Round Four. Before you get on reading, this will likely be the last chapter I post online. After all, can't go spoiling everything for you. That being the case, please let me know what you think, if you want more, if I have any reason to finish, or if I'm just hurling words here. Once again, I want this book to be as good as possible, and if it sucks, I need to know!
Could have been worse... Could have been E.T. for Atari.
So have fun with this last installment (last? maybe... Still haven't decided on how far I want to preview. You guys are the deciding factor on that). Previous chapters are linked below.
Chapter 4
Scott Harris knew how it would end. No question lingered in his mind as to what he must do. The ideas rolled around in his head as he stepped quietly out the front doors of Paradise Mortuary and into the cold, autumn night. He sucked in a breath of fresh air before cracking open another can of beer and began walking down the dimly lit road. He’d been drinking all day in hopes of drowning the memories of that morning, but with every drink the memories only grew more vivid.
“Scott!
Scott, wake up!” Scott sat upright in his bed upon hearing the frantic voice of
his wife. “What’s wrong, Eveline?” He grumbled, his eyes still focusing.
“Scott, the house...” The sound of her sobs put Scott on edge. He looked
quickly around the room, searching for what might be the cause of his wife’s
terror, but everything seemed to be fine. He glanced at the digital clock at
the side of his bed. “Honey,” he said to Eveline while pulling her into his
arms, “it’s three in the morning. Go back to…”Scott stopped short when he saw
the strange light dancing upon the walls in the hallway and the smoke rolling
past the door frame and collecting on the ceiling. The deafening shriek of a
smoke detector then confirmed his worry.
The cold air bit at
Scott’s ears, nose, and balding head, but he did nothing to warm himself. The
feeling of heat only made the memories worse. He wanted to be cold, almost
needed to be cold to keep his sanity. Ignoring his numbing body, he turned a
corner and started for a local business. There were a few things he would need.
“Go, Eveline!” His scream sounded
foreign to his ears. “I’ll get Sharon!” He bolted down the hallways, pushing
his way through the black smoke that polluted them. The fire had already spread
throughout most of the house, but Scott was relieved to find that the pink door
that lead to Sharon’s room was still untouched. “Sharon!” He shouted when he threw the door
open and his eyes rested upon her empty bed. On one wall was a large black
stain. A burn from the fire? “Sharon, where are you?” He almost thought he
could hear a faint scream as he saw the open window. “She made it out?” For a
moment he doubted himself, but the heat of the flames was gnawing at his primal
instinct of survival and begging him to get out. “She made it out.” Scott said
with certainty as he ran toward the open window and left the burning house.
A bell jingled
briefly as Scott pushed open the door of a small hardware store and walked
inside. “Welcome to Jackson’s Hardware,” a thin teenage boy droned from behind
the store’s only register. Scott walked silently past him. The teenager rolled
his eyes at the man who had just ignored him and continued to play with the
cell phone that he hid beneath the counter, its telltale light shining upward.
The
night sky was lit up by the fantastic light of Scott’s burning house. Scott
could feel the heat on his back as he ran away, his entire body drenched in
sweat. He stumbled across the dying lawn to where his wife stood waiting anxiously.
When he arrived he was horrified to see that his wife waited alone. “Where’s
Sharon?” she screamed at her husband hoarsely. “She’s not out here with you?”
Scott froze as his wife let out a desperate sob and began running toward the
burning house. “Eveline, no!” he shouted. He ran after her, catching her left
hand in his. “If you go in there you won’t make it back out!” Eveline pulled
her hand out of Scott’s grip. “I don’t care!” she yelled as she ran through the
front door and into the flames. As she disappeared into the house, Scott looked
down into his hand. Eveline’s wedding ring rested in his palm.
Scott reached into
his pocket as he turned into the yard care aisle, finding a gold diamond ring
next to a lighter that he had place there that morning. He paused for a moment,
the ring in his fist, and considered what he was about to do. He then lifted
the can in his other hand to his lips, finished his drink, threw the empty can
on the ground, and continued down the aisle.
A few feet away an elderly man was
browsing a modest selection of lawn fertilizer. The man didn’t pay any
attention to Scott until he heard the loud crack of a paint can dropping to the
ground. Scott had carelessly emptied the contents of the man’s shopping cart
and filled it with a bag of gravel he’d picked up. “Excuse me?” the old man
said, looking confusedly at Scott. Scott only continued pushing the shopping
cart down the aisle. “Sir?” the man pressed, but Scott had already turned the
corner into another aisle.
Scott
leaped through the flames in front of him and into the main hallway of the
house. He had to find his wife and baby girl. Life was nothing without them.
“Eveline! Sharon!” he yelled through the smoke, but all he could hear was the
whoosh and crackle of the fire around him. He reached the end of the hallway,
but stopped when he heard his wife’s scream come from behind him. “Eveline!” He
ran back down the hallway, ignoring the flames that licked at his body. As he
turned a corner he felt two strong arms grab him from behind. “I’ve got you.
It’s gonna be okay.” The fireman said as he began dragging Scott out of the
house.
“Excuse me, sir? You
have to pay for that.” The young boy had left his post behind the counter to
stop Scott, who was now leaving the store with a cart full of gravel, nails,
PVC pipe, explosive grout, gunpowder, and four empty red gas containers. Scott
ignored him and continued walking. The boy then grabbed Scott’s arm. “Hey,” he
said, but was on the floor before he could say another word. Scott had knocked
the boy down and had a gun trained on the teenager’s head. “Get back behind
that counter.” Scott hissed. The boy’s eyes filled with fear at the sight of
the gun. “Okay… Okay. Just, take it e-easy.” He stuttered as he slowly stood
with his hands in the air and walked backward toward the register, stumbling
over his shaking feet. Scott continued to push the cart toward the exit with
his gun still aimed at the boy. “And don’t bother calling the police,” he
added, “it’s already too late.” He then put his gun away and pushed his cart
out the door and back into the cold night.
“No!”
Scott shouted at the fireman that held him. “Eveline! Sharon! I have to save
them!” He struggled against his rescuer’s hold, but couldn’t escape. In seconds
the fireman was dragging him across the lawn and away from the burning house.
“Get off of me!” Scott continued shouting. More emergency workers rushed to
restrain Scott from running back into the burning building. He could do
nothing. Nothing but sit and watch as his house burned with his wife and
daughter inside.
Minutes later Scott watched as two
firemen walked out of his house with limp bodies wrapped in blankets slung over
their shoulders.
Scott closed his eyes
tightly and tried to forget the sight of his dead, burned family. It was
horrible. They were almost unrecognizable. The fire had burned his face also,
leaving an ugly, blistered sore on his neck and check, but it seemed like
nothing compared to the horror he had seen. He pondered what the firemen had
told him. “Locked,” he whispered to himself, “in the closet?” The fact only
made his pain and confusion worse. Someone had been in his house and locked up
his daughter. Someone had started that fire.
“We
found this in the house.” Chief Griffin said, holding Scott’s lighter in his
hand. “We believe that the fire was started in your office with this lighter.”
Scott sat across from his chief of police at the Paradise Police Station
silent, his face emotionless. “Really, it’s surprising that this thing didn’t
blow up in the fire,” the chief shuffled his feet uncomfortably. For a moment
there was nothing but silence in the room as the chief looked at Scott while
Scott looked at the ground. “We, uh,” the chief started, “we’ve finished our
inspection with this. You can take it if you want.” He placed the lighter on
his desk in front of Scott.
There were no cars waiting at the
only gas station in Paradise as Scott pushed his cart toward the gas pumps.
Quickly and without hesitation, Scott pulled a gas nozzle out of one of the
consoles and began filling his four five-gallon containers. As the gas splashed
into the first container, Scott once again reached into his pocket, this time
for the lighter. One hand still on the gas nozzle, he flipped the lighter open.
I could end it all right now. He
thought as he moved his thumb toward the flint wheel. Just blast myself and everyone else here to oblivion. His thumb
pressed against the wheel, ready to ignite the lighter, but a car pulling up to
the pump at his side stopped him. No,
he thought and closed the lighter, that’s
not the way it should be. He slipped the lighter back in his pocket and set
his attention back on the containers.
Chief
Griffin took a short sip from his coffee mug, then sighed sadly at the broken
wreck of a man that sat in front of him. “Look, Scott,” he said. Scott didn’t
seem to acknowledge him. “You’ve just gone through something awful. You’ve lost
your house, your family,” Scott tensed, “you’ve been drinking all day,” The
chief paused as Scott looked up and met his eyes. “The point is,” he continued,
“I think it best that we let you go. Not permanently, just for a time. So you
can take a few weeks to recuperate.” Scott’s gaze was like ice, but his silence
was colder still. “We’ve gotten you an apartment room and can help you with
what you might need for the first week…” Chief Griffin droned on, but Scott
didn’t listen. He only stood up silently and walked out of the chief’s office
while Chief Griffin tried vainly to call him back.
Fired. The irony of
the word sickened Scott. He had lost everything. His wife, his daughter, his
house, his car, and his job. All gone. All fired. All he had was the clothing
that he wore and the meager help that his job and the city offered him.
Scott had finished filling his gas
containers and was walking toward his provided apartment with his stolen
shopping cart. He had left the gas station without paying and without any
problem. Everything seemed too easy, almost as if what he was doing was meant
to be. For a moment he could feel his heart beat a little faster, a fleeting
moment of fear at what he was about to do. It
will be worth it, Scott reassured himself.
The apartment was old and run down,
but it was the only apartment complex, hotel, or anything like it in all of
Paradise. Scott pushed his shopping cart up to number 14 and put his key in the
door. He heard the lock click quietly as he turned it, then opened the door,
pulling the cart into the room behind him.
The apartment was small, and smelled
old and musty. A queen-size bed was pushed up against one wall while a
television that was very possibly older than Scott’s 38 years sat on a wooden
dresser that had obviously seen better days. The brown shag carpet was stained
and dusty and the lampshades that hung over the bed were the same. Tucked into
one corner was the bathroom and closet, with a pathetic excuse for a kitchen across
from it. Overall, it was a fairly ugly site, but Scott wasn’t there to look
around. He closed the door behind him and got to work.
* * *
The dispatch officer working the
phone at Paradise Police Department jumped a little when she heard the phone
ring. She groaned as she reached for the phone, “Probably just some stupid kids
pulling a prank.” She pressed the button on her telephone headset and read her
part from the computer screen in front of her.
“Nine-one-one dispatch, what is your
emergency?”
The conversation was short and
disturbing. The distressed teenage boy that she had spoken to had told her that
a man had stolen a cart full of material. The things that the man had stolen
were the perfect ingredients for a bomb, but more disturbing than that was the
description that the boy gave of the man.
Suddenly the phone rang again.
“Nine-one-one dispatch, what is your
emergency?” the officer asked again.
“Hi, uh,” stuttered the girl on the
other end, “My name is Chelsea. I work at the gas station store, and, um, some
guy just stole some gas.”
The officer continued with her
routine job. “Can you describe the man to me?”
“Um, yeah, I think.” The girl said.
“He was, I don’t know, like six feet tall, balding, and had kind of a big
nose.”
“Was he thin? Stocky?”
“Thin, but strong. You know, not
like a wimp or anything.” The girl responded.
“Any distinguishing marks?”
The girl paused, “Yeah, there was
one thing,” she said. “He had a really gross looking blotch on the side of his
face. Like, a sore or something.”
The officer froze. “Which side,
Chelsea?” She asked with a knot in her throat.
“The right side I think,” she paused,
then answered with conviction, “Yeah, the right side.” The answer sent a chill
up the officer’s spine.
“Thank you Chelsea, I’m sending
officers right now.” She hung up the phone. Her thoughts swam around in her
head for a moment, but there was no doubt in her mind of who they were dealing
with.
“Scott Harris.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later the entire
Paradise police force was surrounding the Paradise Apartment Complex. They had
evacuated all of the residents and staff that were nearby and were preparing to
confront Scott Harris. They had suited up two officers that were particularly
close to Scott with bulletproof vests and other equipment to go in and try to
talk him down.
“You ready Jordan?” One of the cops
said to the other.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, Sean.”
Jordan responded.
Jordan and Sean had been working in
the force together for eight years, but this was their first real job. Although
they wouldn’t admit it to one another, they were scared and unsure of
themselves. On the other side of the door in front of them was their friend and
coworker who had been on the force long before they joined. They had a thousand
questions and doubts running through their minds, but for the sake of
professionalism, they stayed quiet.
The two of them walked up to the
front door, and, on signal, opened the door with a master key that the staff
had given them.
The hotel room had changed
significantly since Scott had first entered. There were containers set up in
the corners of the room, the bed had been ripped to shreds, and pieces of
cotton and down littered the floor. The TV had been knocked over and the
rounded screen was cracked. The stained floor also seemed to be stained with
something else, a wet spot that lead directly to Scott Harris.
“Scott,” Jordan said, his voice
shaky, “hey, it’s me. Jordan.” He took a slow step into the room. “We’re here
to talk, okay?” Scott didn’t say anything, he just reached into his pocket.
Jordan and Sean instinctively put their hands over their guns, ready to draw.
Scott pulled the lighter and ring out of his pocket.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like
this.” Scott said as he tenderly touched the burnt skin on his face, then the
ring in his hand. Jordan and Sean froze. “I was supposed to die like the rest
of my family, burning.”
“Scott, wait. Put the lighter down.”
Sean tried, but Scott either didn’t hear him, or was ignoring him.
“My family is dead.” He hissed
through his teeth. “I heard them scream as their flesh melted off of them.” He
stopped for a moment, considering the two young officers in front of him. “Now
I will die the same way.” He droned emotionlessly. “My only regret is that I
will have to take you with me. I’m sorry.” He then lit the lighter and let it
fall to the floor in front of him.
When the flame made contact with the
wet shag carpet it burst into a raging gasoline fire. The fire spread to Jordan
and Sean before they could even react, and then to the four containers that
were set up around the room. Sean pulled his gun out of its holster and shot a
round, hitting Scott in the shoulder. The impact of the bullet threw Scott
backward just as the gas reached the bombs he had built. The room was lit up as
the gasoline and gunpowder inside the containers ignited, sending flames in all
directions mingled with red hot nails and chunks of gravel. The walls of the
apartment room were violently torn and spackled with holes, and everything
inside obliterated. Jordan and Sean tried to cover themselves, but it was too
late. Scott could feel the work of his hands burning and piercing into his body
as he fell back. Just before he hit the ground a sick grin flashed across his
face.
Scott Harris knew how it would end,
and now it was over.
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