But soon the beige vinyl siding begins to bend and buckle and shrivel and blacken. He can see it go malleable, the textured vinyl going smooth, turning to goo. Softening like a milkshake. Liquefying.
And it weeps now. Melted vinyl seeping down the side of the building in slow motion. Viscous vinyl jelly a consistency somewhere between taffy and pudding.
“Yes,” he says, breathing it more than speaking it. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
In the mirror, dilated pupils stare back at him. Gaping black pits where his irises should be. A glimpse into the void within. Whatever secrets might wriggle in there almost visible in this moment. The wild animal inside almost brought to the surface. Almost.
A big patch of vinyl falls into the dumpster, stretching two strings of melted goo off each side like strands of drool hanging from the corners of a St. Bernard’s mouth.
Yes.
The fire brightens as it climbs to the top of the mattress and wraps itself fully around the foam thing. Embracing it. Engulfing it. The orange now veers toward white.
Bigger. Faster. Hotter. Meaner.
Fuck yes.
And it occurs to him that this fire is his. His doing. His being. This uncontrollable force he loosed upon the world. His power. His self projected outward onto the world.
This little light of mine.
His eyes water from staring into the brightness, but he dare not look away. Dare not miss so much as a second until he hears sirens.
Now the vinyl seems to fry in place. Bubbling. Blackening. Sticking to the plywood like cooked bits of scrambled egg sticking to the edge of the pan.
The wood begins to glow right along with the mattress. Blazing and brilliant and ready to go up any second now.
And he can see her in his imagination. Cowering. Whimpering. The fire soon closing around her like a bear trap. No hesitation. No mercy.
And his body shakes. Sweat pouring down his face. Electricity thrumming through every cell of his being.
But then the mattress shifts. Lowers. Sagging some in the middle. Sinking.
The fireball of foam slides deeper into the dumpster. Releases the wall from its touch. A plume of sparks rise from the point of impact, bursting out of the dumpster and floating up — the fire’s last hurrah.
And the red coals where the plywood had started to ignite dim to black all at once. Still smoking. Still smoldering. But fading.
No.
The mattress sinks further. Most of it now encased in the metal walls of the dumpster.
The word sunk echoes in his head.
It feels like something has been torn from his chest. Some vital organ ripped clean. Still beating. A gaping vacancy where it’s supposed to be.
A hole. A hole in his being.
The fire still rages in the dumpster, but it’s contained now. Caged like a zoo animal. Neutered and toothless. No longer a threat. No longer the wild, savage thing it was just seconds ago.
His fingers fumble for the keys at the ignition. He starts the engine and shifts into drive in one motion. Moving on. Moving away. He wishes this was another homeless face he could forget, but no. This is more than that.
The emptiness creeps over him again. Some void opening in his belly. All those jittery stimulated feelings fleeing him, leaving him alone again.
No joy. No satisfaction.
He passes under streetlight after streetlight as he flees the scene. Those metal limbs reaching out above him to hold up their glowing bulbs to the heavens for no good reason. Feels like a dotted line hung up there, light and dark doing battle as always. Marking the time. Blinking. Counting down to nothing.
Again he sees it. The mattress sagging, sinking, falling into a fiery heap in the dumpster.
All his efforts thwarted just like that. The damsel escapes the villain with ease. She didn’t even need a hero to intervene on her behalf.
He twists his hands on the steering wheel. Tries to push the pictures in his head down, away.
When the fire fails, he fails. When the fire is nothing, he is nothing.
He is no one. The worst thing you can be in L.A.
There exists no fate lonelier than being nobody.
Chapter 29
Pale yellow light seeped in through the curtains of Darger’s hotel room. She’d woken early to make a donut and coffee run before Beck arrived, and now she set the food and drink down on the dresser and shoved the curtains aside. Might as well have a little light in the room while she waited for her ride.
She ate half a donut and checked her watch. A quarter to six. Beck should arrive any minute now.
Just as she reached for the other half of her donut, a digital chime spurted from her phone. It was a text from Captain Beck.
I’m here.
Darger hoisted the box of donuts and the cardboard beverage carrier and headed down to the lobby.
Beck waited at the curb in her Nissan. As Darger climbed into the passenger seat, she noticed the package of assorted muffins in the backseat. There were also bottles of orange juice and water.
She glanced at Beck, who was eyeballing the coffee and donuts. Their eyes met, and they both started to laugh.
“Well, we won’t go hungry.”
Fastening her seatbelt, Darger directed Beck to Sablatsky’s house. It was another perfect California day, with clear skies and just a hint of a breeze. Darger turned Beck’s radio to the channel the surveillance detail was using and announced their arrival.
“Unicorn is on the scene.”
“Greetings, Unicorn. This is Mountain Lion. If you’re all set here, we’ll return to the den now.”
“Roger that. Have a good one, Mountain Lion.”
The tail lights of a black Jeep Cherokee came to life, and Beck slid into the parking spot behind it. The driver leaned over so his face was visible in the side mirror and gave them a nod before pulling into the street.
“Did I hear that right?” someone said over the radio. “Team Unicorn?”
Darger recognized Luck’s voice. She squinted against the bright morning sun and spotted Luck’s Lexus parked on the opposite side of the street.
“Considering we’re the only all-female team on the detail, it seemed appropriate,” she said. “Plus, unicorns symbolize wisdom.”
“And which one of you is the wise one?” Luck teased.
Darger glared through the windshield, though she doubted Luck could make out her scowl at this distance.
“You know what a unicorn’s horn symbolizes, don’t you?” Darger asked.
“No.”
“Stabbing idiots.”
There was a burst of laughter over the radio, and then they went quiet. Darger pulled one of the cups of coffee from the drink carrier and lifted the lid.
Beck eyed it wistfully.
“God, that smells good.”
“Well it’s decaf, which I know is generally a sacrilege. But nothing really goes with donuts like coffee. The other two are hot water in case you’d prefer your herbal tea.”
“Lord, no,” Beck said, snatching up one of the coffees.
She sipped the steaming black brew and sighed.
“So close. And yet… there’s something missing.”
“Isn’t that weird?” Darger said. “How you can just instantly tell it’s decaf?”
Beck nodded.
“And it’s not the taste, either. It’s the texture, I think. Or maybe… am I crazy or does real coffee almost leave a little tingle on your tongue?”
Darger took a drink from her own cup.
“I’ll let you know the next time I have some.”
Frowning at the beverage in Darger’s hand, Beck said, “I hope you’re not drinking decaf on my account.”
Darger’s lips quirked into a smile.
“No, I have a strict No Caffeine policy during stakeouts. It’s embarrassing to have to announce to the rest of the teams that you have to use the Little Girls’ Room. Especially when you’re the only woman on the detail.”
“You nee
d one of these,” Beck said, patting her belly. “No one gives you any crap when you’re pregnant.”
The radio crackled, Luck’s voice bursting through the static.
“How are you ladies doing over there?”
“We’re fine,” Darger answered.
“I just feel a little guilty, is all,” he said. “Over here in my Lexus, we were just commenting on how comfortable the seats are. It’s one of the many benefits of the brand, you know.”
Beck frowned at her, looking perplexed.
“I was giving him shit about his Lexus being an overpriced Toyota,” Darger explained. Into the radio, she said, “I’m happy for you, Luck. I know how delicate you are. Does the Lexus make you a glass of warm milk at bedtime, too?”
Chuckling, Beck helped herself to a donut.
“So what’s up with you two?”
“Me and Luck?”
“Yeah.”
“Nothing.”
Beck arched one eyebrow.
“Nothing?”
“We dated. Briefly. And it was a long time ago.”
Snapping her fingers, Beck said, “I knew there was something.”
“How?”
“All that adorable banter? Dead giveaway.”
Darger made a disgusted noise.
“What?” Beck asked.
“‘Adorable banter.’ Sounds like a phrase they’d use to pitch a really bad sitcom. I feel guilty subjecting other people to such a thing.”
The police captain chuckled.
“It’s not so bad,” she insisted. “Anything to pass the time, right? Speaking of which, I’ve got a few podcasts we could listen to.”
“Sure,” Darger said. “If today turns out like yesterday, we’re in for a very long, very boring day.”
Tapping the screen of her phone, Beck loaded a podcast about conspiracy theories and the people who believe them. After that came a story about a police officer who had once been called to a car accident scene and found a chimpanzee driving the car.
Darger’s attention waxed and waned. With her eyes glued to Sablatsky’s little yellow box of a house, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to in there. Her mind concocted sinister scenarios, picturing him digitally stalking his next target via Google Maps or prepping one of his soda bottle gas cans. The next moment, she imagined him doing something mundane: sprawled out in an old chenille recliner watching ESPN news or feeding his pet goldfish (which was, as far as Darger knew, entirely imaginary).
It was easy to picture these guys up to nefarious things at all hours of the day, but the truth was, most of them lived pretty normal lives the 90% of the time they weren’t committing heinous crimes. That’s what made them so hard to spot. They hid in plain sight. Pretending to be normal folk, just like the rest.
They’d been on the detail for four hours when Beck blew out a long breath.
“I’ve been trying to fight the good fight, but at some point, it becomes a losing battle.”
Darger had no idea what she was talking about, so she waited for Beck to explain further. The other woman threw her hands up.
“I have to pee.”
“Oh,” Darger said, laughing a little. “Me too.”
“Yeah, but you could hold it if you had to. I’m jeopardizing the whole operation here with my weak bladder.”
“They’ll be fine. Sablatsky’s probably in there trimming his toenails or something.” Darger picked up the radio. “Hey, Toyota — oops… I mean, Timber Wolf. We need to make a quick pit stop if that’s OK.”
“Roger that, Unibrow. Timber Wolf will hold down the fort.”
Beck swung her neck around to make sure the way was clear before pulling into the street. As they passed the Lexus, Darger considered giving Luck the finger. Then she remembered Beck’s comment about “adorable banter” and decided against it.
The marquee outside the gas station a few blocks from Sablatsky’s place boasted 2-for-1 Nacho Cheese Filled Hot Dogs. Darger wondered — not for the first time — who bought gas station hot dogs. This new addition of cheese filling perplexed her even more.
She and Beck took turns using the facilities inside, and then headed back to the Altima. Darger twitched her shoulders and rolled her neck back and forth a few times before getting back in.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, ducking into the passenger seat, “just being able to get out and stretch my legs for a few minutes? A dream. Not to mention being able to go to the bathroom. I’m good for another eight hours after that reset. I should team up with a pregnant woman for every stakeout detail.”
“Or yourself,” Beck said.
“Pardon?”
“Well, you could be your own pregnant lady.”
Without intending to, Darger must have made a face, because Beck laughed.
“Sorry, that was supposed to be a joke, but I know some women are sensitive about that,” she said. “I take it you’re not big on the idea of kids?”
Shaking her head, Darger said, “Oh no. I love kids. I’d love to have kids, even. But the actual pregnancy part?” Darger made a noise. “It’s so… weird.”
Beck raised her eyebrows and looked down at her swollen midsection.
“Yeah, it is pretty dang weird, I guess. Kind of like having a little stowaway inside, helping itself to whatever it needs.”
“Exactly!”
“But you get used to it,” Beck insisted. “I had terrible morning sickness my first pregnancy. But the last two have been pretty smooth sailing. Knock on wood.”
Back in place outside Sablatsky’s house, Darger settled in for a few more hours of sitting. She fought the urge to doze off for a while, blinking and yawning every few seconds. She remembered suddenly that Beck had never reported back on what, if anything, she’d found on the owner of the old church.
Darger sat up straighter, stretching her shoulders a little.
“Did you ever get a chance to look at Howard Thorne’s history?”
Beck gasped and smacker herself in the forehead.
“Georgina, you airhead!” she said, then sighed. “I meant to tell you first thing, and it just completely slipped my mind.”
“Does that mean you found something?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Beck shook her head. “Jeez Louise, I’m even messing up the telling. We didn’t find anything on Thorne. But we found something else.”
“What is it?”
“Well, I had my guys go through the fires for the last five years, like you said.”
Nodding, Darger waited for her to continue.
“We didn’t find diddly. Nothing that matched our guy’s M.O., anyway.” Beck held up a finger. “But then I went back a little further, and that’s where things got interesting.”
Darger was growing restless with Beck’s protracted method of storytelling, but urged herself to be patient.
“Three summers in a row, there was a rash of small fires at different campgrounds in the county. The fire investigator at the time put them down as accidental. But in several of the fires, they found melted plastic bottles near the scene. And all of the fires had some kind of accelerant used.”
“And they didn’t figure arson?” Darger asked.
Shrugging, Beck said, “I talked to the guy. The arson investigator from back then. He said he figured it was idiots dousing their fires with lighter fluid or kerosene. People being stupid, not evil.”
“How far back did you go?”
“This all took place ten, twelve years ago.”
Darger pondered this, considered how to incorporate this new information with where they were in the investigation. She’d suspected before that the arsonist had been to the San Bernardino area before, that he hadn’t chosen the church by accident. This could be the connection she’d been looking for.
“We need to find out if Sablatsky has ties to your area. Maybe he had family there or something.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Beck said.
They settled back into a pen
sive silence. Beck had unearthed something. That was good. But for the moment, it didn’t change the fact that they were stuck in a holding pattern of watching and waiting.
At a quarter to three, Darger let out a long sigh. Their shift was almost done. Another day of nothing.
“I’m gonna get myself a pocketknife and a wooden stick,” she said. “Every day we spend out here, I’ll carve a notch into the wood.”
“And in the meantime, you can teach yourself to whittle.”
Darger laughed.
“Maybe that’s not a bad idea. My partner’s always bugging me to get a hobby.”
A few minutes later, a silver Honda arrived on the scene.
“Manta Ray, reporting for duty,” a voice over the radio said.
“What do you say we let Luck’s team leave first?” Darger suggested. “Considering they let us go for our mid-day pit stop?”
“Fine with me,” Beck said.
“You go ahead, Timber Wolf,” Darger said into the radio. “You guys take off.”
They watched the silver car trade places with the Lexus on the opposite side of the street. As Luck drew alongside them, he slowed and rolled down his window.
“It’s almost a shame for this shift to end, what with my Lexus being so dang comfortable.”
Suddenly the radio squawked.
“He’s on the move!”
“What?”
Darger couldn’t see Sablatsky’s house. Luck’s stupid Lexus was blocking her view. She scooted forward in her seat just in time to see Sablatsky’s SUV reverse rapidly from his driveway and speed away.
“There’s a goddamn school bus over here. We’re blocked in,” the other car reported. “I repeat, this is Manta Ray, and we are blocked in.”
“Oh shit,” Darger said. “Let’s go.”
Beck put the car in gear, but Luck’s vehicle was pinning them to the curb. And he wasn’t moving. He was staring at his own radio, seeming to not quite understand what was going on.
“Luck!” Darger shouted through the window.
His head snapped up.
“Move!”
“Fuck. Sorry,” he said, rolling forward so they had room to merge into the street.
Beck cranked the wheel and gunned it out of the parking spot.
Violet Darger (Book 6): Night On Fire Page 15
