Flare

8

With all the commotion, it was impossible to go hunting for three weeks. The officers were all up in arms, especially after the closed casket funeral. Officer Daveson was much loved. Patrols were everywhere and some officers worked overtime to try and catch the fiend that murdered Officer Daveson. Devil or not, they were going to catch him.

Or so they thought.

Slowly but surely, Herman got closer and closer to his goal.

Some nights he would patrol with the officers. Other times he would take them coffee or sandwiches. He did this while working still. Frank was back at work which allowed Herman to spend more time achieving his goal. This seemed to make Frank proud that Herman was taking such a positive step towards being part of the community.

And slowly, painstakingly, Herman was becoming a regular face at the station. He even popped into Paul's office a few times, usually with coffee and a bagel (according to the officers, bagels were Paul's Achilles' heel). And all the while showing restraint as the fire was constantly urging him to burn down the whole town!

The fire. That's how Herman thought of it. It felt alien, like a parasite, but also like a part of him, just like his heart or stomach. But it was alive. It was sentient. Almost like he was possessed. Yet, it didn't do him any harm? It made the bath water warm and kept him warm during winter. It gave him pleasure when he killed and kept him safe with its little voice of reason. So it couldn't be all that bad, could it?

But it was becoming insistent. It needed a victim. And it took all Herman's restraint to just randomly ignite people all over town. He kept trying to tell the fire to be patient, that they will get another victim. But the fire was hungry.

And just one day, almost out of the blue, while sitting in Paul's office, he was handed a folder. He looked up at Paul, questions in his eyes but none on his lips.

"Have a look. You're a bright lad."

Herman opened the folder. It was full of large black and white photos and some forms filled in. The forms were scribbled in various hand writings and the photos contained mostly photos of footprints in the snow. As he scrolled through, the photos became worse. Half burned corpses, melted metal and some others.

"What am I looking at?" His lip trembled slightly. What emotions were running through his body? Excitement, definitely! He did it! He was involved! But there were others as well! Disgust maybe? The half burned corpse of the bum riled his stomach. He never really thought about his victims after the burning. And the newspapers and radio really glossed over the details. But seeing it for the first time, even in a photo, made him somewhat uncomfortable. And what was that other emotion, hiding behind excitement and disgust?

"The so called Devil's handiwork." Paul's voice cut his thoughts short. "Crime scene photos, evidence photos and all that. Reports from the scenes, coroners and one witness. Help me see what I don't."

Herman looked up. Paul's eyes were tired. They were pleading. This case was eating him alive.

"Every time I think I got him, something comes up. Stupid dogs freak out near the prints, snow melted, people freak out or the witness is a total nut job. This guy has gotten me at every turn and I feel like it is just pure dumb luck." Paul visibly sagged. As if the confession took a load off his shoulders. He seemed to age ten years in those few words. "He took my daughter." Paul aged even more. His voice became cracked. "I need this fucker caught."

Herman sat there and stared at Paul. The little emotion, hiding away came to the forefront. Guilt.

He felt bad for Paul. This was all his doing. He took Evelyn from him. He killed those people and he caused this man, who was almost like a friend to him now, immense pressure and heartache. He felt like shit. How do you live with yourself after seeing what you do to others? It was easy being detached from the reality of it the way he was. But how was he going to go on with it now? How was he going to continue living with this guilt?