It was the kind of deep midwestern winter that required layers of clothing put on to create seals against the chill air. A man stood in a half-collapsed bar with his trench coat thrown over a hoodie. It made him feel like a teenager playing an investigator in a middle school production rather than this small town’s head detective.
The beat cop that was with him was examining the scorch marks along the floor of the bar. It had burned down a couple days ago, and the investigation had been handed off to the detective when some unexplained anomalies had been noted by the morgue that had preformed the autopsies of the victims.
The official cause of the fire was an electrical failure, but the building wasn’t more than a year old and had been constructed meticulously by the owner of the bar, so the detective doubted any of the townspeople would believe that.
“Well, the scorch marks on the ground definitely match the ones on the vics, but that doesn’t explain what could make fire act like this,” the beat cop said.
The scorch marks on the floor, which the cop was right matched the pattern on the people that were burned to death in the fire, snaked across the floor in waves. The firefighters who had investigated were at a loss to explain the pattern.
“I think we might need to call in a specialist,” the detective said.
“What kind of specialist could explain this?”
“I do believe you have paperwork to which you need to attend.”
The cop looked like he was going to object, but then he understood the dismissal. He turned and walked out of the half-collapsed building. The detective pulled out a piece of cream cardstock about the size of a business card. It had gold lettering on it that simply read “Calling”. He walked over to the storage closet and opened the door. He put the card in the latch and closed the door on it to pin it in place.
He walked over to the bar. Another anomaly was the lack of any of the alcohol being burned. The detective poured himself a glass of whiskey as a man in a tweed jacket walked out of the storage closet. He was slightly disheveled and the brown of his slacks didn’t quite blend in with the mud on them. His face had streaks of soot and a yellow stain.
“You took almost a whole five seconds this time. What kept you?” the detective asked.
“I was working on something. Turns out you can’t combine coal gas and a concentrated solar burst to create a flash eruption. It does make quite the explosion though.”
“And the yellow on your cheek?”
The man touched his face and nodded. “Mustard. I shouldn’t eat while experimenting, but,” he shrugged. “All that is beside the point. You have a case for me I presume.”
The detective gestured to the surrounding bar. “Observe away. Tell me what you think.”
The strange man took out a glass lens that the detective realized was a magnifying glass. He studied the scorch marks, the layout of what was left of the bar, and even the burnt-out front half that had collapsed during the fire. He did all of this while silently muttering to himself, and the detective sipped his whiskey. When the strange man put his magnifying glass away, he joined the detective at the bar.
“Well?” the detective asked.
“Did everyone in the fire die?”
The detective was surprised, but he shouldn’t have been. He sighed and looked down at his glass. “No. That is the hardest thing for us to explained. Fires are always chaotic and lots of people seem to die and survive for random reasons.”
“Spoken like a man more familiar with arson than a small town should account for.”
The detective gave the man a silent look and continued, “this, however, is different. The front is burned out and the back exit is in a narrow hallway and couldn’t have allowed all these people to escape. So how, then, could the majority of people have gotten out with minor burns and bruises?” He took a sip of whiskey. “You’d think after dealing with crazed cultist and hedge witches, I’d be somewhat of an expert of your kind, but I’m at a loss. I just don’t know enough about…”
“Magic.” The strange man finished for the detective. The detective didn’t like the word used when applied to his town and his people. “And I don’t appreciate being lumped in with the people you’ve had to deal with. I am something else entirely. And, no, I don’t think it necessary for me to elaborate,” he said in response to the detective’s open mouth. The man looked around. “This was magic. Of that, I am sure. And something this violent is… it’s worse than anything I have seen come out of your town.” The detective took out his notebook and starting taking notes as the man continued. “The arsonist is most likely male. He is remarkably intelligent.”
“Smart man. That’s a lot of people in this town.”
The man shook his head. “No. I didn’t say smart, I said remarkably intelligent.”
“Very smart. Got it.”
“No, you still don’t understand. He is remarkably intelligent. Meaning he is so intelligent people can’t help but mention it when talking about him. It consumes the rest of his personality. After people speak to him, the only thing they seem to remember is how smart he is. He isn’t a smart kid; he is the smart kid.”
“Ok a stand-out intelligence that is also very angry.”
The man nodded. “He won’t have any social life to speak of. He probably isn’t that charismatic. Learning spells like this without help, ala cult or coven, takes dedication and practice. The kind that doesn’t allow for much else. Which brings me to my next point. His rage has made him single-minded and obsessive.
Practicing this spell has consumed his entire life for a long time and people around him have begun to notice. This practice also means that he has probably already gotten in trouble for playing with fire: lighting up a backyard, fireworks, that sort of thing. As news of this fire spreads, people around him will start to suspect he had something to do with it.
He’s unorganized. Even when under the influence of magic, fire is a chaotic weapon that doesn’t kill in predictable ways. You’re likely dealing with an adolescent, or someone who is more interested in general destruction than carrying out a specific plan.”
The detective tried his best to keep up while taking notes. When the man saw this, he paused to give him time to catch up. When the detective finished writing, he looked up and the man continued. “The anger this person feels hasn’t come from simple bullying or harassment. At least, not alone. They have likely experienced a level of abuse that has kept them from adjusting properly. It was vicious and constant abuse, and their abuser was likely one of the victims here in the bar.”
“If his abuser was one of our victims, does that mean he’s already done?”
The man shook his head. “It’s not about revenge anymore. That was the original motivation, but this fire sparked something inside him, if you’ll pardon the turn of phrase. He got a satisfaction out of this act that he hasn’t felt in a long time, possibly ever. He isn’t going to stop until he is caught.” The man stood and walked over to the storage closet. “I hope you do. Catch him, that is. And you’d best do it soon. He is no doubt already practicing his next spell and with each one he learns, the more powerful and difficult to stop he will become.”
“How do we stop someone who can control fire?”
“Simple: make sure he can’t light one.” With that last piece of advice. The man transformed the door to the storage closet into an intricately carved oak door and walked through it. The detective watched as the oak carvings turned back into simple plywood. After a moment, he finished his whiskey and headed back to the station.