Fire In The Mind: Leonard Wise Book 1

by Arjay Lewis

  Pyrokinesis.

  The ability to start and control fire with nothing more than the power of the mind.

  Suddenly, I was lost in a memory.

  Concentrate on the candle, Leonard.

  Doctor Kohl and I tried many forms of extrasensory tests. We used cards with the five patterns: wavy lines, simple crossed lines, circle, square, and star. But we also tried esoteric forms: psychokinesis, telekinesis. There were several weeks when we attempted phenomena with match flames and candles.

  I was in one of the lab rooms at the university, a clean, antiseptic place with a drop ceiling and small tables for experiments. It was Doctor Kohl and me, with the lights down low. On one of the tables, a candle was lit and acted as the light source for the room.

  “Reduce the flame, Leonard,” Fritz said.

  I focused my attention on the flame, trying to not just observe it, but to become part of it.

  “Remember,” Kohl said quietly, “all molecules are patterns of energy from the air ve breathe to our own bodies, and energy is affected by vill. Place your intention upon the flame.”

  I nodded, focused so fixedly on the flame that I could almost feel the heat surrounding me. I became one with the burning wick and used my will to make it grow smaller.

  The flame flickered and went down.

  “Very goot, Leonard,” Kohl said. “Make it brighter.”

  I am one with the flame, I thought. I focused on increasing myself, sucking in air and feeling myself become bigger.

  The flame grew.

  “Do you think ve are ready for the next part, Leonard?”

  “I can do it. I can feel it,” I said, totally out of my body. All that existed was the flame, and I was one with it.

  “Goot! Then you know vat to do!”

  I nodded and stared at the flame. This was the one thing in our weeks of experiments I hadn’t been able to achieve, snuffing it out—and then restarting it.

  I concentrated on the flickering orange and yellow flame with the blue at the wick and felt it/me shut down.

  The flame died and the room darkened as a thin trail of smoke rose from the wick. But I held the flame inside me, I’d pulled it into myself, just as Doctor Kohl had instructed me to do on previous days. But this time, this day, I was doing it.

  I stared at the smoldering wick and then let the fire out of myself, to return it to the candle. A small ember glowed, then flickered, and the candle re-lit. It wasn’t dramatic; there was no burst of fire or explosion. It just started to burn again.

  Doctor Kohl nodded. “Impressive, Leonard. How do you feel?”

  “Tired,” I rubbed my eyes.

  “Zat vill be all for today…”

  We soon moved on from work with the candle and focused on other mental exercises to strengthen my concentration and learn how to shut out the unwanted impressions that bombarded me all the time. However, it had been useful, as Doctor Kohl wanted me familiar with all of the different aspects of the mind’s powers. He had named each capability as we practiced it.

  Pyrokinesis. Could it be developed to the level I’d seen at the scene?

  The realization was profound, because inside me, it felt right. There was a truth to this. A truth inside a man, like me, who one day discovered he could do things other people couldn’t.

  For years, I’d disliked my gift, fought it, shut it off with alcohol. Once I accepted and developed it, I used it to help at Scudder House. What if this man used it for his own amusement and empowerment? That made him much more frightening than Lonny the Match because Lonny just did it for money, but my unknown stranger did it for the kick he got out of wielding his power.

  He was struck with a desire to play God.

  The problem was, without any kind of proof—other than my own internal knowing—there was no way I could bring this theory to McGee. Or anyone else. They would just say I’d read too many Stephen King novels. I would have to find this man and stop him before he could use his deadly ability again. Wendy had been involved with him, and it got her killed. Although not his equal, I was the only one who could track down her murderer.

  The man Wendy called Jack.

  . . .

  I arrived back at the Baines’s house refreshed from my meal and found Jenny and Jon as they finished eating waffles. They both seemed very pleased with each other, and Jenny was downright radiant. Apparently, they’d taken advantage of my absence to make love and restore their bond.

  “Hi, you two!” I said.

  “Len, did you have a nice walk?” Jon asked with a smirk to Jenny.

  “Yes, thank you. Is the library open today?”

  “The town library or the university one? There are both usually open on Sundays. After all, this is a college town, and students—well, they put off deadlines.”

  I smiled. “I recall you putting off a few deadlines back when we were premed, Jon.”

  “I’m on the other side of the equation, now. Doing research? You could use my computer.”

  “No thanks, Jon. I think I’m going to need to go through some microfilm, see some old newspapers—maybe go back ten or twenty years.”

  “Still on this arson case?” Jenny asked.

  “Yes, but now it’s personal.”

  Jon decided it was too far to walk to the library, and feeling a bit tired, I agreed. However, I asked Jenny to help me remove the bandage on my head.

  “Would you like a haircut and a shave while you’re here?” she asked as I sat in a kitchen chair with my back to her.

  “Just the bandage would be fine,” I said.

  She trimmed away some of the tape holding the gauze in place, and pulled it carefully off, taking a look at the wound on the back of my head.

  “Ooh! You got stitches,” Jenny said.

  “Only five,” Jon noted.

  “Am I bleeding?” I asked.

  “No,” Jenny said as she arranged my hair carefully over the area. “In fact, it’s pretty much unnoticeable.”

  “You’re lucky they didn’t shave your head,” Jon said.

  “I’m not into that look,” I said, getting up. “Ready to go?”

  “Let’s do it,” Jon said.

  “Seems like you’ve been saying that all morning, husband of mine,” Jenny said and gave him a kiss.

  I turned away. I was glad to see them happy, especially after our tête-à-tête of the other day. But another part of me felt jealous. I ignored my feelings as I rode with Jon to the library. I assured him I would call as soon as I needed a ride.

  “I thought we could all go out to dinner tonight,” Jon told me. “It would be a nice break for Jenn, and we could talk.”

  “Yeah, sorry to ruin your weekend.”

  “I’m just glad you didn’t end up like that Wallace woman. Now you have to stay, at least until you get your stitches removed.”

  The situation with Jenny made me want to take off, but now with Wendy dead and my decision to track down her killer…

  “Maybe a few more days,” I said.

  I got out of the car and walked into the Mountainview Public Library, a large and spacious building with an old-fashioned facade. The inside was totally renovated, which gave it a more clean and modern look. I immediately went to the reference desk and was directed to a basement where over a hundred years’ worth of newspapers sat photographed on microfilm.

  The question was: where to begin?

  I thought about the man I saw. He was young, no more than thirty. If he’d played with this ability before…

  I started with the New Jersey Times-Ledger ten years earlier, taking a reel of microfilm and threading it into the machine. Headlines began appearing, and I worked my way through the dates, keeping my eyes peeled for any references to mysterious fires or cases of arson.

  I found several as the years went by, most
of which seemed pretty ordinary: fires that took down warehouses and homes—most of it due to bad wiring or people who smoked while in bed.

  One investigation led to a young, despondent man who torched his parents home and was put in Blackshale, the local asylum.

  Then I reached a story three years ago where there was mention of a large fire at an old amusement pier down on the Jersey Shore, in Lavellette. It was suspicious because the owners had penned a deal to sell the site to be made into a mall, but there were some tenants who were using their leases to put the deal on the skids. My eyes lit up when I saw the listed owner as the Nova Corporation.

  I put change in a nearby slot and hit the button on the machine to print a copy of the article as I read on. The image faded for a moment as the machine hummed and did its magic. As a piece of paper was spat out from the printer, I reached the middle of the article, and I almost leaped out of my chair.

  Nova Corporation spokesman, Philip Mishan, was quoted as saying that this was a loss for Nova, as they had invested heavily in inventory for the upcoming summer.

  Nova spokesman? Here was a clear connection to Nova and Philip Mishan. He might have been one of the mysterious members hidden behind the false names.

  This was something I had to take to McGee—he wouldn’t get it from another source. I checked the printed article and pulled out my cell phone, touching the screen to call him.

  “Hello, this is Detective-Sergeant McGee with the Mountainview police. Please leave your name and number, and I’ll get back to you.”

  Of course, it was Sunday. What was it he’d told me? He got out of the FBI to have a more normal life with his wife and kids. The phone beeped.

  “Bill, it’s Leonard Wise. I found an article here in the library about a fire three years ago. The owners were the Nova Corporation, and guess who is listed as the spokesman? Philip Mishan! Call me…”

  I left my number and hung up, then went back to the microfilm. I’d found the first step to my mysterious Jack. I paused and considered what he might be doing as I went through reels of past records in search of him.

  JACK’S DIARY: SUNDAY

  I got up today, went into the living room naked, and looked at myself in the mirror. And I was again struck with how beautiful I really am.

  My stomach is flat, even though I don’t exercise as much as I should, and I’m really proportioned quite handsomely. I must consider getting another young lady. It is unfair not to share myself with the many women out there.

  Friday night, I finally had to get rid of the bitch. I should’ve done it months ago, but I’ve always been sentimental. I suppose a part of me expected her to wake up from her error and return to me. She would’ve, once her money ran out, with the way she spends. No, wait, spent, past tense.

  I’m just too tender. I showed extreme patience over the last year while she “found” herself. But when she took that damn cripple home with her and slept with the freak to boot! Well, even my patience has limits.

  Did she really think I couldn’t recognize from the lit candles and the dark house that she was having sex with him? And more than that, I could sense it. She never understood the full extent of what I can do—or how strong I have become. What I did to the jewelry store should’ve taught her that.

  She looked so exquisite on the porch in that tight dress that hugged every curve. I almost didn’t want to do it—but I could feel the cripple’s jism inside her. That pushed me over the edge. She was never a bright girl. Except at the end, when she burned with a brightness that lit up the neighborhood.

  Too bad about the house. But insurance does cover it. I will have to approach that insurance adjuster with more intelligence than dear Wendy did.

  This cripple, he keeps turning up. Wendy met him at the police station and went out with him. I suppose she thought I wouldn’t know. Then I thought I saw him in Mishan’s when I torched the place. I was sure it was his face I saw through the window.

  I should have finished him Friday when he crashed through the door and fell. But he was bleeding from the head, and I figured he’d done himself in. I thought it a nice touch to let him bleed to death on the steps.

  But he lived! And he wasn’t hurt all that bad. Head wounds do bleed a lot. Even so, they released him from the hospital the next day. It’s so easy to check on these things.

  Where does he live? How did he become involved? There is something I don’t like about him—besides soiling my Wendy. He’d better give me a wide berth because bad things happen to people who get in my way.

  twelve

  McGee looked over the article printout. “This is helpful, Len.”

  He’d shown up at the Baines’s house at about nine thirty Monday morning. Jon and Jenny were long gone, and our dinner the previous night had been a great success. They made goo-goo eyes at each other across the table, and I tried to keep the feeling of being fifth wheel to myself.

  I brought McGee into the house and poured him coffee.

  “So, I guess you’re here because it’s a bad idea for me to show up at the police station while Tice thinks of me as a suspect,” I said.

  “You’re not a suspect,” McGee grumbled. “But I figure if you’re not there to annoy him, maybe he’ll focus on something else.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  “And you’re even less of a suspect because forensics can’t find a sample of any semen.”

  “Too much damage?”

  “You want to hear something crazy? Doctor Latrell says that Miss Wallace not only burned, but from the autopsy, it appears she burned from the inside out.”

  “What?”

  “Her organs started to burn first. Casey says he’s never seen anything like it, but I think it points to Lonny again. If he did build this sodium metal bullet I told you about, it would penetrate the skin, and the body would burn from the inside.”

  I nodded. “Any luck finding him?”

  “I’m always about one step behind him. He’s good at covering his tracks, but I’ve got an APB out on him. He’s got to show up sometime.”

  I nodded. “What’s the latest with Nova?”

  “I spent part of the weekend trying to track down any possible lawyers who filed the corporate papers, but it seems that they were filed by the founders of the corporation.”

  “Can that be done?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Anybody can file legal papers it’s just most people hire a lawyer. The deeper I get into this case, the weirder it gets.”

  If I told him my personal theory, it would get even worse.

  Bill went on. “I understand the memorial service for Ms. Wallace will be tomorrow.”

  “Really?” I said and found I was standing. I returned to my seat. “I-I didn’t know it would be so fast.”

  “Forensics should be finished by then,” McGee said.

  “Closed casket?” I asked, my mouth tight.

  “Yeah,” McGee said, and he leaned forward in the chair. “You OK?”

  “I will be when we get the bastard who did this to her.”

  McGee’s huge form rose from the chair. “OK, well, I will be there.”

  “In case Jack shows up?”

  He nodded. “To see who does show up. Now I have to visit your friend, Mrs. Baines.”

  “Jenny? Why?”

  “Turns out she is also the listed insurance adjuster on the estate of Wendy Wallace.”

  My mouth fell open. “Don’t tell me—Nova was involved again?”

  “Not sure. When I did research on Wendy Wallace, I found out both her parents are dead. Her mother died when she was born, and the father remarried, so she has a half-sister. The sister’s listed as next of kin—the bulk of the estate will go to her.”

  Something bothered me. “How old is she?”

  He went through the huge folder he carried. “Twen
ty-three. And about two years ago, the father and the stepmom went off the road up on Schooley’s Mountain. The car exploded; killed them both.”

  In a fire… flashed in my mind. The same time Nova Corporation was building a fire of its own.

  “So, who put together the funeral?”

  “Don’t know. I guess the sister. She lives here in Jersey, out in Mendham.”

  “Close by. Funny that Wendy didn’t mention her.”

  “You want to hear something interesting? The sister, Janice, is married to a lawyer.”

  “That happens. Lawyers need love, too.”

  “His name is Jack.”

  I stood frozen on the spot at the mention of that name, the last word that Wendy ever said.

  “Believe you me, I’m looking forward to meeting him,” McGee said as he gave me his stern policeman stare.

  I showed McGee out and took a few minutes to get dressed. I’d been wearing a jogging suit I’d borrowed from Jon. I didn’t imagine I would take up the sport in the near future. Then I made my way back to the Mountainview Library. The walk in the fresh spring air was invigorating, and I was beginning to feel less like a man who let a beautiful woman die because he screwed up.

  Once sequestered in the library, I was able to find microfilm of a local paper, the Bernardsville News. Since it was a weekly paper, it was much easier to find what I was after.

  “COUPLE FOUND DEAD IN CAR” the headline screamed, complete with a biography of the Wallace family and information about the car wreck. According to the account, the couple was on their way home after a visit to their daughter in Mendham. No one actually saw the car go over the edge, but the burned-out wreck was found the next day.

  In the article, Jack Hoefler, the son-in-law, was quoted as saying what a tragedy it was.

  Jack Hoefler, the sister’s husband.

  It could explain why Wendy was so close-mouthed about her old beau. Banging your sister’s husband is not the sort of thing you want to share with someone on the second date, even if you do plan to sleep with him.

  An image of her naked in my arms flashed through my mind. She lay there smiling and sated. Ten minutes later, she would be dead. I pushed the image away, swallowed the accompanying self-loathing, and focused on my work.