Stoking The Fire

Prologue

A snapshot window into some random lives:

A quiet library backdrop. A battered smartphone connects to the free wifi, and a thumb bearing a short nail and chipped black polish scrolls through the updating emails, looking for... no, that's not it. That's not it either. It should be here by now! Nails tapping impatiently on the back of the phone suddenly stop, as the thumb rapidly scrolls back up through the emails and stops. The email that stood out is opened and a video plays, a small inhalation of breath sounds almost like a moan of despair.

********

A few blocks away, a receptionist sitting at a polished desk answers the ringing phone. "San Diego Crime Lab, how may I direct your call?" she says into the receiver, as she smiles at the man walking up to her desk. "Director Nick Stokes? Certainly, let me transfer you!" she states before mouthing 'Line 2' to the man as he comes to a stop. He flashes her an easy grin and a nod of confirmation, before he turns and heads to his office.

********

Back at the library, a librarian slides a piece of paper, a pen, and an envelope over the information desk with a smile. The hoodie wearing person on the other side takes it with a nod, and moves to the side to hastily scrawl a note - no, a short letter. A group of noisy kids burst through the front doors, and the figure flinches briefly before taking a shaky breath and starting to write.

********

Silent eyes watch the crime lab's parking lot, waiting for the delivery of a rental vehicle.

********

The now discarded pen rolls over the surface of the info desk, until it's stopped by a pamphlet holder. Chipped polish fingers fold the bottom third of the note up, and now all we can see is a brief snippet of the letter:

"Nick,

I've been debating for days whether I should bring myself to write this letter. I wasn't going to bother, but now my hand has been forced and I have no choice. I have to explain what I did, before you hear it from other sources and misunderstand my intent."

The rest is lost below the fold, and even that quickly vanishes from view as the top of the page is folded down and then the page is stuffed into the envelope that already has a simple "Nick Stokes" scrawled across the front of it.

*********

"No, I haven't left yet. Yes, I know it takes several hours to travel up there by car, but the charity event isn't even for another two days! I don't know when I'm going to leave, Sir, I'm still waiting for the rental company to deliver the car I'm supposed to be driving." Frustration creeps into the man's Texas drawl, and he takes a deep breath before continuing to speak. "Sir, if I could drive my own vehicle I would have been halfway there already. I haven't canceled my flight for the morning of... no Sir, I understand you want me there now. I'll do what I can."

*********

Chipped Fingernails lurks briefly in the lobby of the crime lab, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Thankfully, some of the lab's schedules never fail, and quick hands deftly slide the envelope in with the rest of mail going out to the various offices and labs, while the mail clerk takes a brief moment to chat up the receptionist. The only thing they notice seconds later is the lobby door closing.

*********

The landscaping outside of the entire building, and in front of the director's office in particular, offers Chipped Fingernails the perfect vantage point to watch and see what happens when Nick gets the letter. Hands jammed balled up in the pockets of ripped jeans, nervous feet scuffle the dirt in tattered and battered tennis shoes. An overstuffed gym bag is gently nudged a bit to the side in the scuffling. Intermittent drops splash from the tree limbs onto the hood and shoulders of the solitary figure, but they are mostly shielded from the worst of the night's drizzling weather.

Inside the office, the clerk hands the man his stack of mail with a smile and moves on with the mail cart, while he shuffles through the pile with only half-hearted interest, his mind elsewhere. Chipped Fingernail's pulse triples when he stops at the simply addressed envelope, laying the rest of the mail aside as he goes to open the letter with a frown.

Attention is diverted to the left with the arrival of a vehicle screeching into the parking lot. An officer standing outside approaches the car that has pulled straight up to the curb not far from Chipped's position, though they're well-hidden and not spotted.

"Can I help you, son?" The officer drawls to the pimply-faced youth who bursts out of the car, who is so nervous his hands nearly flap as he speaks.

"I'm so sorry I'm late sir, I was supposed to be here an hour ago but there was traffic and my replacement didn't show up on time and then there was more traffic on the way here and the rain caused two accidents and I'm lucky I made it here in one piece -"

The officer holds up a hand to stop the flow of words, and makes a slow down gesture to the kid, who in turn takes several gulps of air and starts over.

"You're right, I'm sorry. This vehicle is for Lab Director Nick Stokes, he's supposed to drive it somewhere important, and I'm over an hour late getting it here, that's all I know." the kid shrugs. The officer places a hand on the kid's shoulder and gently leads him towards the front door of the building.

"Nick's a pretty easy-going guy, I'm sure he'll be very understanding once we talk to him and get this all sorted out." he states kindly, as they head inside.

Chipped's attention is divided between this debacle and the fact that Nick only has the letter half out of the envelope, since someone has walked into his lab and is speaking to him with an excited expression on their face. Once both guys are through the front doors and the other people milling about have moved away to follow the drama, the car beeps as if someone had set the alarm on it. Then, it does it again. A few seconds pass and it does it a third, and then fourth, then fifth time in rapid succession. Chipped is staring at the vehicle now puzzled - is the kid so nervous that he keeps pressing the alarm on the keys?

Ready to write this oddity off and turn attention back to the matter at hand, a half turned head almost misses the glitching of the in-dash display of the GPS system. The rapid flashing however is not so easily missed, and Chipped creeps minutely closer to see what's going, only to be treated to the sight of the screen going black. Seconds later it comes back up with a scrolling diagnostic screen, as if the rapid cycling of the alarm system had forced a system reboot.

Inspiration flashes through Chipped's head, in the form of a conversation that had been overheard in the lab's garage not but a couple weeks before. Hands dip down and grab the handles of the gym bag, before sneakered feet creep over to the right side of the vehicle and drop the bag as Chipped drops to the ground and proceeds to wiggle under the front of the car.

"See, just grab this set of wires here and give it one good yank-" texas drawl emphasized with a hard jerk of a hand gripped around a large wiring harness, "And the whole car is fucked! Easier than you think, hunh?" runs through her head as she indeed grabs that exact wiring harness and gives it one healthy yank, watching the whole thing come ripping away from the panels and components.

Awkwardly she wiggles back out from under the car, scoops up the bag, and starts making her way back across the lot towards the way she had entered it several minutes before. Movement in the office draws her attention one more time, and she pauses briefly as she watches the officer and rental car kid enter his office. "I'm so sorry, Nick," she whispers, as a sharp pang of painful emotion floods her chest and makes it hard to breathe for a brief moment.

Then, a sharp pain flairs across the back of her skull, and as she pitches forward to meet the pavement, she hears someone mutter two words as her world goes black.

"Stupid Bitch!"