Chapter Five
Dawn had greeted the day, fire on the clouds and the sky, the herald of daylight and banisher of the stars.
The wind surged, swinging ash up from the ground, twirling it merrily, up, up, up and down it came. Like snow. Grey snow.
The sirens had stopped. The lights blinked on, lighting the are in a eerie blue and red. Drawn faces regarded the damage. Another life lost. Another number to add to the statistics, another name to add to the list.
"Joanne Harris," Catherine said quietly. "Twenty-seven. Lived alone after her father died last year. Works part time for a local vet."
Grissom did not answer, staring intently at burnt wood. He'd been unusually quiet since coming back from the hospital, even for Grissom. She knew him well enough to let it go. With Grissom, you had to know which battles to pick. This was not one. He was thinking, she just hoped he'd sooner or later bring them in.
"I found something!" Sara called, leaning down by what had once been a doorway. Warrick was already there with a camera, the flash bright against the black for a second.
"A shoe again," he said as the other gathered around, Nick snapping on gloves.
"A calling card," Catherine observed. "A FBI profiler once told me many serial killers were first serial arsonists."
"An arsonist turned killer?" Nick raised an eyebrow.
"Acceleration," Grissom said simply, getting up. "That shoe will be the same size as our European one. The killer is talking to us. Go listen."
And what that he stalked off.
"Is it just me, or does he seem even more irate these days?" Nick asked, shaking his head.
"Process, Nick," Catherine said calmly. Getting up as well, she watched the group scatter and get to work. Sara had said nothing the whole time and she had Grissom had not exchanged one look yet. They would glance at each other when the other did not, gazes Catherine did not know quite what to make of.
But the tension was catching, that much she could tell.
"Grissom?" she called out, walking over to the grass where he stood, eyes on a tree nearby, focussed, drawn.
"Yes, Catherine?"
"What is going on with Sara?"
His eyes remained on the tree, but she saw a slight twitch on his face.
"Nothing."
"Grissom. She saved your life."
"I know."
"Tell her," Catherine insisted. "You act as if she has a disease, avoiding her. She is feeling guilt because she didn't get there earlier."
He looked confused now, finally meeting her glance. "But it wasn't her fault."
"Tell her that."
He did not reply, and with a sigh she turned around, starting to walk back towards the ashes and the silent, flashing lights. She only got a few steps before he called after her.
"Catherine? Did Joanne Harris have a cat?"
She turned around, turning the flashlight back on. The circle of pale light flickered across the grass as she walked over, following Grissom. Green eyes met her defiantly as they rounded the tree.
"Hello there," she said gently. The cat hissed, though not with much malice.
"He let the cat live. We have an eyewitness."
The cat stared at them both, eyes glittering in the dark, still hissing quietly. An eyewitness, the only eyewitness.
Into those eyes the killer had looked and found compassion. A killer, fond of animals.
"He's human," she said slowly.
"They always are."
She glanced at him, the unspoken sentence hanging in the air like the flakes of ashes.
It would be easier if they weren't.
II
Mark dropped his daughter off at school, waving to her until she was well inside. He knew it embarrassed and made her secretly fiercely happy at once. Hannah. His little dragonfly, maturing by the day.
He sat in the car for a while, staring at the school and the sky and the trees. There was a light wind, and a slight humidity in the air from the rains the previous day.
If he closed his eyes, he could also smell the burning wood.
Was it too soon to return, to see it again? See his work of art, every beautiful corner of it exposed in the daylight… His mouth dried. It was careless to return. It was risky. The police would be there. He could be seen.
And for all those reasons, he had to.
The area had been partly locked down, of course. He resisted the urge to speed through. That would look odd. He had to look interested yet horrified. All did when they saw the results of fire. They did not understand. They were bound to their fear, without the strength to transcend it.
He passed the scene, eyes nearly watering as he did. It was even more magnificent than the last. The flames had eaten more and more savagely, like a hungry beast. Little would be left. The flames claimed all.
Police swarmed like ants, working in their little patterns. Always the same patterns. Always the same faces. Haunted faces. Pained faces. Faces that no longer cared. They were the cops he befriended. Those he listened to and learned the patterns.
He wondered briefly if the cat was all right. Hannah would have liked that cat. Perhaps he could get her one, if she did well on some school tests. It could keep her company on days he was out.
The yellow tape disappeared in his rear view window, and he smiled, hands shaking with the fever. It became more intense each time, like a fire growing. It would need more and more to keep burning, like any fire.
That was when he saw her. She stood by a corner, taking in the neighbourhood, her hair glistening in the sun. He knew her. And as she half turned, recognition flashed over her face also. Her eyes looked sad still.
He sped up, and as realisation dawned on her, fear shone in her face and he smiled again.
II
Dark, blue eyes.
She recognised them at once. The stranger that had passed the previous crime scene. Here he was again, at a new crime scene. Dark, blue eyes.
He came at her just as she realised what it meant, a terrible excitement radiating from his face. Killer. The face of a killer.
She had no sense of time or movement. All she could see were the eyes, locked with her own, mirrors of souls. She didn't hear the warning being cried out, or the running steps.
And then she flew. Her body screamed in delight and slight pain, upwards and upwards until it was the ground that seemed to come up and greet her with overwhelming pain. She lost her breath for the second time when something warm landed on top of her and rolled off. The car shrieked and hissed and quickly faded away. BMW, she noticed. Red. Burning red.
For a moment her mind seemed unable to decide to stay conscious or not, flickering back and forth until finally settling on awake. Distantly, Grissom's voice called her name, drowned by the pounding of her heart. Her hip seemed to vibrate with pain and she could almost feel bruises forming.
"Sara? Sara? Sara?"
"It's him. I saw him…. At the other crime scene," she muttered through clenched teeth. The pain began to lessen as she fought to get on her feet. Grissom's gentle hands were suddenly on her, guiding her up. Dizziness assaulted her, and she nearly fell.
"Sara?" Grissom was nearly crushing her in his firm grip, his face so close she could feel his breath. His eyes seemed to devour her whole and she shivered.
"Just got the wind knocked out of me," she muttered. "I'm okay."
Still, he did not release her, but his glance shifted to where the car had vanished and dust gathered, eyes glittering.
Up, up, up went the dust, flying towards the impossible sky, reaching for what it could not have. Up, up, up, and then the wind failed.
Down it came.