An arsonists cookbook

Chapter 1: Jack Herring

It was a crisp winter morning. The frost glazed the glass on Jack Herring's windows. The condensation slowly dripping down the face of the glass and collecting in a small reservoir on the white windowsill. The puddle of condensation slowly sprinted down the matte black wall onto the desk of Jack. Jack lay there silently, listening to the ticking of his alarm clock. He glanced over at the empty spot on his double bed. How could she have left me?. He thought as he wondered what had happened to his beloved marriage. It had all fell apart so quickly, even though they loved each other so very much, work just seemed to somehow get in the way. When his wife fell pregnant, he couldn't take it anymore. He snapped and the vodka shots didn't help. He shouldn't of lashed out at her. He knew that. He knew that if it wasn't for his status in the police force he'd a been locked up with all the others he had put in there. The worst of post marital depression had faded but the guilt still slumbered deep in his heart. He couldn't bare it any longer. He had to get up and get out, however, a small voice in the back of his mind told him to stay. Jack was a detective in the Los Angeles Police Department, he was a well known one too. He had stopped everything from thief to serial killer. He had seen it all, or so he thought.

He lugged his 'six foot five inch' frame out of his white sheets. He spotted the fray patch at the end of his bed where the condensation puddle had leaked onto his bed. He let out a sigh before walking in just his black boxers to kitchen. He looked around his marble kitchen before wandering over to his fridge. He saw his pale and drab face in the reflection of the black fridge. I'm a mess. He thought to himself as he stared blankly for a few moments. He opened the fridge to find it empty. He slammed it shut before walking over to the black counter top, he searched the many highly positioned cupboards. He found it...A bag of microwaveable rice. It may not seem like much but this was his last source of food. He slowly hobbled over to the microwave and placed the package inside, his still half asleep mind was slowly beginning to awaken. He watched his floppy grey hair in the glass of the black microwave, the few strands he had left anyway. The rice had finally cooled and he dug into it like a hungry wolf pup after its first hunt of the winter. After he scoffed it down he went into the bathroom.

He attempted to turn on the shower but not a single drop came out. The water bill hadn't been paid in months, Jack should've known that. His wages were sapped by the cost of the divorce. lawyers, court cases, house bargaining, custody of children cases and last but not least child support. He loves his unborn child he really did but $100 a month for an unborn child seemed a little steep to him. He wasn't allowed in a ten foot radius when the baby is to be born anyway. The restraining order disallowed him to. He tried as best as he could to lather the soap and get a wash but it wasn't going well. He walked and got ready into a long black trench coat with a burgundy suit underneath with a trilby on his head, covering his bald spot. The nineteen-nighties is a tough time. He thought as he walked towards the front door, grabbing his keys on the way out. He had to face another day in the police department of LA.