Finally, his face completely emerged into the light, sickly pale, skin translucent but flawless, and eyes as dark as coal.
The young man never took his eyes away from her.
Emily found her voice and said to him. “I’m Emily.” Her tone sounded hollow and a bit stilted.
He showed no reaction, as no expression displayed across his slim face.
For a moment, Emily thought he was deaf. His shoulders seemed bony and rounded, but he stood motionless watching her. She couldn’t ascertain if it was curiosity or a fundamental hatred.
“You are a She-Warrior… I’ve seen you…” The high-pitch of his voice broke the silence. Even as he spoke, his facial expression never changed.
Emily forced a smile. “What’s your name?”
After hesitating a few seconds, he finally said. “Angel.”
“That’s a strong name for a warrior.” For the first time, Emily noticed that he had two remote controls in each hand, along with some type of device secured to his belt. “Angel, what are you doing here?”
He blinked for the first time since their face-to-face meeting. “Destroying the sinners.”
“How do you do that?”
“Fire cleanses everything.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Tuesday 0545 Hours
Jordan relived his harrowing adventure numerous times in his mind as he drove back to his car – legs slightly shaking from the huge adrenalin rush. The relief he felt after starting his vehicle, by the fact that it didn’t blow up, made him a little more at ease.
Sitting on the passenger seat was his cell phone. He quickly picked it up to check his texts and emails. It still had a few signal bars. There were several messages from Emily. His heart skipped a beat as he listened to the messages. It was unusual that she didn’t just leave a text message, her voice sounded strained and distant, instead of pissed off that he had left her at the scene.
Quickly, Jordan hit send and dialed Emily’s cell phone, which immediately dumped into her voice mail. He tried several more times with the same result. He even dialed Rick’s cell and it went to his mailbox too. Both cell phones were off. It was something that rarely, if ever, happened.
He felt a need to see Emily, but also to check in and fill her in on the situation with Red.
Before he realized it, he turned the car around, and headed in the direction of her new house. It only took about fifteen minutes to get there. His friends SUV was gone.
With his usual intuition, Jordan parked and got out of his car. He studied the house. It appeared quiet with nothing obvious out of place.
Jordan chose to enter the couple’s house from the back in case a nosy neighbor panicked and called the police. Out of habit, he looked for anything out of the ordinary, or anything that had been disturbed. Everything gave the impression of the usual routine.
He knew where Emily hid the extra key, which was behind the flowerpot, in between a piece of wood, and wedged next to the vent underneath the house. He retrieved the single key and inserted it into the door.
As he opened the back door, he had twenty seconds to enter the security code. He quickly punched in the four-digit code. Quickly, the green light flashed for entry.
A bark reverberated from the other side of the house. It only took three seconds for Sarge to bound up to Jordan just as he stepped inside.
“Hey buddy…” He shouted a greeting. “Anyone home? Hello? Ready or not here I come…”
The dog spun in circles, tail wagging furiously, banging the wall and the washer and dryer in between slobbery licks.
“Okay, okay… give me some space. Where’s your mama big guy?”
Jordan moved through the house inspecting everything as he went. Again, it seemed normal. He went into the living area with Sarge in tow.
The photographs of the three arson suspects were still affixed to the white board, now with a pen strike through them. He saw the brochures on the table of high-end vacation destinations and immediately he thought of the security catalogue. The same sleek layout, the same copyright wording, and upon closer inspection, the same watermark symbol were in common.
He murmured aloud. “What else did you find?”
The happy snort and wet canine muzzle pushed against his hand. He scratched the big dog’s head as he looked around for anything that might give him a clue as to where they might have gone.
Shuffling through paperwork and notes, he found nothing that he had not seen before. Jordan became frustrated and pushed the papers and photos aside. A small notebook dropped to the floor.
He bent down to pick it up. Jordan stared at several penciled addresses in Rick’s handwriting. One in particular caught his attention. “Bingo.”
It read: 139 Whitewater
“Where have I seen this address before?” He searched through other lists until he found a reference to Whitewater and A.D.A. Richards with possible addresses. “Gotcha.”
Without wasting another second, he flipped open one of the laptop computers and punched in the address for an Internet search of California. Two of the search attempts were in central cities, so he narrowed the search to more affluent areas, both north and south.
Settling on the north coast, Jordan clicked on the satellite image of the street. He toggled around the front yard, the road, and just as he traveled up the road, he saw the black SUV parked.
“Damn, I’m good!” Jordan congratulated himself. “Glad they update the images every few hours.”
Sarge looked up at the sudden outburst.
Jordan was about to close the computer when he had a second thought. He quickly keyed up the California Highway Patrol incident page for the area.
As he read the listing of traffic accidents and road hazards, he sucked in a breath. A serious single car accident reported involved a Crown Victoria and a fire outbreak. It looked like from the emergency radio codes that it was a fatality. There was an extended road closure in effect, which involved the street where the attorney lived.
“Crap!”
Jordan slammed the computer shut.
Sarge barked in response to the sudden noise.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Tuesday 0615 Hours
There was a big difference between creating a criminal profile based on behavioral evidence, crime scenes, and autopsy reports and facing the actual serial killer in person. Emily’s instincts told her to take the arsonist out, but there was another side to this damaged young man she wanted to try to understand.
Somewhere along the line, Angel most likely fell victim to severe abuse, identity confusion, and environmental turbulence. His well-intended actions, from his own mind, distorted to the point of psychopathic. Ordinary things in his life skewed basic reality. His intricate obsessive-compulsive behavior conveniently convinced his psyche that the only way to survive was to take the lives of those he deemed unfit. He adamantly believed that he was doing right.
Emily did not want to kill him, but the situation may not offer her any other choice. “Angel…” She began slowly. “Sometimes people are forced to do things that don’t seem fair.”
“There’s right and there’s wrong.”
“I agree with you, but people have to answer to rules and laws, and to higher authorities.”
“It still doesn’t change anything.”
Emily took a carefully placed step closer to Angel.
He cringed and pushed one of the black boxes out in front of him. “Don’t come any closer!”
She took a deep breath. “Please, you don’t have to do that. We can make the sinners pay, the right way. I promise you.”
“There’s only one way – a complete cleansing.”
His voice chilled Emily. The simple tone without any inflection slithered its way into her consciousness.
The storm brewed outside with a booming thunder that surrounded the house. It felt like it would encapsulate them inside a cocoon.
Emily watched Angel become agitated, his eyes darted from side
to side, and he rubbed his fingers along the remotes.
She patiently persisted. “Angel you don’t want to hurt another warrior like you, do you?” She decided to try a different angle to get through to him.
He did not answer her. Instead, he groaned and paced in a perfect square.
With a slow movement, Emily dared another step toward him.
“STOP! You are a fraud! You are not any kind of warrior!” He pressed a button and there was a strange crash, a muffled growl, followed by a crackling sound.
Emily spun around and looked up at the winding staircase. A popping sound erupted within the walls and across the top floor of the house. She instantly smelled smoke from an electrical fire. The blaze blocked any access to the staircase.
No. Rick…
Trapped…
It was only a matter of minutes before the house turned into a full-blown inferno.
Two loud crashes erupted from overhead.
Anger overwhelmed Emily’s judgments. A boiling rage bubbled to the surface, infusing every nerve and muscle inside her body. Turning to face Angel, who looked more like a scared child, she slipped the scissors from her pocket. Without another thought, she lunged at him.
The five-inch pivoted blades from the scissors plunged into Angel’s chest. He tumbled backward, pulling Emily with him. They smacked heads from the fall. The impact jarred her body and rattled her skull, impairing her vision. For a brief moment, the tiny room spun like a merry-go-round.
Angel had dropped the remotes. He lay still. His eyes closed, blood oozed from the puncture, and the extreme frailty of his body looked like he should have been on a slab at the morgue.
Emily pushed herself up from the floor, legs wobbly, with her hand and hip throbbing from the impact. It was difficult to catch her breath as she staggered through the doorway of the small room.
She glanced up the stairs. The fire had already taken over the hallway. The flames dipped and swirled, gaining a furious momentum.
“Rick!” She yelled.
There was no answer.
Gaining her balance and wits, she went to the two small windows. There was no patio or deck, except from the story above. A retaining wall was the only means of escape. The ocean churned below crashing against the jagged rocks, building in velocity every few seconds.
She grabbed a small lamp, tore off the shade, and used the base to smash out the windows.
The storm rushed into the room.
Taking a throw blanket, she tried to remove any pieces of glass from the sills.
The mounting smoke with nasty tufts of branch-like talons crept its way into the room, snuffing out the refreshing ocean air.
Emily coughed repeatedly, trying to regain some of her breathing space.
Suddenly, a sharp pain hit her thigh and she went down on the hardwood floor. Blood gushed from the wound, quickly saturating her pants. With a survival instinct, she held her right hand on the side of her leg and pressed firmly.
She looked up through the greyish smoke.
Angel stood above her with a huge hunting knife between his hands in an ominous prayer stance. He slowly raised the knife above his head.
A strange low rumble emitted throughout the house.
* * * * *
Rick heard most of the conversation between Emily and Angel. He knew that the killer would ignite his clever incendiary devices. Luckily, he had backtracked his steps quickly just as the black boxes exploded in the hallway.
Forcing himself through the smoke and fire, he tried one of the doors. It was only a closet.
The next door was locked.
He took a step back and used a stomp kick move to kick the door in, hinges splintered, the frame cracked easily upon impact, and the door fell down flat inside the small bedroom. One twin bed and single dresser proved the only furniture small enough to fit inside the room. A window barely two feet wide was just above the dresser.
Without wasting any time, Rick scaled the dresser and smashed out the window with his elbow. The room was adjacent at a forty-five degree view away from the ocean.
The flames approached and caught the bedspread on fire.
Smoke filled the room.
Rick’s eyes stung, tears welled up making it difficult to see, and his chest felt heavy as he gasped for any available air.
The suffocating plumes of smoke kept charging into the room. It pushed his physical endurance to the limit. He took brief moments to breathe deeply at the window opening.
As he tried with all of his strength, he couldn’t wedge his body through the small opening.
* * * * *
The stare of Angel’s eyes alarmed Emily. They were cold, bottomless, and the iris changed from a brownish black to a sickly grey. They no longer resembled the eyes of any ordinary person, but a demented predatory animal. Angel’s frail body, thinning hair, and translucent, pallid appearance, seemed to morph into a sinewy monster shape. His mind roamed with demons as he channeled his energy to burn sinners.
Fits of coughing took over Emily once again. She rolled to her side, trying to catch her breath and escape the killer. Excruciating pain radiated from her leg as she turned out of the way.
Angel slammed the knife downward, missing Emily by mere inches. The long hunting blade stuck deep into the hardwood floor. The young man savagely tried to pry it loose. Groans and inhuman wails escaped his lips, his arms moved in a savage exhibition of an animated beast.
Her leg numbed.
Her hands wet with blood.
Emily grappled for her Beretta in her ankle holster. Any available strength dwindled from her body. Her vision blurred from the smoke as the fire crackled in a deadly path, heading directly toward them.
After manipulating the knife back and forth, Angel managed to free it. His chest heaved trying to capture a breath. Blood soaked through his sweatshirt.
Left handed, Emily balanced the gun as best as she could. She pulled the trigger, firing one shot.
A direct hit to Angel’s chest stopped him. It wasn’t a look of surprise or anger that washed over his face, it was relief. He stood motionless with his arms down at his side dropping the knife, staring at Emily. His lips moved, but the words were lost in the noise of the raging fire.
A growl in between the raging fire shook the floor. It came from the walls, ceiling, and across the floor. The deep growls emanated from everywhere.
The unsetting rumble around the house shifted to a deafening roar. A loud hiss accompanied by a thunderous stampede gained the momentum of a runaway freight train.
Emily readied herself to fire another shot. Instead, she realized what was about to happen. She grabbed the blanket, covered her head, and curled her body into a tight fetal position on the floor as small as she could manage.
Angel stood still as a statue.
Emily pushed her body into a corner, closed her eyes, and pulled the blanket tighter over her head and face.
It was time to pray.
The loud booming roar of a gigantic fireball travelled through the house, down the staircase, and headed right toward the oxygen from the windows. The intense heat and powerful speed of the burning inferno lapped up every ounce of air with a thunderous commotion. The backdraft made one last ditch effort with a hissing sound before it retracted its flames.
Through a tiny crack of the blanket, Emily saw the enormous fireball propel Angel’s body out through the window. Blood spatters around the frame of the window remained the only remnants left of the arsonist.
The immense heat had slammed above Emily’s body, catching portions of her torn pants on fire. She quickly extinguished the flames with the blanket. There wasn’t much time before the fire returned – with more vengeance.
Angel was gone.
She quickly looked around the room. Charred fixtures and furniture remained the only reminder of what once was a family home. Smoke swirled around the rooms. Millions of small fires searched relentlessly for air to grow and erupt even bigger.
E
mily struggled against the wall to gain her balance and stood up. The plaster felt warm and rough underneath her hands. Dizziness overcame her, but she pushed her body to climb out the window.
Flames flicked its tentacles around the walls and crept closer.
The massive heat took her breath away.
Her mind would not cooperate at first, frazzled, images of recent events seemed to appear in staccato, but finally pure instincts kicked in as the blustery cold wind hit her face.
Emily hoisted her body through the opening. A shooting pain and debility tortured her right leg. A welcome rain battered her face.
She landed hard on the retaining wall. Lying on a narrow ledge, Emily succumbed to fits of coughing.
The roar from deep inside the estate built momentum once again.
Emily crawled on all fours toward the structure’s foundation just as another thunderous fireball blew out the windows. A combination of intense heat, cold rain, and a searing breeze hovered a few seconds above her.
Fresh air comforted her, but the dizziness returned. She automatically gulped the refreshing, clean oxygen.
Emily thoughts returned to Rick. Her anxieties probed the question of whether or not he was still trapped inside the blaze.
Loud explosions of windows and various items deep inside the house filled the night air.
The early evening weather turned dark.
Emily felt the increasing rain pelt her face.
Trapped on the ledge, the absolute helplessness terrified Emily.
A hundred foot sheer drop-off below, a burning inferno behind, and no access on either side, pushed her survival skills to the limit. Five feet down, several jagged rocks would allow a possible path toward the stairs. She might be able to reach it.
Everything she had been stressing about seemed so insignificant now. Emily bullied herself to move forward. She could make it.
Another huge crash reverberated from inside the house and made her tremble.
She let out a yell, cursing her hesitation and lack of courage. Sitting up, she immediately looked down at the crashing waves and inaccessible cliff, which made the vertigo factor intensify. Contrasting white foam and the reflection from the dwindling dusk transformed the tide into the bowels of hell.
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