Page 55 of Backdraft
My departure had been on good terms, the fire investigators office had been grooming me for management. I was honored, but I wasn't ready for it because it meant I would have to put down roots, settle into one place and stay a while.
I wasn't good at that. I knew it stemmed back to the fire that took my childhood home, my father, and set me on the path I'm now on.
I respect fire, even if it terrifies me. I'd become an obsessive checker. I always made sure any potential fire hazards were dealt with and didn't allow smoking inside. Had I gotten better over the years? It was hard to say. Maybe.
I don't often think about that day. It scared me in a way that I continue to deal with today. A nine-year-old losing everything she knew in the blink of an eye was a profound way to begin life. Dad had died in the fire while trying to save us. He did, but the old farmhouse had gone up like a candlestick, and when he went back in to get whatever it was—we never did find out—the upstairs had crashed down on him.
We stood watching in horror as the fire seemed to be alive. The sounds coming from the house had given me nightmares, the way it moaned, and seemed to scream it’s anger into the night sky. I imagined the flames were picking and choosing who and what it wanted to burn. As if it had a life of its own.
Mom had put her arms around us, held us tightly, and all I’d wanted to do was run up to the house and scream at the blaze. But she had me in a vise grip, and by the time fire department had finally arrived. It was too late to save Dad or the house.
After that I don't remember much. Mom had us in therapy to help, and maybe it did, maybe it didn't. How do we really know? I certainly knew I carried grief and trauma from that day.
What I do know is it led to a life of Mom, Christine, and I living on people’s couches and depending on the generosity of friends and family. Until the insurance money came in, we were transient. It was a lifestyle that had followed me into adulthood.
I pushed the feelings down, smothered them by focusing on my work and the task at hand. I needed to find what I was searching for.
I pulled the notebooks out and stacked them on the table, glad I’d kept them. I didn't think I'd need them, but seeing—or at least thinking I’d seen—someone from my past had shaken me. I hated to admit it, even to myself. But it had.
The person I was thinking of was still in jail. He had to be. It wasn't possible for him to be out yet… I wracked my brain, trying to recall something that hung like a shadow in the corner of my mind. The case had been years ago. I sat back on the chair, holding the lid to the banker’s box, and thrummed my fingers on it, frowning.
Think, think. What was it?
Puffing out a sigh, I dropped the lid beside the box on the bed. I reached in and walked my fingers over the tops of the file folders. They were labeled and filed alphabetically and then chronological. I kept an up-to-date printout on top of the folders with the case number, date, victim(s), structure I.D., suspect, and conclusion printed. If I had my computer, it would be searchable by all fields. I was a bit of a spreadsheet freak. But my computer was still en-route with my vehicle and other household items. They were ridiculously behind schedule.
So old school would have to do.
I pulled my lower lip between my teeth. What was I missing? While I ran my fingertips over the tops of the file folders, I went through the alphabet in my head.
A - B - C all the way to Z. A trick I did to help jog my memory. Sometimes it took a couple of run-throughs until I homed in on the evasive information.
This time, it took only a second before I fell on the letter B.
"Yep, it was him. But it couldn't be," I murmured and looked for my arson folder on Benjamin Clark. The person I saw reminded me of him. But he was incarcerated and would be for a while yet.
I shook my head, flipped open the folder, and ran my fingertip down the table of contents I had at the beginning of each file. He was a particularly nasty dude, and it had taken two and half years to nail him. He’d always been one step ahead of us. Like he had some kind of fire background, but he’d refused to discuss that in the trial or when being questioned.
Nowadays, all anyone had to do was go online and search whatever it was that they wanted, whether it be good or bad. Of course, online access has also made it easy for those with unsavory tendencies. They can find pretty much anything they wanted. All the step-by-step instructions right there accessible for all.
It was a shocking and nasty part of my job to see the end results of people that played with fire.
The file didn't shed any light for me. I refreshed my memory on the case, read the notes, and digested it. I definitely would be on alert from now on.
Hyper-vigilance and I were old friends. I'd grown up being highly aware of my surroundings. Sometimes going a bit overboard in regards to fire safety, and I was always aware of any fire hazards. It was an after-effect from the fire that destroyed my early years and childhood home.
While I was putting away the banker’s box, my phone pinged. I was being called out to a fire.
Chapter Sixteen
When I got back from the call, I finally found the time to email my old boss for confirmation on Benjamin Clark. He replied that he was still incarcerated and there was no way he could be here.
While that was good to know because it meant he was still locked up, it also left open the who. Who had I seen? Who was writing these awful notes?
I’d finished up some reports and was eager to get home and chill. On the way to my truck, I saw paper fluttering on the windshield. I let out a sigh and tilted my head as I walked over. What the heck now?
I'd had it with these weird notes and damage to the vehicle. Enough was enough. I snatched the sheet from under the windshield wiper, holding the corner in case the police wanted to do any forensics on it.
Did I want to see what it said? Sometimes blissful ignorance can be good, but in this case, I needed to know. Right? For multiple reasons. One being my mind would run rampant and only cause more worry.
