by C. D. Neill
He would have liked to have watched the house burn down. He hated to start something without knowing how it would end but he would return later, he would admire his handiwork when it was safe to do so. He had chosen the flames because they were his favourite. He had chosen a beautiful death for the policeman, because in some way he respected the man’s refusal to be scared or back down. She considered the policeman to be stupid, an idiot. He didn’t share her opinion, although he would never say. But he chose the flames for this reason; to share beauty as a sign of respect. And he knew the flames would be beautiful, they always were. It wasn’t just that they were hypnotic or unpredictable, although he liked that. It was his relationship with fire. The attraction to something that was unattainable, that would never love you back. The promise that no matter how much you admired it’s power or mystery, it would hurt you. That was why he loved her of course, she was his fire. Her heart was cold and unfeeling but she burned with such intensity, it made him want her more. She was his paradox. No-one would or could ever understand her, It made her a mystery. And no one would ever be able to claim her as their own. That made her powerful, but also deadly. She was his fire. He looked at the house and wished again that he could stay. The thrill of what was to come excited him, but he was prepared, just this once, to let the policeman have the pleasure for himself. The policeman had no idea how lucky he was.
“One must win one’s own place in the spiritual world painfully and alone. There is no other way to salvation.”
Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life. 1923
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hammond woke up choking, He felt coolness on his face and drank in the air greedily. The sudden intake made him vomit. The hands that were pumping on his chest ceased as the figure that had sat astride him rolled off. His eyes were stinging, he couldn’t see anything but blur as he lay. Gradually his vision returned. All around him he could sense heat. He had no sense of smell but he could hear. The crackle of flames were deafening. Slowly he moved his head and saw an elfin like figure kneeling beside him. Hammond recognised Jenny and tried to speak her name. She couldn’t hear his whisper so he reached to touch her and then she looked down at him. Through the blur he could see her blackened face, streaked with the tears that rolled down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. As he moved to a seated position, he saw the smoke that bellowed from the door and then he realised. He shouted to Jenny but found his throat had tightened and he couldn’t speak. He moved quickly, grabbing her arm and gesturing wildly. The sudden movement made him dizzy and he almost fell but he recovered and grasped Jenny again, pushing her towards the front of the house. He mouthed the words he wanted her to understand. “Mary!” He pointed to the next house and she gaped in horror before joining him. He half ran, half limped his way to the next house, desperate to find something that could smash the window. Eventually he found a plant pot and threw it at Mary’s living room window. Smoke seeped through the broken glass and he knew he had to get into the house quickly. He held his breath as he tried to stop himself from inhaling more smoke. Neighbours had started to run into the street, a man saw Hammond and realised what he was trying to do, he ran over to where Hammond was and helped him to remove the glass from the window frame. The man leaped into the house through the opening. Jenny was shouting at the man, he didn’t hear her so she vaulted in after him. People were surrounding Hammond, they tried to pull him away from Mary’s house but he resisted. He waited, feeling powerless. He shouted for Jenny to come out but he couldn’t see her. By now the smoke was pouring from both houses, ashes rained down onto the street like snow. The street was a blur of activity as people gathered watching the scene before them with helpless horror. He saw the lights flashing from the approaching fire engines and found himself praying a mantra. “Please get her out safely.”
“We make our own world.”
Henry Havelock Ellis. The Dance of Life. 1923
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Later Jenny would say that it was Hammond’s temper that had saved them. He had awoken her when he had slammed the front door closed. She had tried to get back to sleep but had smelt burning before the smoke alarm had alerted her to hurry downstairs. The fire had taken less than four minutes to take hold before she found Hammond at the foot of the steps. Somehow she had dragged him to the door and pulled him down the front steps by wrapping her arms around his chest and struggling backwards. He never would understand how she had managed it. She had not only saved his life, but also Mary’s. Mary hadn’t smelt the smoke that seeped through the walls of the terraced house or heard the roar of the flames on the other side of the wall, but she understood Jenny’s signing as the girl and the man jostled her awake from her bed. All three had escaped the house before the poisonous gases had polluted the air enough to have rendered them unconscious.
Hammond rested his head on his bandaged hands and waited for the nurse to complete her tasks. He had waited over an hour whilst she attended to Jenny and during that time he found he couldn’t get the image of his blazing house out of his mind. It was hard to believe that there would be no home to return to. The smell of burning lingered on his body and clothes so that even the slightest movement was enough to overwhelm him with the stench of destruction. He tried to doze but every time he closed his eyes he envisioned flames devouring his possessions. He couldn’t care less about the furniture or even his prized collection of vinyl records, it was the lost photo-albums that caused him to feel despair. The albums with his wedding pictures, images of Paul growing from a wrinkled baby into a young man. They were irreplaceable. The thought made him catch his breath and he found himself weeping silently into his cocooned hands.
Eventually the nurse pulled back the curtains around Jenny’s bed and beckoned him to approach. She occupied herself ticking boxes on the forms attached on a clipboard but he was aware of her sympathetic gaze whilst watching his disabled advance. The nurse replaced the clipboard onto the foot of Jenny’s bed and looked at him directly as she replaced her pen into her top left breast pocket of her uniform.
“My, you have been in the wars.” Hammond looked at her unsure how to reply so instead he gave a polite smile. The nurse took the hint and left the two survivors alone.
“What an appropriate choice of words.” Jenny wasn’t looking her best. Without a trace of her usual black eyeliner, she looked incredibly young. Withheld emotion hiccupped in his throat.
“You could have been killed Jenny.”
She looked at him then and offered her hand, which he covered with his bandaged paw as he sat beside her bed.
“Right bunch of weirdo’s aren’t we?” Despite the solemnity of their situation, Hammond uttered a sound resembling a chuckle. It was true their appearance attracted attention. Jenny with her singed hair and reddened eyes, Hammond with bandaged limbs that made him look more like a teddy bear than a man.
“Can I do anything for you?” Hammond felt helpless seeing her looking so vulnerable, he felt responsible for her having been in danger.
Have they called your family yet, do you want them here?” It was an awkward question since Jenny had never spoken of her family but Hammond believed it was necessary to approach the subject.
Instead of replying, Jenny looked at him with a serious expression. “You are already here, Wally.”
Whilst Jenny slept, Hammond located Mary on the ward further down the corridor. She was obviously pleased to see him and kept stroking his bandaged hands as if administering healing powers. Her gentle manner was humbling and for a moment he was reminded of his mother stroking his forehead when he was tired as a boy. Through gestures he reassured her Jenny was going to be fine. Her eyes glistened and she mouthed to him her joy at hearing the news. Watching her delight that his reassurance brought to her, Hammond felt a touch of envy as he was reminded of Jenny’s friendship with the woman who was at least forty years Jenny’s senior. His fear at losing Jenny in the fire reminded him that, although he wouldn’t admit it, he had grown to lo
ve Jenny as a daughter, but even he would not be able to relate to Jenny the way Mary could. He would never be able to communicate in their silent language or be able to understand what made them smile and giggle. Their friendship was exclusive, and omitted even him. He stayed with Mary until her breakfast was served before making his excuses and headed down to the newsagent stall on the ground floor. He considered buying Jenny some magazines and leafed through several but wasn’t confident that she would be interested in articles instructing her how to get the man of her dreams or reading 2011’s horoscope forecast. He checked his watch and decided to catch a bus into town. Once there he found a second hand bookstore and was delighted to find a copy of Havelock Ellis’ ‘The Dance of Life’. Only hours earlier He had had a copy on his own bookshelf but now it was just a pile of ashes. He allowed self pity to sweep over him momentarily before he leafed through the copy in his hand. He began to smile as he relived the quotations he had learnt to love as a young man. The book wasn’t an original but it had retained the musty smell of antique pages and he pressed his nose into the edges of the book inhaling deeply. He paid using the credit card he had thankfully retained in his pocket the previous evening and pretended not to notice as the salesman gazed sympathetically at his bandaged hands. On leaving the shop, the sky seemed bright with a gentle breeze that seemed out of place for the season. Hammond realised he still smelt of smoke and entered the first clothes store he came across. He changed into a new white shirt and chose a pair of dark trousers and matching jacket before settling on a striped tie. He was surprised to discover he was two sizes smaller than usual. The labels were torn off and handed over at the till to be scanned with the new underwear and socks. Accepting the offer of a carrier bag, he shoved the old clothes into it before disposing of it as soon as he got outside. On the way back towards the bus stop, Hammond bought toiletries, food and several bottles of mineral water from the supermarket and headed back to the hospital.
Jenny was awake, she had sat herself up and was fiddling with her IV drip with an irritated expression as Hammond entered the ward.
Without speaking, Hammond handed her the book and watched as she fluttered through the pages for several minutes before glancing back at him with an enquiring look.
“It’s a late Christmas present. I thought it might give you some guidance.” Hammond smiled sheepishly. For him gift offering was an embarrassing act for it was only ever meant as a display of endearment. Jenny replied with a polite curve of the lips, she looked back at the book and made a display of reading the first pages. Impatiently Hammond pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed, he leaned across her slightly, his enthusiasm for the subject now ignited. “Havelock Ellis is the personification of irony. He is the kind of guy you would like; Known to be the foremost sexual psychologist of his time, he was a virgin until his thirties, married a lesbian and was impotent before he realised, in his sixties, that he got turned on by watching women go for a wee!”
Hammond’s description of the author was a humorous attempt to divert Jenny’s attention away from what his offering meant. In truth, Hammond wanted to share with her an enlightening that Ellis’ musings had offered the younger Hammond.
“So you’re saying that I will like him because he was obsessed with sex?” There was a hint of annoyance in her tone. He was quick to set her straight.
“No. I was just explaining why he was so famous..” His tone changed into one of sobriety. “You know Jenny...it is so easy to fall into a routine and live each day out of habit. It is more comfortable to live our lives without stopping to observe our patterns of behaviour or even consider why we think or behave the way we do. If we paused for a moment, we may see that one word we utter or one action we perform can have consequences for ourselves or others that we cannot measure if we do not allow ourselves to notice...” Jenny was looking at Hammond with an expression of confusion etched into her brow. “Occasionally there will be one person who takes the time to observe and teach us what he or she has learned and when they do, the lessons are the same...we learn that life really is quite simple, that we do not have to make it so complicated. Life is a continuum, there is no reason to feel fear at the prospect of change...” Hammond realised he was gabbling. He was lost in his words as if hearing himself from far away. Despite his wish to share wisdom with Jenny, he realised it was himself he was talking to. What did I do to make all this happen? But there was no self-pity in his question, instead a sense of complacency overcame him. I have to move on, he thought. Most of what I loved has now gone, my marriage is over, my home is destroyed. The mementos of a past life gone with it, but I have a future. The thought humbled him. He became aware of Jenny watching him so intently he felt as if he were naked, allowing his inner thoughts to become visible. He corrected his posture and tone back into reserved mode and pointed to the book in Jenny’s lap. “...Ellis is one of those people who took the time to observe.” Hammond found his voice faltering; he wasn’t sure how to continue so ended the topic by leaning back away from where his elbows had rested on the bed.
“To be honest, Wally. I’ve never heard of him, but he sounds a cool guy. I’ll read it, thanks.”
“Do you know the expression; “Making a mountain out of a molehill?” Hammond chose the one he figured she would be most familiar with. He acknowledged her nod before pointing to the book. “Ellis wrote that!”
Hammond left Jenny after gently but firmly persuading her to return to her studies in London. All her protests were ignored as he reminded her that not only had she escaped from a burning building, but that she had saved the lives of two others. That fact alone should act as evidence that she was emotionally strong enough to face an ex-girlfriend. In reality he wasn’t sure whether what he said was true. He worried that the trauma of the fire would leave Jenny more reluctant to face another emotional ordeal, but his words seemed to inspire her for she agreed to join Paul within the week ready for the new term. Hammond stayed whilst she gave her statement to the visiting investigators before submitting his own. His mind was switched onto automatic mode as he answered each question with as much detail as he could remember, but even as he offered the information they requested, he couldn’t make any sense of what had happened. The Christmas tree lights had not been turned on. He did not smoke, neither had he used any accelerant in the house. His instinct told him that the fire had been started deliberately and he had said so, noting the look that passed between the two officers. It gave him a sense of foreboding which he forced to the back of his mind. Afterwards he dialled Paul’s number and did his best to sound as reassuring as possible.
The police station was the closest thing to home for Hammond, which is why he automatically ventured there when remembering he had no home to go to. He went downstairs and showered, making an effort to shampoo his hair several times to rid himself of the stench of smoke that seemed to seep through every pore. He dried himself using his old socks and redressed in his new garments. After several failed attempts to zip up his trousers, he removed the bandages that had covered his hands and surveyed them, realising with relief that despite the sting, they were not as badly burned as he had feared.
News of the fire spread as rapidly as the fire itself. By ten o’ clock, images of his burning home were in the local newspapers and on television. He watched the news report on the internet but found it difficult to view. His mind swayed between feeling sorry for himself and worrying about Harris. He still had no idea whether Harris had simply got lost or whether he had left the house in a rage and was sulking somewhere but whatever the explanation, it wasn’t the typical behaviour of the man Hammond had known. But maybe he never was, he thought. Maybe I never knew him. He pushed the thought away and phoned Kathleen from the office, her mobile was switched off. After several attempts to phone the house and failing, he left a message on her answer-phone to call his mobile and began searching for an update on the Graham Robert’s murder investigation. He still hadn’t heard whether his suspicions on Samuel Lawson ha
d been correct. There was a need to know and he had no confidence that Morris had any intention of informing him on his findings. He had no home to go to, there was no point going to a hotel until the evening so in the meantime, it made sense to stay where he was and be useful. Hammond was aware that he was forming a justifiable excuse for being at the station whilst on sick-leave but the truth was, Hammond needed to be occupied. Other than Paul and Jenny, who didn’t need him, work was all he had left.
“Oh good, they said you were here!”
Hammond switched off the computer somewhat guiltily, he would prefer his search to be discreet.
“He was there! We got the bastard!” Galvin was waving something at Hammond who was having trouble seeing what the object was. He held up a hand wearily hoping that Galvin would calm down enough to allow him to examine the e-fit that Galvin was holding.
“I watched the news report about your fire on the TV, and he was there!” Galvin hesitated as he noted Hammond’s look of confusion.
“The guy who was watching your house on the night Cheryl Bailey was murdered!”
Hammond returned to the computer and connected to the news report he had just abandoned, he waved Galvin over to his side of the desk to watch over his shoulder. The images Hammond had earlier avoided were now enlarged onto full screen; Hammond studied the images with concentration, doing his best to pretend they weren’t depicting the smouldering remains of his own home. The camera panned from the reporter as she described how a neighbour had seen a young girl pulling an unconscious man from his burning home.
Galvin was poking a finger at the screen. “There! That’s him! In the crowd, can you see?”
Hammond pressed pause and peered closer. His heart was palpitating; he unconsciously rubbed his chest as he examined the scene on the screen. The figure Galvin’s finger was pointing to was standing in front of the destroyed building amongst a group of about ten other spectators but he was alienating himself from the crowd. Whilst some were watching the reporter or were distracted by the sight of the investigating officers, the man stood staring at the smouldering debris as if he were admiring a piece of artwork. He was in profile, but it was possible to see the man’s face. His mouth was open slightly as if he were entranced by what he was seeing. Hammond recognised the expression on the man’s face. It was pride. He felt a jolt of jubilation as he realised Galvin was right. They had the arsonist in their sight, but then he felt an indescribable flare of anger wrench itself free from his stomach as he imagined what could have happened.
