The night was dark. Cold. A dark black night that one would say represented loneliness. But the night wasn’t alone, despite there being no stars to twinkle and comfort whatever eyes sought them; there was more than enough company for that dark night: the city below. A city that never slept. A city of restless hearts, minds, hands and feet. That same city tonight had a specific pair of restless feet walking with intent and, to a very wizened eye, fear. Turning corners, ducking under shadows, furtive glances over his shoulder, the young male frame walked on. And from above, a pair of sharp eyes behind aviator glasses watched, followed his every move.
When you think you’re alone, you’re not…
MYSTERY MAN
FIRE AT NIGHT
Chapter 1:
He jumped, easily scaling the distance between the two rooftops. He landed softly, deftly and just as quickly he was running. Blink and you wouldn’t have seen the movement. The only give away that he wasn’t a ghost was the tail of his trench-coat blowing behind him. Again a gap between two rooftops appeared before him. This one was different; the ledge of the next roof was five feet higher than the one he was on. No problem, he jumped, gracefully landing on the edge. Perfect balance, perfect movement. Now, where was the boy?
The young male had his hands in his coat. There were no more shadows up ahead, just a long dark winding road up the hill to an abandoned warehouse. The moon cast a grey light upon that path, and the young man seemed to hesitate as if afraid of leaving the safety of shadows that the buildings offered. He glanced behind furtively. Nothing. Only shadows. Darkness. And why not? Who would be out at a time like this? Only the suspicious, the low lives, the dredges of society that crawled out at night. Somewhere in the distance, in the heart of the city, a siren wailed. Yes, at night bad people, bad things happened. He pulled up the collar of his coat, didn’t want his face exposed now did he? His solitary figure stepped onto the road, towards the warehouse. He was going to do something bad.
The mystery that was the man in a trench coat on the rooftop followed with his eyes the figure of the young man. The hat on his head cast a shadow over his lean face and the aviator goggles that he wore over sharp, deductive eyes. The boy hadn’t seen him when he glanced back before stepping into the moonlight, but every reaction of the boy, his every movement told the man in the trench coat that this wasn’t your usual ‘weird-time-for-a-stroll-buddy’ situation. But that wasn’t the main alarm. The mystery man had the ability to sense evil, or what could be called wrong intent. There was plenty of that every night and in many people, and tonight, the young man walking towards the abandoned warehouse, was a walking, wreaking frame of wrong intent. What exactly is what remained to be seen.
Chapter 2:
A gloved hand snaked across the door, slowly pushing it open. The shadows inside the huge warehouse welcomed another, the figure in the trench coat, hat and wearing aviator goggles slowly glided in and stood, staring. The Mystery Man looked around. The warehouse was wide, abandoned way back with some open cargo boxes still lying around. It smelt old, stale. He listened. Slowly moving his head from side to side, no doubt sharp eyes taking into account every detail. It may be hard to see at night, but at times the dark hides more than we would expect. His head slowly snapped up. There he had heard it, what he had been waiting for. He moved, quickly. Silently.
The boy stood, gasoline can in one hand, a burning stick in the other. Before him, on her knees, an old haggard looking woman begged and pleaded. The flames danced a wicked shadow across his face. It was hard to tell if the twisted expression was really his, or whether the blame of some hidden battle within himself; dark desire versus whatever guilt flickering inside. But the Mystery Man knew. He stood just at the entrance of the storage room, partially covered in shadow, staring intently into the eyes of the boy who hadn’t seen him yet. Well, now he would. He spoke.
“You don’t have to do this”, he said softly yet firmly. The boy’s head snapped in his direction. Shock. Surprise and fear. The old pitiful lady on her knees turned her head towards him, no room for surprise on her face. Desperation and fear made sure of that. “Please sir, you is to tell him,” her croaky voice pleaded. “You is to tell him he can’t do this. He mustn’t. please sir, you is to tell him”. She fell over onto her face, her body wracked with sobs, muttering, grief. The boy looked confused? No hesitant as he slowly backed away. The Mystery Man took a step closer, he could see the boy’s face clearly. The look of youth was still on the boy’s face, yet slowly being ashened by whatever conflict had brought him here. Strong shock of red hair stood on his head. But that wasn’t the only strong thing the Mystery Man noted.
The smell of gasoline was strongest here. He had followed the trail of the poured gasoline through the warehouse while also listening to the wails and pleading of the old homeless lady. She wasn’t the only destitute in that abandoned warehouse. There were a few others. They were already gathering around, in the shadows. The shuffling of their feet could be heard. One, two, three…a rough looking crippled man on one end, a wasted and completely looking filthy one on the other end. They started stepping out into the light offered by the flame this wasn’t going to be easy to deal with if he didn’t act fast. But the Mystery Man knew that despite the look on the boy’s face and the obvious intent in his hands, the story ran deeper than what sight had to offer. He could see it in the boy’s eyes, but most importantly he didn’t sense any dark will in the boy, no, he sensed something else; a cornered will.
“I’m really sorry…” the boy straightened, gripping himself, “but sometimes life puts you in a spot that isn’t comfortable, you just have to find a way to survive.” And with that, he dropped the gasoline can onto the ground and the flame right after it. Everything seemed to roar to life with that one act. The fire snaked into life, a force on a cruel, violent path of destruction. There was only one other movement nearly as fast as the flames devouring the path of gasoline they were on, the Mystery Man as he launched for the red-haired boy.
Screams, running feet, wails, the roar of the fire and the brightness of the violent flames came together into one big convoluted mess of sonic doom. He rushed out through the entire mess. The destitutes, some still shadows, others figures running before him and around him were screaming and using whatever available exit they could find to escape with their lives. The boy was on his shoulders, in shock. His body, limp on the shoulders of the Mystery Man who seemed to glide through the entire chaos with such strength, quickness and ease despite the confusion all around him, the fear, the panic. Who was this man?
Chapter 3:
The flames were finding their way round the entire structure. It was inevitable. Even if help were to come it would be too late. The heat, the furious glow were beyond being put out. The fire would have to run its course of consumption. Destruction.
The homeless who once called the burning warehouse a home stood around the burning building. Their faces, sad fallen faces, alit by the hungry flames. They stared. What else could be done? And just like that, some started turning away and walking. A tattered duffel bag here, a trolley there, their only belongings. They were used to this. After all this was the story written for them by life. Face it or die, accept it or perish.
The red-haired boy lay on the ground, a safe distance from the flames. But not far enough to be numb to the radiating heat or be deaf to the beastlike sound of the flames consuming the warehouse. He was the cause of all of this, and on purpose. He felt sorry, he really did. But there was no other way. Hadn’t been given any other option and wouldn’t have been given anyway. It wasn’t just about him…
A shadow suddenly leaned over him, between him and the sight of destruction. The Mystery Man. The man knelt down on one knee before the boy. He could see the fear and most importantly regret in his eyes. They stared at each other. The boy’s saddened brown eyes stared back at the aviator goggles that shielded the eyes behind them and offered only blankness.
“Tell me and I will help”, the man’s voice was firm as before yet soft. He turned his head to look at the burning warehouse as the sound of falling beams filled the night. Soon the police and fire-fighters would be arriving. A warehouse burning on top of a hill couldn’t exactly fail to be noticed. He turned to face the boy again. “What you’ve done here is wrong, terrible and a crime. But unless I’m wrong, you were pushed into this,” he placed his hand on the boy’s shoulders. “If you don’t let me help, if you don’t tell me who’s really behind this, you’ll be nothing more than a prisoner within walls you let grow around you.” His other hand rested on the boy’s other shoulder. His grip strong, but not painful. Strong enough for the boy to truly get the message; I’m strong enough to help you.
“Boy, tell me”.
TO BE CONTINUED...
