The Arsonist / Dance Studio Flames

5. Animal Instincts

Note: Annnd… It gets messier.

--

20th March 2005

10:22 PM

"Mr Doe, time for your …"

Nick began as he entered the room to deliver the painkiller to his patient as he had innumerable times. Of course, he didn't expect the John Doe to answer since he had remained essentially catatonic for the past three days, but it was becoming habit now to talk to the motionless man on the bed.

"Bad sign." Nick muttered to himself as he crossed over to the bed. "Must be the consequence of not enough sleep. Aren't doctors such hypocrites?" He asked John who ignored him as always. "We tell everyone else to do this and that and then we go about killing ourselves."

He paused then as he studied John's arm. He had noticed yesterday just before he went off his shift that John seemed to be progressing further into the death-like symptoms he seemed to be showing. Then he frowned, realizing for the first time in ages, he could not hear the steady beeping of the electrocardiograph.

A chill went through him.

He spun the unit around and stared at it. What? Shouldn't an alarm have rung? Or did he forget to set it? He wasn't totally comfortable with the hospital yet, darn it, and he wasn't totally with it all at the moment. Surely that must be the reason – that he connected something wrong.

But then he noticed as he went to pick up John's arm again so he could slide in the needle of the syringe holding the painkiller. The skin was extremely cold and smooth. Nick noticed that the tabs holding the small electrodes to John's body had come out and felt relief that it was perhaps that which was what was wrong…

But it didn't explain the coldness of John's body.

Before Nick could move another inch, the body which had lain so still there for the past three days exploded from the bed and was behind him in an instant. Nick froze there, stiff and still as John himself had been, with surprise.

In fact, it might have done no better to run though, as within the second he was crumpling to the ground, the light blue plastic flooring of the hospital floor coming up – or him going down, really – to meet it.

Darkness blurred on the edges of Nick's vision, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

--

The man looked around the room, the surgical smell of the hospital seeping into him and invading his senses. It was almost too strong. Pulling the clipboard off the back of the bed, he found he understood very little of it. Well, he guessed he wasn't one for medicine then.

He studied the name after 'Patient' on the clipboard. It read 'John Doe' in a neat male hand.

Although he couldn't remember anything right now, he could swear John Doe wasn't a real name. No, he didn't think it was. Of course, at this moment, he couldn't think of a better name that what was written there, but instinctively, he knew the name didn't fit. He studied the name after the 'Doctor' and glanced at the man at his feet. He'd guess that was one Nicholas Rutterford.

Then he noticed the burn in the back of his throat and this thirst increased as he smelt a distinct smell which suddenly put a word into his head.

Human.

John, as he was referred to now anyway, reeled back and an overwhelming sense of wrongness went over him even as he thought that word. A single thought flowed through his head.

It's wrong. Killing someone is wrong. It is wrong.

He's not dead. John thought irritably, but he knew the doctor wasn't really what he was thinking about, but he knew what he would do if he didn't leave soon was probably kill the doctor for real this time.

For what? Why?

Without even thinking it, John changed from his hospital gown back into the tattered clothing he found in the closet next to his bed and stole the doctor's coat after thoughtfully removing the name tag. It would be better if he didn't walk out looking like he'd been in a fight. John's feet then carried him over to the window where he slid it open.

There was a fly screen in the way to prevent patients from doing exactly what he was going to do, but he moved it aside impatiently quite easily. The screws that held it in place could have not been there at all as they pinged out and bounced across the floor. Then he slid onto the ledge and jumped over the side, landing two stories down without a problem or a single injury. He almost felt disappointed it had only been such a short distance.

John got to his feet and continued on his way, even though he had no idea where he was going. He didn't know where he was – although he supposed the hospital signs were a kind of a dead give-away – or who he was, but he intended to find out.

That was… after he got away from all those…

Humans.

--

24th March 2005

2:46 PM

Erica looked up from the video footage she had been pursuing and realised she had missed her lunch hour. Still, she had decided that Aleron had been right after all about the person at the airport and had set up the facial recognition software to try and match the perp's face from the video to the suspects' ones. The only obvious flaw in the plan thus far was the absence of images of two of the suspects, but she would have to make a few strategic calls for those. She picked up the receiver of her phone and dialed Aleron's number.

"Detective Craig speaking."

"I was looking through the videos you sent me." Erica began.

"Right."

"And I guess you were right about the I2K."

"What?"

"Intention to kill, sorry. My own abbreviation."

"Glad you realise that. Did you get anything else out of it?" Aleron's voice was faintly sarcastic.

"No, but maybe I agree with … Cato's theory finally." Erica replied. "I guess it gives me an angle to work on and now I have suspects."

"You always had suspects since you 'took over' this case, but I'm assuming you managed to cut them down."

"That's right. To four people."

"Any luck with those?"

"I'm missing a few images." Erica replied. "I've set up the facial recognition software with what I have, but I'll still need those images to try and match them."

"You're stepping into deep water here, you know, Erica. This really isn't your area of expertise."

"What?" Erica hackles rose at his words. She struggled to keep her voice calm, "You don't want to work out what happened?"

"I do." Aleron insisted, "But you know you won't be doing a good job of this if you aren't trained in it."

"Are you only saying this out of vanity or something? You don't want me to mess up your case?"

"No, I just don't want to make mistakes that we will both regret." Aleron replied. "Anyway, you're breaking so many rules it isn't funny. You're not authorized to do any of this or even access many of the files that I'm handing over to you."

Erica could see his point even if she wasn't happy with it. "We have no other choice, do we? I am determined to see this through even if I break all sorts of rules throughout the case."

"Even if you lose your job, get sent to prison?" Aleron asked. "Is that what you really want?"

"I'm not totally helpless." Erica replied. "I may not have the exact training you have, but I know enough procedure. Procedure is much the same for most of us. You photograph the scene, preserve the scene, and look for evidence – nothing we wouldn't do. Arson Investigators don't just look at fires and do nothing, we also get dirty. I may not be totally qualified for this case, but I know what I am doing."

"I hope so." On the other side of the line, Aleron let out a long breath. "I wish I could be investigating with you, but you know I got expressively forbidden, even if the Chief didn't say the exact words out loud."

"I know." As an Arson Investigator, she technically wasn't under his command, so she was safe. They were part of the police force but worked more directly with the Fire Service than the Police generally, although it was true the two were interconnected. She hoped Chief of Police Ward hadn't talked to her own boss, though.

"I'm happy to provide any assistance, I suppose." Aleron concluded. "It's not like there's anything else I can do except work on it in whatever free time I have, which isn't much at the moment. And when I do work off-duty on the Dance Studio Fire it's only research. Give me the names of the suspects you need images for."

"There are two suspects I need images for. Edward Cullen and Fredrick Scott."

"And the other suspects you had, who were they?"

"Why?"

"I see no benefit in keeping information to one person, do you? If we share it, at least one of us can continue the case if something happens."

A shiver went through Erica. "Alright, the other two are Ethan Williams and Lawrence Grey."

"Thanks. I'll get back to you soon." Aleron hung up. No sooner had Erica out down her own phone when it rang again.

"Hello? Arson Investigator Alan speaking."

"Alan, there's been a fire down at a business on Perront Drive that looks suspicious. The insurance company wants it looked over to see if it was deliberately lit. They're not convinced it was accidental. The business denies it, of course, but it's someone else also could have lit it since there has been some crime in the area."

"Can't you send Rosanna Smith?" Erica asked, preoccupied.

"She's already on a case," The dispatcher's voice was annoyed as she replied. "So get out there, won't you? 25/26 Perront Drive. Quick smart." She hung up abruptly like Aleron had.

"I'm on it." Erica replied to the thin air, slamming the phone into its cradle with perhaps unnecessary force and wincing. She guessed it probably hadn't been a good idea to annoy the dispatcher.

Sighing, she picked up her jacket from where she had flung it over the back of her chair and slipped it on, and then hurried out to her car to get to the fire scene quickly. Once there, she assessed the flames and went through the area carefully after the fire fighters had put out all the flames and stood back.

Steam rose off the building as always and Erica went scouting for signs of which way the fire would have gone that could perhaps give her a clue as to the origin of the fire, and hence let her judge if it had been set or not.

Why anyone would set fire to this building, she had no idea, but if it were anything, most likely it was an insurance fraud as the insurance company had surmised. Or did someone have a grudge on this place, though she found that extremely petty – not that she was really in a position to comment on others.

Judging by crime statistics though, most likely it wasn't because of a grudge. If there had been crime increase in the area lately, it could just be hoodlums being stupid again. Or what if the same person who had targeted the Dance Studio had returned to set more fires? If Cato had been wrong and all they had on their hands was a crazy arsonist?

Oh yeah, she would like that wouldn't she? No, it wasn't possible. Besides, why here? Or there? Link? Connection?

At least she judged that there was no accelerant so far. So if it was an accidental fire, what could have caused a fire in the building anyway? Were there any fireplaces? Would they really use it in March? If it had been an accident, how come she had been asked to check if it was a case of arson?

Erica had no idea and way too many questions to contemplate, but she pulled her kit out of her car, pulled on latex gloves and went to work scouting for clues.

--

24th March 2005

4:15 PM

Ah. Blood.

At first, when he'd first escaped from the hospital, he'd had no idea what he thirsted for, only that the scent, for some reason, of humans was particularly mouth watering.

If you could call it that.

So he'd gone through the usual channels – or what he thought was usual anyway – like water, the such. Not that it'd done him a scrap of good. It'd done very little towards quenching his thirst and the water sloshed around in him. He thought it weird that noone else could hear it, but then again, it seemed he could hear many things the humans couldn't, such as the birds a whole mile away – if he concentrated.

However, John had found that the thirst, after a while, could be ignored, if not for a prolonged amount of time. At first it had plagued him and he'd swallowed uncomfortably, even after that water, trying to ease it if he could. After a while of enduring, however, he'd found it a little easier, like pain starts to fade into the background after being in pain for so long.

Not that it'd stopped him a minute ago.

For all his desire not to kill – which he had no idea where it had sprung from – he'd given in just a few minutes ago and attacked a stray cat in an alleyway. He'd finally realised what he'd been craving for when he came to his senses right after the cat had died, but had drunk the blood anyway. Waste not, want not. It had tasted just a little grimy, but beggars can't be choosers either. Well, at least it wouldn't be missed, he supposed, but the taking of any life seemed to pain his body.

He wondered who he was – or had been.

No good asking himself that question, John thought, smiling wryly. He wasn't going to remember. He couldn't remember anything at the moment, except for that little fiasco just then and the doctor in that hospital. For some reason things like this desire not to kill and knowledge of how to do things came to him easily, but he still had no idea why he had these desires.

John stood out on the street in the white doctor's coat more than he thought he would in his shabby clothes. Perhaps it'd been the wrong idea. But then again, he had no business in the street anyway, with his wanting to attack anyone who walked past, keeping his control by a thread and that same sentence thrumming through his head.

So where to start looking for an identity? Walking around named John Doe would be suspicious as, so maybe a different name was in order. He could keep John, for sure, as something told him it was a common name, but he'd have to think up a last name. Maybe he could just take Rutterford like that doctor in the hospital.

Well… maybe not. That same something told him that if police looked into a missing patient and happened to find someone on the street with the same surname, they were bound to think they were lying. No, it was probably better to think of a new surname.

John looked at the cat at his feet. Feline… Felix? Hmm, he didn't think he was going to get any further that that. His mind wasn't in full functioning order to let him think up anything else without a link to something. Garbage? Nothing. Newspaper?

Newspaper.

John went over and picked up the newspaper, flicking through it for a name. Something common but not too obvious, he suppose. Not something like Smith or Jones, most likely. Donovan? Johnathan Donovan. John almost laughed aloud at how amusing it sounded. Well, to him anyway.

Finally he settled on a last name from the newspaper. Something he'd picked from an article about a cop that died or went missing or something. He supposed Alan would do. Not that common, but something he could get away with, perhaps.

The article had struck a note with him though, for some reason, so John reached out, ripped the page of the article out and slipped the page into the pocket of his slacks. He had no idea why he felt compelled to keep the article, but thought no more of it as he continued his walk down the alleyway to the hidden streets.

He didn't know how he knew this, but these were the back streets. Places a person could get lost in, places a person could die in if they wandered in at the wrong time and place. Places a person just plain didn't want to be in.

Well, good thing he wasn't really a person.

John wandered down them, looking for meaning, any meaning. Anything he remembered? No, probably not. The streets stunk with filth; rubbish that noone had cleaned up in years. What was the point? John bet that there was probably blood under all that rubbish. Maybe evidence – albeit contaminated – of all sorts of crimes committed where noone would ever be the wiser, or those who saw would never tell.

John let out another exasperated breath. He knew things, had thoughts that never seemed to make complete sense. Who was he and how did he know these small details? His body seemed to be perfectly capable of leading him around and telling him all sorts of useful knowledge, except it wouldn't tell him the one thing he really wanted to know – who was he?

There was the sharp rap of high heels, and the sound echoed along the streets. Or at least, it appeared to for John whose hearing was certainly quite enhanced. John launched himself and in a minute was hiding in the shadows in the alleyway where he thought the heels were coming from.

Something – or someone – asked why he was pursuing this, but John had no answer to give. Maybe it was that thirst rising up in the back of his throat again. Or that sudden instinct whenever he smelled humans to attack.

The woman paced back and fro in front of the alleyway as if she had been walking to actually go somewhere and suddenly had started pacing for reasons unknown. The wind whistled through and brought the human smell to his nostrils.

In that single instant he ceased to be any pretence of human. His eyes narrowed and his lips curved and his thoughts grew focused. He'd tasted blood, but it hadn't been enough. It had been like making do with muddy water when there was a spring full of clear sweet water nearby. From scents, human blood would taste to delectable in comparison.

The woman paused in her pacing, but she had ceased to be personalized in any way to him. She was just prey and he was the hunter. He breathed out roughly as he itched to strike. She glanced into the alleyway and her eyes flicked from one side to another warily. Scared? She was just like the deer, frightened. He was a hunter.

She took a few hesitant steps into the alleyway, her eyes still wary.

"Hello?" She asked, but he didn't understand the words.

She took a few more.

He pounced, pushing her roughly against the wall, ruby red eyes blazing as he looked at her with those narrowed eyes, ready to pounce, to drink and drain her dry before she could even scream, even react, even begin to struggle.

But something inside him was holding him back.

Even as he stood there, breathing deeply, the inner vicious animal wanting to attack, to tear at her, drink her blood, revel in the blood… some part of him said …

No.

He frowned as he continued to pin her against the wall, fighting with himself and his breathing slowed even as he glared at the woman with contempt as his sense of himself returned. He was disgusted with his actions, but another part of him was merely contemptuous at the fragility, the weakness of the humans.

No better than food.

No, that wasn't right. Life was precious. All life was precious. Humans might die easily, but they were strong in their own way.

The woman John was pinning to the wall struggled, trying to jerk out of his grip as well as struggling for breath against his hand on her throat, pulling him from his thoughts. He noticed his pale hand on her skin and it looked just wrong. He released her and took a step back.

The woman collapsed to the grimy floor and shoved the hair out of her face as she looked up at him with a degree of fright, but also with a readiness to fight back if necessarily. If only she knew what a futile gesture it would have been.

But her eyes widened as she seemed to notice something.

"Cato?" She whispered.

--

Probably saw that coming, didn't you? Especially you, aliceTHEmerpire? Hehe.

I'd like dedicate, I suppose, this to the people who died in the bushfires in Victoria. The death toll is around 181 at the moment and expected to rise still as well as the destruction of thousands of homes and communities. The fires are suspected to be caused by arson and the fire is still raging with more fires springing up, most likely as a result of more arson, and conditions are going to get much worse also. Arson should be left in the one place it only ever should be – in fiction.

I'm not sure it's a suitable dedication, since it is about arson after all, but I hope its people like Cato and Erica and those other fire investigators out there that can figure out what's going on, who's doing this and stop the ending of lives and destruction of property.