Satisfied that he had properly soaked the place, he dug the book of matches from his pocket. He opened the door and looked down either side of the alley, searching for anyone who might have been watching. His gaze roamed over the brick walls and the clapboard siding of the building across the alley. That building housed a law firm. Tonight, the two windows facing the alley were dark, and he saw no sign of movement in the building. It was the random passersby who could ruin the best of plans.
Newbies to arson more often screwed up at this point. Many stood too close to the source of ignition, underestimating the swift and devastating power the fire was poised to blow back on them.
He was no novice.
He not only understood fire; he respected it.
Loved it.
He would use his last reserve jug to trail gasoline down the alley. He tossed the jug back into the beauty shop entrance before running to the end of the trail and striking the match. The flame caught immediately and slithered along the path of gasoline like a fiery snake ready to strike. He had only seconds to wait before a big burst of flames echoed from the building. The fire had reached the large puddle and was headed toward the solvents.
He started walking quickly, knowing the boom would come in seconds. He hustled to the street, crossed to another alley, and ran up to his car. Carefully, he removed his boots and dumped them in a waiting garbage bag. He stripped off his gloves, jeans, and shirt, leaving him wearing running shorts and a T-shirt. The rest went into a bag that he tossed in the bed of his truck. He grabbed clean clothes from the front seat, sliding on worn jeans and a fresh sweatshirt. He had already draped a towel on the truck’s seat, knowing that the towel, along with the clothes, would be buried later.
He’d had a lot of time to think about this, and he was not going to let trace evidence trip him up any more than a random witness.
As he started the engine, he heard an explosion in the beauty shop filled with chemicals. The flames would soon jump up the walls and arch over the ceiling. He calculated it would take less than a minute before the entire building exploded. He hoped the attorneys across the alley were paid up on their fire insurance, because they were going to see some damage.
He glanced in his rearview mirror and caught the glow of the flames. In the distance, the fire engine sirens were revving up, and he could picture the men at the station jumping up from dinner and running toward their engines. Wheels rolling in less than sixty seconds. Another two minutes to the fire. Hoses out.
His blaze had enough momentum to gut the building and also eat through the woman’s flesh. The human body melted at fifteen hundred degrees, and if he had maybe ten minutes of solid burning, there would be nothing left of her.
But five minutes would do enough damage to hide what he had done.
He grinned.
“You always wanted to go out with a bang, baby. Got your wish.”
The blast in the back room startled Lana back to consciousness. She gulped in air saturated with chemicals and smoke as the fire roared and licked at her feet.
Her throat burned as she screamed and tried to rise up. But her bruised, nearly crushed throat stung as she drew in the acidic air, thickening with chemicals that she used every day.
She rolled onto her belly, wincing as she crawled toward the front window and away from the unleashed fire dragon consuming the storeroom and the salon. Her escape route was vanishing, and in seconds, this entire building would collapse on her.
Panicking, she rose up on her hands and knees, but another lungful of lethal smoke sent her back to her belly.
She had been so damn obsessed with fire. Setting them had been a game.
The fire, as if it had heard her, jumped up the west wall and rolled over and consumed the posters featuring the newest hairstyles. Long amber fingers crept over the ceiling above her, and she wondered if she were already dead and in hell.
A police car’s red and blue lights flashed outside less than twenty feet away.
“Save me!” she screamed.
Timber above her head cracked. Several ceiling tiles fell and hit the floor, releasing a swarm of firefly embers that burned her skin. Flames licked over her feet and spread to her jeans. She howled in pain as her flesh melted.
Confessions of an Arsonist
I burned myself today on the arm, and the pain sent a rush of pleasure through me as potent as sex. Both pleasures create an intimate bond that cannot be duplicated.
CHAPTER THREE
Missoula, Montana
Saturday, September 5, 2020
6:55 p.m.
Detective Gideon Bailey had hoped his first day back on the job would be peaceful. He had expected a call or two. With the students back for the fall semester, trouble was inevitable. And so far, so good. Since his shift had started that morning, he had responded to an overdose and an attempted rape. He had stayed with the victim in the emergency room until the sexual-assault nurse had arrived. Now it looked like his plan to reenter the job after three months of leave was coming off without a hitch.
He had taken three months off to spend time with his ten-year-old son, Kyle. The two had spent the time living in his grandfather Mac’s cabin, nestled in the Sapphire Mountain Range. Their days had been filled with fishing, hiking, and rebuilding the stone firepit on the property.
Gideon’s ex-wife, Helen, had died in the spring from cancer. Helen had reached out in January and told him what was happening.
