Watch You Burn

by KA Richardson

  Janelle and her friends collapsed in fits of giggles as Heather pulled her hand to her chest and walked off. 'We have a mission people. We need to make sure the witches of fucking Eastwick do not last through their second year. I, for one, will go completely nuts if I have to see those pitiful panda eyes all year.'

  Murmurs of agreement passed round the room, as Janelle finally loaded up the computer, enforcing the belief they really were there to do work.

  24th September, 1005 hours - Darlington University Campus

  Heather Blaze hugged her hand tightly to her chest and tried to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. Her fingers were throbbing painfully, and when she glanced down at her hand and saw the already swelling digits, and the discolouration. She wondered whether anything was broken. The skin had split across the middle knuckles, and blood was slowly migrating towards her fingertips. Gritting her teeth, she tried to bend her fingers and gasped as hot pain spread up into her wrist. Any colour she'd had in her cheeks quickly fled, leaving her pale and her eyes glassy with the unshed tears.

  'Stupid bitch,' she mumbled about Janelle. She'd thought maybe when they started uni that it would all stop. Hell, everyone had told her it wouldn't continue to college, but it had. Janelle and her friends had tortured Heather, and her friends Chloe and Susie, since the first day of primary school. They shouldn't have to live their lives in constant fear like this. Heather didn't understand why Janelle was such a cow to them all. It wasn't like any of them had done anything other than turn up to school.

  And nobody understood, not her parents, and definitely not her oldest sister Edina. She'd never been bullied once in her precious life, with her perfect hair, flawless skin, and a body to die for, Heather just knew Edina had never struggled with anything. It wasn't fair.

  It was at the stage now where she didn't even tell her family what was going on, they wouldn't believe her anyway. They'd just think she was exaggerating and that it couldn't possibly be as bad as she said it was. It was though. She'd lost count of the number of bruises her legs held from being tripped up. They still stooped as low as chewing gum in hair, and Tippex on clothing. It sucked to be her. She hated them. She hated Edina, heck she hated everything. The whole world sucked.

  This was the last straw though: she shouldn't have to put up with it, and it was time they all stood up and made a stand. They were all adults now. Together, the three of them could face up to a group of pathetic bullies.

  Making her way to the student union shop, she bought some plasters and a small bandage, then huddled down in a corner of the café and carefully wrapped her hand. Hopefully it wouldn't be as bad as it seemed and she'd be able to manage her next lesson at twelve – scientific practical techniques. Maybe she should just skip it. Go home and fuck the day off. But she didn't – she'd already arranged to meet Chloe and Susie. Besides, after this incident, they needed to get a plan of action sorted out.

  24th September, 1740 hours – Heather Blaze’s residence, Dunrobin Close, Darlington

  ‘Heather, you tell me what happened to your hand right now.’ demanded Joanna Blaze, worry evident on her face.

  ‘Told you already, I fell over at college and pulled my fingers.’ Heather knew she sounded sulky and sullen but couldn’t stop the words coming out that way. It wasn’t like her mum would believe her anyway. She hardly believed it herself. Still being bullied by the kids who did it way back when? Some days she wished she could stand her ground. Though to be fair, she’d thought she had today. Look how that had turned out.

  ‘Look, if something’s happened, if someone did this, you can tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, honey.’

  ‘Last time, Mum, I fell over, it happens. I’m going upstairs. I’ve got a ton of work to do.’

  Heather fought the tears as she climbed the stairs with a heavy tread. She wished sometimes she had the kind of relationship with her mum that her sister had, wished she could open up and tell her. She’d seen Chloe and Susie in the library that afternoon. They understood what it was like. Not to have anyone to speak to but each other. Having to go through the bullying even now they were in their twenties.

  Sighing, she dumped her bag on the floor and wandered through to the small en-suite toilet. She needed to feel in control, she felt like she was going crazy. Reaching above the tiny cabinet on the wall, she brought the small razor blade down between her fingers. She lifted her top and methodically used the sharp edge to draw several lines into her tummy, watching as blood seeped through the cut. It didn’t hurt – she’d always thought cutting herself would hurt, but all it did was calm her down. Her breathing steadied and she stood, mesmerised, as the blood started to congeal and settle.

  Hearing a noise at her bedroom door, she flung her black top down, replaced the blade, and flushed the loo – anything to make it so nobody found out. She knew just what would happen if her mum found out – she’d end up in West Park or something. Her mum already thought she was odd for always dressing in black and wearing heavy eyeliner. Knowing she was hurting herself would just reinforce the belief that she was nuts.

  Her eyes narrowed as she went back into her bedroom.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Mum said you’d hurt your hand. I just wanted to make sure you’re OK?’ Edina was sat on the bed, smiling warily at Heather.

  ‘I’m fine, I fell.’ Heather was aware she sounded argumentative, but she couldn’t be bothered with Ed’s fake concern right now. Little Miss Perfect wouldn’t have a Scooby-Doo about what she was going through. Even if she opened up and told her, Ed would just be like everyone else. Chin up, pet, just ignore them, they’ll go away if you ignore them.

  Except they hadn’t.

  Ever.

  ‘Heath, listen I know we don’t always see eye-to-eye, but if someone did this to you I need you to know you can tell me. I’ll make sure they’re dealt with. I have friends on the police force who would be willing to help. I can speak to your lecturers and… ’

  Heather lost it – her temper flared instantaneously and she stood and pointed at the door with her uninjured hand. ‘Get out – you never believe a fucking word I say, do you? I said I FELL! Now get out of my room, Ed.’

  Edina had paled slightly at Heather’s outburst, and she stood silently and left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

  Hot tears fell down Heather’s cheeks – why had she done that? Why was it always Ed who came to see if she was OK, only to have Heather lose it completely at her. Maybe I should have just told her. Maybe telling someone now would help.

  Shaking her head, she threw herself on the bed, pulled a pillow over her head and let the tears flow. Life sucks! I hate my life!

  2

  25th September, 0910 hours - CSI Department, Darlington Police Station

  Kevin Lang could safely say he was fed up. The police force had cut the number of CSIs almost in half – good old government making cuts when they were already struggling with the workload. And now he had another three members of staff off work – Cass had been on maternity leave for a few months now; Johnny had been in a car accident and wouldn't be back for six weeks thanks to a broken ankle, and now Faith had called in as her child had very nicely shared his chicken pox with her, meaning she was now down for another fortnight. That wasn't even taking into account the two full time positions they had available in the south of the county that the force had yet to advertise and fill.

  He'd already placed a call to the volume crime team who stepped in to assist with the non-major crime scenes when required, but it hadn't lessened the workload for the south of the county by very much. He almost smiled though, when it was as busy as this, he had no other choice but to go out and deal with jobs as they came in. Which meant he wasn't stuck in the office or in and out of forensic strategy meetings – meetings with management about budget cuts and the like.

  They'd asked him to be based in the Darlington office a couple of months ago. Now Jason Knowles was in charge of manag
ing north of the county and he was in charge of south. He didn't mind the location so much: the drive from his home in Durham city took a while, but it was shorter than travelling to Sunderland as he had been doing. But anyone telling him the south was quieter was definitely fibbing. Darlington seemed to be every bit as busy as Sunderland had been. And he had fewer staff to work with. When he'd been asked to move, Darlington had been almost at full staffing, but within that two months three employees had left for pastures new. Faith had followed him down under protest a few weeks after he'd been moved, and had done nothing but complain about the travelling since. But she'd been the most logical choice as she lived in Houghton Le Spring where everyone else lived Sunderland and Newcastle way. He wasn't surprised she'd phoned in sick if he was honest.

  He leant across the desk to pick up the phone and see if Jason could spare a staff member to assist with the already increasing list of jobs, but it must've rung as he put it to his ear and he jumped, startled as a voice came down the receiver.

  '...Watson from the control room. We've had a request from Fire to attend an address in Darlington in relation to a house fire. Would you have someone free to assist?'

  'Actually no, I don't. But I'll have a look at the job and will attend myself. Is the fire investigator on scene?'

  'Yeah, they've allocated... erm... Ed Blaze? You familiar with him?'

  'Nope not at all, but pop his number on the log and I'll grab it off there. Is it log 387 – Buxton Moor Crescent? Over on Firthmoor?'

  As the control room agreed, Kevin gave his ETA and hung up, hitting print on the log details.

  Ed Blaze? The fire investigator is called Blaze? Are they taking the piss?

  He jotted the phone number on the bottom of his print out, grabbed the van keys, his radio and his camera case. Then he used the radio keypad to put himself en-route to incident and left the office.

  25th September, 0840 hours – Buxton Moor Crescent, Darlington

  ‘Day off my arse,’ grumbled Edina as she pulled her Harley Davidson outside the address she’d been called to in Darlington. The bike had been an impromptu gift to herself – Harley Davidson 883 Sportster in black and chrome. It was a beast of a machine – she’d bought it six months ago after her old one had needed extensive repair work that just wasn’t worth the outlay. Ed had to admit she loved it, though – there was nothing like the feeling of the wind rushing against her leathers – it was like the ultimate freedom.

  The estate itself was a maze and without her sat nav she knew she’d never have found it. She’d done nothing but curse the other fire investigator covering the area since leaving home. He’d phoned in sick, meaning the only other person on call had been her. There was a time when rest days had been sacred, but not anymore.

  She had to admit to still feeling a little rough anyway. Though now she was sure it hadn’t been just the drink from the night before last. Her head was filled with cotton wool and she felt off colour – definite signs of some virus or other. The last thing she needed was a fire scene on her days off. Especially with the new members of the Fire Investigation Team – or the FIT as they were called. Generally, the FIT consisted of one fire investigator, one arson trained crime scene investigator, a forensic scientist and a police officer. The only ones that hadn’t moved to pastures new were her and the scientist, Julia Graves. Julia was not likely to be at this job anyway: forensic scientists usually only turned out for the serial jobs, or the ones with unusual circumstances. So now, not only was she attending a job she shouldn’t be attending, she had to introduce herself to new people.

  Dismounting, she glanced around, looking for the cop who would be plain clothes – CID always stood out like a sore thumb in the melee of uniforms. Spotting him, she pulled her helmet off, placed it on the back of the bike, and grabbed the clipboard from the side pouch of the bike.

  She made her way over to the cop who was dressed in smart trousers and a pristine white shirt. He was stood talking to someone else, and she waited patiently for a moment, pondering her height issues. At 5ft 5in, she was by no means short, but people always assumed a fire investigator had to be over 5ft 8” and built like a brick shithouse. She was the complete opposite. She always squared her shoulders, especially when speaking to men, to give herself the illusion of height. She knew she did it, and she knew what they thought. She shook herself from her reverie, her patience finally waning.

  ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for the officer in charge? DS Slater?’

  ‘That’s me. You must be the fire investigator? Nice bike. I’ll leave you here with Kevin Lang, our crime scene manager, and catch up with you when you’ve had a glance over the house.’

  Ed nodded, and turned towards the male dressed in a black polo shirt and combat pants.

  She took in his roughly combed brown hair, the chocolate brown eyes and the stubble on his chin, and felt her eyes widen as recognition dawned. She couldn’t help her tone from sounding sharp. ‘You! Enjoy the other night did you?’

  She became aware that the cops had stopped talking and had to work hard to ignore the glances cast in their direction.

  An awkward pause ensued. Kevin finally answered, ‘Listen, can we chat over here?’

  He put his hand on her arm, presumably to guide her away from the eager ears of the cops who were hanging on the exchange, but she had no intention of going anywhere with him. ‘Nothing to chat about, to be honest. You saw, you came, you left. That about covers it I reckon.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that. I –’

  Ed cut him short with a glare. ‘Look, frankly, I don’t care. You got your end away, I was willing, let’s just move on to the fire I’m here to deal with, shall we?’

  He almost looked hurt, but when he spoke his voice gave no emotion away. ‘OK. Bloke who lives here is a druggie. Unofficial word on the street is that he owed money to his dealer who paid him a visit this morning, and apparently left a warning. Bloke legged it out of the back door, cops found him in the back garden. He’s been taken to hospital for smoke inhalation. The house is structurally sound; most of the damage caused is round the front entrance and interior hallway.’

  Taking a deep breath, she indicated with her hand for him to lead the way. ‘Let’s go and have a look then.’

  They both paused at the gate and applied shoe covers – fires were messy. The black soot and ash stuck to everything. One learned very quickly to wear foot covers or spend hours cleaning boots.

  25th September, 1005 hours - Buxton Moor Crescent, Darlington

  Kev noticed the burn marks around the exterior to the letter box instantly. The fire brigade required the fire investigator to attend in relation to any fires deemed suspicious by the attending crew. Kev was there to photograph and collect evidence the same as any crime scene. He knew his job, and had already made some assumptions based on the evidence he could see and smell, but he also knew that Edina was highly qualified too – she’d have gone through far more rigorous training that even he had where arson was concerned. He paused for a moment, wondering whether she would spot anything he might miss.

  Kevin let her take the lead and followed Edina through the door and into the darkened hallway. The ceiling was still dripping from the water used to extinguish the blaze, and Kev blinked as a droplet narrowly missed his eye. The whole place smelled like burnt plastic and wood, and the dense smoke still lingered in the corners of the hallway. His feet squelched as he flashed the torch over the floor, looking for anything obvious used to carry accelerant, but there was nothing evident. The house held the faint undertone of fuel where it hadn't quite burned off, and the ‘V’ shaped scorch marks around the bottom of the front door and across the hall carpet made it obvious where the fire had started.

  Adjusting the settings on his camera to account for the darkness, he took some images of the scorch marks and burnt areas. With an apologetic grin, he handed his camera to Edina to hold while he used a nylon bag to capture some of the air nearest the ignition point at the door - gas chrom
atography would be used to determine the type of accelerant used and could be used to compare against a suspect sample if one was located. He twisted the open end of the bag tightly then bent it double and deftly secured it with string - the action of twisting and folding meant the air inside would be retained along with any chemical evidence. Thanking Edina, he accepted his camera back. It had all the signs of being arson - at least as far as he was concerned, and he was certain Edina would agree.

  She turned to him and said, ''The fire started at the front door, probably as a result of accelerant being poured through the letterbox then set alight. I'm not seeing anything obvious left behind around the door debris-wise. House owner's been quite lucky really - could have been much worse.'

  He nodded in agreement then opened the front door and motioned for her to pass through. It had swollen with the heat and it took him a minute to get it shut again. By the time he turned round, Edina was seated on the back of her bike filling in her report. He tried to ignore the sudden rush he felt seeing her shapely behind moulded to the bike seat. Moving his eyes further up, he noticed her auburn hair hanging down her back. His cheeks grew red. He knew he was staring and turned towards his van.

  Climbing inside, he figured she had every right to be pissed at him. He'd basically done the very thing he abhorred men doing. He'd got his leg over, and left. Only his was even worse because he hadn't even said he'd call. She'd never understand his reasoning, even if he got the chance to explain. She'd just think he was a waste of space, not worth her time or forgiveness. Sighing, he decided he'd try to chalk it up to experience. It's not like there was a lot of arsons in the town anyway. It wasn’t like they’d run into each other every day.