One Step Ahead

Fire In The Sky

November 11th, 12:23 AM

      He moved quietly along the side of the run-down home, carefully pouring the liquid along the wall from the container he carried until it was empty. He had already emptied the first can along the front of the house, and partway around the opposite side, and he moved to deposit them both near the back fence, so he could grab them easily when he left. 

      It seemed as though luck was with him, as Ignacio Suarez lived on a rather isolated section of the street, with abandoned homes on either side of his, and a vacant lot across the way. This made it quite easy to move around unnoticed while pouring the gasoline, and he still saw no sign of anyone nearby as he crept to the back door, removing a long, thin piece of metal from his pocket. After just a couple of minutes of work on the doorjamb, he had made his way past the cheap lock and entered the shabby kitchen, which smelled strongly of fried foods and spices.

      Exchanging the lockpicking tool for his knife, he moved stealthily into the living room, pleased to find his target sprawled out, snoring, in a recliner, wearing only a pair of threadbare pajama pants printed with tiny LA Rams logos. He stepped forward, planning to slit the sleeping man's throat as he slept, but a floorboard creaked loudly under his foot, and Suarez bolted to an upright position, his eyes open and alert.

      The intruder immediately went on the offensive, hurling himself at Ignacio Suarez before he was able to rise from the chair, slashing at him with the knife. Suarez fought ferociously, but he was a small, slight man, and was quickly overpowered, suffering numerous stab wounds before the attacker let him drop back into his seat. Then, confident that his victim was dying, or at least too badly injured to escape, he turned back toward the kitchen. But before he even took a step, a sound from the back of the house caught his attention.

      Moving quickly down the short hallway, he stopped in front of a closed door at the end of the hall, and once again heard a slight scraping sound. Bringing his foot up, he kicked the door open, and was greeted by the sight of the backside of a woman in a pale-blue nightgown, who was halfway out of the small bathroom window. He stepped into the room and grabbed the back of the garment, dragging her back inside. She let out a shriek as he pulled her to his chest, holding the bloody knife in front of her.

      "So sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid I can't let you do that," he whispered, gently stroking her cheek with the blade before swiftly driving it to the hilt in her right ear, and yanking it out just as quickly. Then, after wiping the blade on her gown, he walked back through the house and out the back door, removing his bloodstained coat as he moved.

      Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he flicked the wheel until the flame appeared, and held it to the coat. Once he was sure that it wouldn't go out, he tossed it against the wall, and the gasoline ignited with a "whoosh", moving rapidly around the dilapidated building and greedily consuming the old, dry wood. He then retrieved the gas cans and hurried down the alley to his car, which was parked behind one of the vacant houses. Firing up the engine, he moved as quickly as the vehicle would allow toward the street, directly into the path of a blue sports car, which narrowly avoided hitting him. 

      Pushing the old car to it's limit, he continued on until he was several blocks away, and then began weaving his way down the side streets, back to his storage locker. Things hadn't gone quite as planned, he reflected, but reasoned that the fire should eliminate evidence of the knife wounds, making it impossible to connect the deaths to his mission. There might be suspicions, of course, but without any witnesses, they would be impossible to prove. 

      As he pulled up to the rented unit, he chuckled softly to himself, thinking "One down, two to go. And then I can get back to my real work."