I Hear They Burn for Murder

by J L Aarne

  “Yeah, I got that,” Thomas said dryly. He took Rainer’s wrist to look at his hand and sighed. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

  “You have to shower,” Rainer said, taking his hand away from him.

  “What?”

  “You have to shower. You stink. You stink just like that bitch.” Rainer shook his head and pointed over Thomas’s shoulder to the bathroom. “Go wash it off. I can’t even— You have to.”

  Thomas ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. Fine, whatever, I just want to go back to sleep.”

  Once he had agreed, Rainer dismissed him from his mind for the moment and went to the bed to begin pulling off the sheets and blankets. They too needed to be washed and all the bedding would need to be changed before he got into it. Everything smelled like her and though a rational, calculating part of his mind told him that he was likely imagining it because he had seen her there in the bed, there was another part which was currently driving him that was consumed with rage, the sound filling his head a deep, ferocious territorial roar. He stripped the bed and put the sheets into the washer. Then he remade the bed with clean ones and felt a little better.

  Thomas was still in the shower when Rainer went into the bathroom. He pulled back the shower curtain and reached around him for the bottle of Jasmine’s sweet pea scented body wash. He also took her pink toothbrush and a women’s razor from the medicine cabinet.

  “Don’t forget this,” Thomas called.

  A baby blue shower pouf sailed over the shower curtain rod and bounced off his chest. Rainer added it to Jasmine’s other things and took all of it into the kitchen to be disposed of in the trash. Then he washed his hands.

  When Thomas finished in the bathroom, he returned to the bedroom with the first aid kit from under the sink and made Rainer sit beside him while he cleaned the burn on his hand. “I liked her, you know,” he said of Jasmine.

  “I hate her,” Rainer said. “I thought about killing her before.”

  “Well, thanks for not doing that,” Thomas said.

  “I still might,” Rainer said. “I hate her. She might come back. I will kill her if she comes back, Thomas. I will.”

  “No, you won’t, crazy ass,” Thomas said tiredly. He closed the first aid kit. “Besides, she’s not coming back, I’m pretty sure. You scared the fuck out of her.”

  “Good,” Rainer said. He put his hand to his mouth and licked at the burn. It tasted bitter with rubbing alcohol. “Fuck her.”

  “Don’t lick it, I just cleaned it,” Thomas said, pulling Rainer’s hand away from his mouth. Thomas put the first aid kit away and got into bed again. “Come on,” he said, holding his hand out for Rainer.

  Rainer took it and crawled to the other side of the bed. The side of the bed where she had been sleeping, but which belonged to him. He unlaced his boots and took them off, then undressed down to his underwear and climbed under the fresh sheets and blanket with Thomas. He couldn’t sleep though. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jasmine, about her lying where he was now, looking like she thought she belonged there. He felt his fingers clench into claws, then fists in his anger as he thought about it.

  Thomas reached over and laid a hand on his thigh. “Stop it. You’re fidgeting.”

  “I can’t sleep,” Rainer said.

  Thomas put his arm out and drew Rainer over to his side. “Try,” he said.

  Rainer rested his head on Thomas’s chest and closed his eyes. He put a hand up to touch his shoulder, ran his fingertips over the scar there, left by his teeth when Rainer was fifteen. The touch renewed the mark for him and he did feel better and start to relax and finally did fall asleep.

  Chapter 11

  Jill was on the news the very next day. Rainer was on the news with her, though of course no one knew it. THE LAMPLIGHTER STRIKES AGAIN was the headline scrolling beneath the face of a sad looking polished young reporter. How original, but Rainer didn’t care about the headlines. He watched the news and waited for the inevitable FBI press conference.

  Then it came and Ezekiel wasn’t there. Instead, a stern older man in a bad suit gave it and Ezekiel was nowhere to be seen. “The FBI is working closely with the police on this case. It is our highest priority right now,” he said and Rainer fumed. “We do not have any suspects at this time, but we are pursuing several leads,” he said and Rainer got up from the couch and paced.

  This was a mess. It was awful.

  The damn man was so interested in him, so sure that he was up to something, then Rainer actually did something of note and where the hell was he? Somewhere else, apparently. Like dead Jill wasn’t even important. Like Rainer wasn’t enough to interest him anymore. How dare he?

  Rainer was having a horrible week.

  There was a knock at the door. Rainer stalked to it and yanked it open, half hoping to find Agent Herod there in person on his doorstep, but it was only Elijah and Erzsé standing there, looking far too classy for their surroundings. They were each carrying a shopping bag. He looked between them suspiciously before stepping back to allow them inside.

  “You knocked,” he said.

  “Well, yes, we saw your ugly little vehicle in the parking lot below so we knew you were home and it’s dreadfully rude to pick a friend’s lock when they’re in residence,” Elijah said.

  “We brought food to celebrate,” Erzsé said, walking past him into the kitchen. She began unpacking takeout containers and arranging them on the table. “We saw it on the news this morning. Everyone’s in such a tither. We’re so excited for you, darling. You’ve been having rather a long dry spell, haven’t you? But now that’s over and we’re going to celebrate.”

  She turned with a bottle of champagne in her hands and looked at him expectantly.

  Rainer pointed to a drawer on the right side of the counter. “Corkscrew’s in there,” he said.

  He left her to it and returned to the living room to scowl at the TV, still hoping that any minute the old guy in the bad suit would be replaced by Ezekiel Herod. Then maybe later the determined agent would come to see him, ask him some more pointed questions, issue some vague threats and the game, as they said, would be afoot. So far there had been no sign of him and Rainer was growing impatient. Patience was key to playing the game well if one was going to play it, but Ezekiel wasn’t even on the board yet. He was bowing out after one move and that just would not do. That was no fun at all.

  “Rainer, dear, you’re sulking,” Erzsé said, watching him from the doorway. She was holding two flutes of champagne and offered him one. “What’s the matter?”

  “It was brilliant work, if it’s any consolation,” Elijah said, coming to stand in the doorway behind her.

  Rainer took the glass from Erzsé, wondering where the champagne flutes had come from. He did not own any because he hated champagne. He drank it anyway and returned his gaze to the television. “I don’t know what else to do,” he finally said.

  He was tempted to throw the champagne glass at the TV, but he controlled himself and drank the rest of it instead.

  “What are you talking about?” Elijah asked.

  Rainer gestured at the TV. “This,” he said. “Look at it. Look at that fucking guy. He’s not supposed to be there. Who the hell is he? He’s… Ah! This is wrong. Nothing is going right!”

  Erzsé and Elijah exchanged a look. “I believe the boy’s gone mad, Kitten,” Elijah said.

  “This is wrong. This is not how the game is played,” Rainer said, growling it as he walked out of the living room again. He left the champagne glass on the counter and got a beer out of the fridge. “I thought he knew that, but what the hell is this shit?”

  “Rainer, what the devil are you on about?” Erzsé asked. “Who is ‘he’?”

  “He is Ezekiel Herod, the fucking FBI agent trying to catch me,” Rainer said. “But maybe I misunderstood, you know? I do that, Thomas is always telling me so. Something about social cues and—” He dashed that train of thought violently away with one hand and drank his beer. �
��So maybe he was just following orders, following up, and really there’s nothing and I’m wasting my time. Which means I can go back to being fucking bored again, which is just awesome.”

  “Erm,” Erzsé said.

  “Oh, hell,” Elijah said. “Rainer, do you have a crush on the dashing FBI agent?”

  “No,” Rainer said.

  “I think he does,” Erzsé said.

  “I quite agree,” Elijah said. “He’s in a right state about it.”

  “Being ignored by one’s paramour can do that to a person,” Erzsé said. “I know I wouldn’t stand for it.”

  “Certainly not,” Elijah agreed. “But Rainer, are you sure that’s wise? After all, if he’s trying to catch you, you don’t want to go playing with that. He’s likely to succeed, isn’t he?”

  “I thought he was different,” Rainer muttered.

  “I see,” Elijah said. He exchanged another of those looks with his wife. “Pardon the metaphor, but you’re more the dragon than the princess here and well… that never ends well for the dragon.”

  Rainer sighed. “I don’t know what else to do,” he said again.

  “I’ll tell you what you should do,” Erzsé said. “Come sit down at the table and have some of the lovely celebratory lunch we brought. There’s caviar. You like caviar, don’t you?”

  “It’s all right,” Rainer said. He allowed himself to be directed to the table though and sat down. “I need to think of something.” He stared at the plate Erzsé put before him and frowned. “Something has to work and you know, it’s not like I’m subtle or anything. I mean, I disembowel them and set them on fire.”

  “There’s nothing very subtle about that, no,” Erzsé agreed soothingly. She spread caviar on a piece of dark toast and took a delicate bite. “You know what you could do though, and it’s practically guaranteed to work?”

  “What?”

  “Kill more people, dear. Unsubtle as they come. More champagne?”

  “That is a wonderful idea,” Elijah said. He let Erzsé refill his champagne and sat down across from Rainer. “What’s more, no one will see it coming. It’s the middle of the day and you did just kill one, after all.”

  “Perhaps he should wait though,” Erzsé said. She refilled her own glass and sat down between them. “Our Rainer has a job, you know.”

  “I know. It’s so quaint,” Elijah said. “I’ve never had a job before.”

  “Nor I,” Erzsé said. “Wonder what it’s like.”

  “Perhaps we should try it ourselves one day,” Elijah said.

  “I don’t know, darling. I don’t know if I could stand it if anyone saw us wearing name tags or… flipping burgers or—and imagine what the grease would do to my skin,” Erzsé said. “Dreadful. But you know, we should take a fieldtrip to McDonald’s someday. I’ve always wondered what all the fuss is about.”

  “Yes, let’s, though we shan’t eat anything there,” Elijah said.

  “God, no,” Erzsé said. “I’d rather eat dog vomit. But we can watch all the fat poor people doing it. It’ll be like the zoo or the carnival.”

  “I don’t have any more classes today,” Rainer said, interrupting them before they completely forgot he was there. “Just the one at ten and they’re working on papers right now so I don’t even have anything to grade. So… I could. It’s more risky in daylight though.”

  “Well, then wait until the sun goes down,” Elijah said. “Though honestly, that might get some attention. No one would expect that.”

  “It’s reckless,” Rainer said.

  “Of course it is,” Elijah said.

  “It will though,” Rainer said, considering it. “It will get his attention. I bet it will. That’s what I’m going to do.” He got up from the table. “Right now.”

  Erzsé put a hand out and touched his arm. “Do sit down and eat first,” she said. “You’ll need your strength and there’s all this food and it’s quite lovely. Try the chicken. It’s perfect. You can kill the people after, they’re not going anywhere.”

  Rainer sat back down with a huff. “Fine,” he said. He picked up his fork and began to eat, calmer now that he had a plan to fix things.

  “And we’ll have the carpet put in while you’re out,” Elijah said. “We’ll be supervising of course. When you come home, you’ll have nice new carpet that is not shit brown and worn to the wood like this hideous pile you’ve got now. Hides the stains, does it?”

  Rainer smiled. “I guess,” he said.

  “Well, the new carpet will be dark, too, so no worries there,” Elijah said.

  “All right,” Rainer said. He didn’t kill in or near his own home so it didn’t much matter, but now that he had a plan of action, he was free to think of other things and he found their redecorating project amusing. “What about black?”

  “Hmm, perhaps, though black can be tricky,” Elijah said. He pushed a container across the table to him. “Try the white truffle pasta. It’s delicious.”

  Chapter 12

  Ezekiel woke up to the smell of coffee. He sat up on the side of the bed and picked up the cup Jacob had left him on the nightstand. It was warm, but when he sipped it, it was still Jacob’s coffee, which was too weak for his taste. Regardless, it was caffeine and he was still mostly asleep, so he drank it.

  His cell phone was on the nightstand too and he picked it up to check the time, but it was turned off. “Shit,” he muttered, taking this as a bad sign. He turned it on, saw the date and the time and said, “Shit!”

  He was suddenly a lot more awake. It was after two in the afternoon. He had slept for two and a half days, it was Thursday, and he had twenty-two messages on his phone. Most of them were from Beatrix Crewes, but several were from Al Brockden and there was even one from the tech analyst girl, Murray. He listened to the last message first. It was from Crewes. Crewes was persistent.

  “Agent Herod, I know you’re out sick, but if you get this could you please call the office? We’ve got a hell of a situation here and Agent Brockden can’t handle it. He thinks he can, sure, but… Well, it’s a mess, sir. I feel like a damn tattletale, tell you the truth, but it’s pretty bad. I hope you get better soon, sir.”

  “Goddamn it,” Ezekiel said.

  He got up and went in search of his shoes. Once he had them on, he went down the stairs two at a time, calling Jacob’s name.

  Jacob walked out of the living room to look up the stairs and had to back up quickly to keep from being run over. “What, Zeke?”

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Ezekiel demanded. “I can’t believe you let me sleep. Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

  Unruffled by the shouting, Jacob said, “Because you needed to sleep. You were up for nearly a week this time without so much as a catnap. You passed out.”

  “So?” Ezekiel said. He shook the phone at Jacob. “You want to fucking explain to me why I have twenty-two fucking messages on my phone and it was turned off?! I told you it was important!”

  Jacob blinked at him, surprised by the level of his anger. “It’s probably because of that Lamplighter nutcase,” he said.

  Ezekiel stared at him. “What?” he said. Then he got loud again because really, he couldn’t help it. This was un-fucking-believable. “What?!”

  “Will you please calm down?” Jacob said.

  “No, fuck this,” Ezekiel said, stalking past him to get his keys, wallet and ID off the kitchen table. “I’m going to work. I can’t believe you didn’t wake me up.”

  “I can’t believe you can’t believe it,” Jacob said. “You needed to sleep. Whatever’s happened, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  Ezekiel paused on his way to the door and glared. “What do you mean, ‘whatever’s happened’? You just said—”

  “Well, yes. I suppose I might have some idea what it’s about,” Jacob said. “That Lamplighter killer has been at it again. Twice.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” Ezekiel said. He turned and rushed the rest of the way to the door.

  �
�Zeke, you’re still wearing your pajamas!” Jacob called after him.

  “I don’t care!” Ezekiel shouted back.

  Jacob followed him out and stood at the top of the steps watching him get into his car and start it. The window was rolled down, so Ezekiel heard him say, “I’ll bring your clothes by in an hour!” Then he was backing out of the driveway.

  He walked into the federal building forty-five minutes later and was stared at going through security, but no one stopped him or asked him about his clothes. He was greeted by name and let through. Twilight Zone pajama pants and a Black Flag shirt were not cause for alarm on an official level.

  Ezekiel got off the elevator and crossed to the double doors behind which his team had their offices and desks, but he paused when he heard his name. His name spoken in anger by Albert Brockden. He had excellent hearing and he tilted his head a little to listen.

  “This team needs someone reliable to lead it,” Brockden was saying.

  He was talking to Gonzales, both of them with their backs to the glass doors. She nodded her agreement.

  “Agent Herod’s a good man, everyone knows it, but he’s young. They had no business putting him in charge of something like this. Especially not if he’s ill. I mean, my god, the man goes AWOL at least once a month for a day or two. Who knows what health problems he has?”

  “Mhmm,” was Gonzales’s only response. She raised a paper cup of coffee and sipped from it.

  “You can’t count on a man to lead when you can’t even count on him to be there when it all blows up,” Brockden said. “We just got this case and it’s huge, then he falls off the face of the earth. You know why they gave him this position don’t you?”

  “Why’s that?” Gonzales asked.

  “You heard about his brother? Agent Jacob Herod?”

  She nodded. “I heard he went crazy. Right out there in the field. Heard they had to restrain him or he’d have shot a suspect in cold blood.”

  “Oh, yeah. He took a leave of absence. A long one,” Brockden said. “He’s still an agent I guess, but he can’t be in the field anymore. Lost his mind out there. Couldn’t take it. It happens sometimes. Only reason Ezekiel Herod’s here is they were going to move away from Virginia and the director was already in the process of approving a behavior analysis team working out of a west coast office. Just a trial, you know. He gave the thing to Herod or he’d have taken a demotion on account of his crazy brother. He takes care of him, so said, but I got to wonder what’s really going on there when he up and disappears like this.”