep in tomorrow.