He reached into the side drawer and pulled out the old Bible his grandfather had left him. He thumbed through the thin pages until he reached the picture that he’d tucked in there years ago.
The image was of Joan and him, taken in the spring of their senior year. They were dressed for the spring formal. He had rented a tux, and she wore a red halter dress that showed off her figure. It had been cold as hell that night, and this picture had been snapped seconds before she had been forced to swap the heels for boots and slide on a thick overcoat. She looked sexy as hell in that gown and boots. But even better now, he thought as he slowly put the picture back in the Bible.
His phone rang, with the medical examiner on the other end. There was no way he could have picked up Tucker’s body and had any information yet.
“Doc.”
“I got your message about the DNA. Elijah Weston is not the baby’s father.”
Gideon pulled in a slow breath. “I got one more test for you.”
Confessions of an Arsonist
The time has come. She will die tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Missoula, Montana
Friday, September 11, 2020
1:00 a.m.
Under the moonless sky, he stood outside the garage apartment and stared up at the window near where he knew Joan was sleeping. His last fire for her had been a gentle message. It was his nice way of telling her she needed to leave town and let the folks here live the lives they were meant to live.
But she would not leave. She kept pressing. And she would keep on pushing and turning over every rock until she exposed him. And that was not going to happen. Ever.
Gasoline had sloshed in the milk jugs as he walked up to the main entrance of the property. This fire was not going to be a warning. It was going to be his final message to Joan.
He set two jugs by the side and primary entrance into the apartment upstairs. Once the flames caught, they would travel up the stairs, bringing along a black smoke and flames that would chew up the oxygen. The garage would burn nicely before Gideon would be alerted in the main house. And as long as the wind did not pick up, poor Gideon would not lose his house because of this bitch.
He moved around to the back side of the structure and set the remaining two jugs by the back exit. Whether she ran down the front or the back stairs, his fire would be there to greet her like an old friend.
He struck the first match and tossed it at the jug of gasoline. The vapors caught on fire instantly and flames jumped, whooshing like a dragon taking flight. His creature had taken its first breath.
Confessions of an Arsonist
“And I will be to her a wall of fire all around, declares the Lord, and I will be the glory in her midst.” Zechariah 2:5.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Missoula, Montana
Friday, September 11, 2020
1:05 a.m.
The smoke detector woke Joan up out of a deep sleep. She had barely slept in weeks, but tonight when her head hit the pillow, she had felt that all the pieces of the fires were coming together.
The alarm blaring, she jumped out of bed, heart jackhammering into her ribs, and ran to the door. Black smoke was angrily marching up the main staircase. It would be only a matter of seconds before it breached the room. She raised her arm to her nose and stepped back, turning to the back staircase. She opened the exit and was immediately hit by the heat of a second fire.
Coughing, she hurried into the kitchen and turned on the cold tap. Grabbing a dish towel, she soaked it with water and draped it over her head before she dropped to her knees and crawled to the utility cabinet. She grabbed the fire ladder Gideon had showed her in the closet and dragged it back toward the window.
Her lungs and eyes burned with acrid smoke. It was nearly impossible to see as she pried open the side of the box and yanked out the ladder. She forced herself to her feet and flipped the lock on the window. The window sash, however, was stuck in place from a recent paint job.
She grabbed one of the stools at the counter and rammed it into the window. A couple of the panes broke, but the wood frame did not give way. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip and hit the window again. More glass shattered, but it was still not a big enough opening for her to fit through.
The cool air rushed in, and even as she greedily breathed in the fresh air, the fire behind her bellowed and pulled as it consumed the oxygen. She struck the window again, and this time the frame gave way and fell to the ground below.
Her head spinning, she reached for the end of the ladder, hooked it onto the ledge, and tossed it over the side. The rungs rolled down and caught halfway as the heat behind her scorched her back.
As she climbed onto the ledge, she saw someone near the corner of the big house.
A sudden explosion sounded behind her, blasting hot embers across the room and against her back. The damp cloth was helping, but she would be lucky to have another few seconds.
As she gripped the sill, shattered glass cut into the palms of her hands. She felt nothing as the blood poured over her fingers and she slung herself over the sill. With her foot, she desperately searched for the first rung of the ladder, which shifted and swayed against the house.
Looking back into the apartment, she glared at the fire, an angry red beast that snarled back, almost grinning as if it knew she’d been seconds away from dying. She froze, unable to shift her attention away from the formidable creature that was almost mesmerizing.
The ladder shifted under her feet as the ceiling beams in the apartment began to collapse. The spell broke, and she skipped the next rung down to get away as fast as she could.
Blood made her palms slick, and gripping the ladder became difficult. Her hands slipped twice as she struggled to keep her feet on the twisting rungs swaying in the wind. Heat from above rained over her as glowing debris tumbled down.
When she was five feet from the ground, the window ledge above gave way, and the right hook disengaged. Her grip tightened, but the chain ladder twisted violently, knocking her against the side of the garage. The siding cut into her ribs, knocking the air from her. Her fingers slipped, and she lost her grip completely and fell to the ground.
She landed on her feet hard. Her ankle rolled, but she did not go down. The fire howled and glowed above her as the structure began to collapse in on itself.
Joan pushed up to her feet, teetering as she struggled to put distance between her and the fire. Her legs wobbled, and pain from her ribs knifed her from within. Still, she stumbled back several steps. She was not going to let this damn fire kill her.
As she took another step and then another, she felt hope that she would survive this. Her gaze on her feet, she never saw the blow that came at her from behind. She took a strike to her lower back that dropped her to her knees.
“Fucking bitch!” a deep voice growled. “What’s it going to take to kill you?”
She tried to rise, but a heavy boot kicked her forward. Her face hit the ground, dirt and blood filling her mouth.
“You’re going to burn alive if it’s the last thing I do.”
She looked up into Clarke’s lifeless eyes, which mirrored the growing flames behind him. “You gutless shit,” she spat out.
“Yeah, aren’t you the smart one?” he hissed. “You were in my house.”
She winced as she pushed farther back from him and the burning structure.
Clarke stepped toward her. “I have tiny bits of paper stuck in the doors and windows. I always know if anyone has disturbed them.”
She pushed back a few more inches, gritting her teeth as her body screamed in pain. “You set the fires, didn’t you? All of them.”
He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet. Twisting it behind her back, he shoved her toward the fully engulfed building. “Maybe not all, but nearly all. It was going so well. And then you came back.”
Her gaze locked on the raging fire as its heat scorched her skin.
“In case you’re wondering, I set the College Fire. It was all me, baby. I showed Ann how much she needed me, and I taught you a lesson about meddling. But you forgot that lesson and now are back and hell-bent on taking Ann away again.” He dragged her closer to the fire that loomed over them both. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? And she’s all mine.”
He whirled her around and wrapped his fingers around her neck and started to squeeze. She coughed, knowing the building could come down on them at any second. But Clarke was in a blind rage. She knew he would rather die killing her than survive.
Joan kicked her feet hard, her foot connecting with his shin, but he seemed to enjoy the fight she had in her. She could feel herself passing out and her knees buckling. Her vision narrowed as her fingers fell free of his hands.
When she collapsed to the ground, she was dimly aware he grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her faceup toward the flames. She somehow sensed Clarke did not want her to die at his hands, but wanted the smoke and flames to take her.
As her fingers dug into the ground, she clawed at the dirt, grabbing a handful, and threw it in his face. Her wild aim was off, and the dirt only caught the side of his left eye. But the strike forced him to blink and turn his head away. His grip on her ankle slackened, and she tried to kick free.
His fingernails dug into her skin as he swiped the debris from his eyes. “I can’t wait to see you burn.”
A gunshot rang out from behind her. Through her hazy vision, she saw Clarke stumble. For a moment, he dug his fingers deeper into her flesh, as if killing her was all that mattered now. But in the next second, blood bloomed on his shirt, and he reeled backward. His fingers slackened, and he released her. He looked past her, staring a moment, and then staggered toward the inferno and vanished into the flames.