Fire Games
Mark Stewart
Fire Games
Mark Stewart
Copyright Fire Games 2016: Mark Stewart. All rights reserved.
ISBN: 9781370143221
No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author. This story is fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination. Resemblance to any actual person living or dead is purely coincidental.
[email protected]
Edited by: Rosemary Cantala
Cover design Joe Hart [email protected]
By Mark Stewart
Crime
The Kendal chronicles
Fire games
Heart of a spider
I know your secret
Copycat murders
Romance
Kiss on the bridge
Kiss on the bridge two
Kiss on the bridge three
The perfect gift
Blood red rose (Vampire romance adventure)
Blood red rose two
Blood red rose three
Legendary Blue Diamond
Legendary blue diamond two
Legendary blue diamond three
Don’t Tell My Secret (series)
201 May Street
Emerald Hill
A Perfect Summer’s Day
Planet X91 the beginning
Planet X91 the new home
Planet X91 the underwater cave
Planet X91 the storm
Planet X91 the drought
Planet X91 the fire
Planet X91 the plague
Planet X91 the doorway to time
Planet X91 the new earth
Planet X91 alien amongst us
Planet X91 wayward asteroid
Planet X91 the unwelcome visitor
Planet X91 the Derelict
Planet X91 the hidden catacombs
Planet X91 descending into ID
Planet X91 sleeping disease
Planet X91 black hole
Planet X91 ghost ship
Planet X91 SOS
Planet X91 interplanetary games
Planet X91 decadence
Plus many more
In this series
Fire Games
Heart of a spider
I know your secret
FIRE GAMES
CHAPTER ONE
‘2:03 am’
THE INTERIOR of the two storey mansion sounded graveyard quiet. Reaching out Detective Alan James Kendal flicked the light switch to the on position. His first two attempts his fingers only brushed the plaster. He heard a click after his third attempt.
The area remained midnight black.
For a split second, a bolt of lightning transformed the dark room into daylight before plunging it back into the colour of charcoal. The low steady rumble in the sky followed soon after.
“The storm’s seven kilometers to the south and closing,” he whispered.
In the darkness, Kendal extracted his police issue Smith and Wesson from his shoulder holster.
Outside, a dog howled and dragged its metal tether across a wooden verandah. Before Kendal, continued searching the house, he stood motionless listening to the one-hundred-year-old grandfather clock’s tireless ticking coming from the hall.
A series of blue flashes from the approaching storm caused the shadows in the room to look alive. A clap of thunder drowned the clock’s rhythmic echoes.
Kendal stepped towards the first window. Holding his gun at the ready he hesitated, noticing the curtain over the window hung heavy. He moved on, his back and shoulders scraping the freshly painted wall. A mahogany staircase loomed thirteen paces directly ahead; its ghostly outline beckoned him to climb the seventeen steps to the top.
The detective stepped silently towards the next window. The curtain puffed inwards. He froze, aimed his revolver at the window, waiting for the curtain to move again. Outside, a cat leapt onto the roof of a metal shed. Even though his trigger finger remained rock solid, he jumped at hearing the thud.
Upstairs, underneath the worn carpet, a floorboard creaked. Kendal stared through the darkness. A blue lightning flash illuminated the top step. For only a moment he saw a figure holding a gun before darkness again swallowed the room. Un-blinking Kendal held the spot. His spine tingled. The hair on the back of his head stood military style.
Above the house lightning and thunder rolled together. The curtain over the window quickly inflated, flapping around him. Hail started to slide down the glass creating dirty streaks. For a brief second the top landing was again shrouded in blue. In the flash of light, Kendal spied a shorter figure standing next to the hooded person clutching the balustrade using both hands.
Kendal aimed his gun at the two ghostly figures staring down at him.
“I wouldn’t shoot if I were you,” called the taller of the two.
The detective swore under his breath. He yelled through clamped teeth.
“Patrick you’re under arrest.”
“How do you figure, Coppa?”
Patrick’s bone chilling voice easily surged through the darkness.
A quick light show followed by a deep rumble in the sky intensified, enveloping the house. The windows rattled. A claustrophobic darkness swallowed the stairs and the surrounds.
“Patrick, drop your gun. Come down the stairs, nice and slow.”
“Save the negotiations. I don’t take orders; I give them. If you don’t drop your gun, I’ll shoot your kid.” The balaclava-clad figure yanked the girl’s hair, forcing her to light a match. “Hey, Coppa, have you sniffed the air lately?”
Kendal took a whiff and coughed.
“The stench is petrol fumes.”
A blue lightning flash highlighted the petrol soaked kindling stacked pyramid style as thunder broke on top of the house.
Kendal looked up and saw the horror written on his daughter’s face.
“Don’t be stupid Patrick, if that match falls, you’ll burn. Tegan, don’t be scared, blow the match out.”
Patrick leveled his gun at the girl’s head. “Who gives the orders?”
“You do,” she mumbled.
“Correct. Hey, Coppa, you forget, I have plan B. I always have plan B. Now drop your gun.”
Kendal slowly shuffled away from the kindling. “Give yourself up. The game’s over.”
Laughing a hideous noise Patrick lowered his gaze to the lit match, slapping it out of Tegan’s hand. Three pairs of eyes watched the small flame free fall towards the floor.
Kendal aimed his gun upwards into the darkness and pulled the trigger. He heard a groan. The thud made his blood run cold. Sprinting for the balustrade, he looked up and saw a figure slumped on the carpet. He heard feet running as the lit match hit the petrol soaked kindling. Hesitating only long enough to watch the fireball mushroom towards the ceiling, Kendal sprinted up the stairs two at a time. Each large step he completed his heart sank further. He cursed the reason why he was such a good shot and tried to convince himself Tegan was the one running. In his heart, he knew he was wrong.
Kendal housed his gun and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. By the time he reached the top step he had dialed 000. Standing over the bloody body and as the fire spread quickly through the house, he sank to his knees and sobbed.
Kendal’s home phone shrilled. He swept the sleep from his eyes using his knuckles and checked the time on his study clock.
‘2:12 am.’
Reaching out he placed the cordless phone to his ear. “Speak,” he croaked, his voice still sounding Laden from the dream.
“Hey, Detective, did I wake you?”
“Patrick,” Kendal growled. Sitting straight-backed in the leather recliner, he pushed his free hand through his thick black hair. To rid himself of any remnant of
sleep he stood and paced the brown carpet. He stopped at the open study door to stare at his wife walking slowly down the stairs. “I was awake and waiting for your call,” he lied.
Using his tight fist, Patrick thumped his balaclava. “You were asleep.”
“Stop playing me for a fool. Give yourself up. Stop playing these fire games.”
“You’re the one playing games. I’ve already given you three months. Do you have any idea of my identity? Or why I chose you for my next target?”
“I know who you’re not. Everyone who hates me is in prison.”
“I’m not in jail, and I hate you. I loathe what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“You love mind games, guess.”
“Give me a clue.”
“It all started a long time ago.”
“What year?”
Staring at the wall of the house he was standing in Patrick smirked.
“Frustrating isn’t it? Not knowing the answer.”
“Tell me more.”
“It’s not part of the game. I’m going to frustrate you till the day you’re buried.” Patrick’s lips parted into a wide satanic grin. “Hey Kendal, I’ve used petrol to douse the kindling and the interior walls of the house I’m standing in. I love the smell of petrol fumes; don’t you? It gives me a high.” He struck a match and stared intently at the small dancing flame.
“Tell me truthfully, do you want to burn another house?” Kendal frowned at Margaret. She had a firm grip on the balustrade while her torso swayed from side to side. Sweeping their youngest daughter Tani closer to her hip, her eyes welled with water.
“Real soon it will be time to burn another house.” Patrick blew the match out. He parted the curtains hanging over the window to study the neighbourhood.
“Give me a clue to your identity.”
Patrick pondered the idea for a few seconds. “I’ll consent to a tiny hint,” he whispered, allowing the curtains to close. “Twenty-seven years ago I happened to be playing at a friend’s home. The two-storey house burnt to the ground. The fire looked beautiful. Its colours of blue, vanilla and orange were hypnotic. It was my first fire. I told them all it was an accident.”
“Them? Whom did you tell?”
Patrick lit another match. He stood watching the small flame dance on the match head completely captivated by its blue base and orange stem. “It’s a secret,” he finally whispered.
“You haven’t answered my question,” growled Kendal.
The mahogany framed grandfather clock in the hall sounded its deep half hourly ritual chime. He frowned, watching his wife walk a death march towards him. She looked him in the eyes. Tears streamed down over her cheeks. Kendal’s eyes widened as he stared at the phone.
“What have you done?”
Fear was trying to take over Kendal’s thoughts. He wanted to grab Patrick’s throat and squeeze a confession out of the pyromaniac. He swallowed the lump in his throat, waiting for the conversation to continue.
“I love the moment of release when the lit match starts to fall towards the food. The flame flickers and dances on its journey eagerly waiting to be fed. The climax comes so quick. The match lands on the petrol soaked kindling. For a microsecond, nothing happens. In a bright flash, the kindling ignites. The fire roars to life. Fire fingers hungry for food stretch along petrol trails I created. Alas, the house will be devoured.”
Kendal listened closely to Patrick’s ramblings, all the while watching Margaret closely, scrutinizing her every move.
“It’s like skydiving. The moment he or she is in mid-air you can feel the adrenalin pumping through your body. Detective, have you ever posted a letter then wondered did you put a stamp on the envelope?” Patrick paused to chuckle at his words. “Coppa, knowing you can’t stop me is exciting. The first day of each month for the past twenty-seven years I have created a house fire. Of all the cops who have tried to catch me, I’ve decided you’re the last. You’ll be my trophy.”
“Which house are you in Patrick?”
“I’m not stupid. Why would I tell you? We’re playing a game of cat and mouse.”
Kendal wondered had fate brought them together or was some unknown force pushing him towards an inevitable endm one-on-one with Patrick? Only time will tell.
“I know where you live. Under the coat you always wear, you’re like all the others, stupid. You don’t even know I’ve watched every move you’ve made for years. I’ve a complete dossier on your achievements, starting on that night. You read my notes, you find the clues, and you’re still not even warm. At least the cop before you came close, twice. I was careless, overconfident, but I’m a professional now. I leave nothing to chance. There will be one last fire.” Patrick held the phone in a death grip and started to yell. “You hear me, Coppa? Do you hear me? You wait, though, the last fire is going to be the best, extremely spectacular. You will die. And you ask me if I have to do this?”
Kendal could feel his blood pressure rising. He needed to force his voice to sound ice-cold.
“You’ve confessed to having stalked me for years. Why?”
“You’re supposed to be clever. Work it out.”
“What night are you referring to?”
“I’m not saying. Be advised, my vendetta against you has been building since that night.”
“What did I do to trigger your bitter grudge?”
Patrick grabbed the back of a chair and threw it across the room. “No more questions. No more questions. All you ever do is ask stupid questions. You need to listen.”
Margaret stood at the threshold to the study. Her face looked to be the same colour as the sheet of paper she clutched between her fingers. Both her hands were trembling making the handwritten words on the paper too hard to read.
Kendal sat and focused his attention on the phone. He didn’t like it, but his wife would have to wait.
“Okay, I’ll sit here and listen.”
In the sudden pause, Kendal raised his eyebrows to affirm Marg’s presence. He extracted his mobile phone from his long black duffel coat and stabbed the Police Headquarters’ phone number. He needed to stall long enough for the trace to be finalized. Three months of phone traces had always failed to locate the psychotic bum. He must keep Patrick talking. Tonight might be his last opportunity.
“Coppa, are you ready to listen?”
“Yes.”
Patrick’s voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ve changed the rules.”
“Why?”
“You’re supposed to be listening, not talking. Burning a house to the ground has become monotonous, boring. I need more of a thrill, besides you couldn’t catch a fly if it was half dead. Don’t waste your time using the trace. In the changing of the rules, I’ll give you a clue. I’ll say the address slowly so we can play, ‘catch me if you can.’ I’m at number 13 Ashton Court. Three streets from where you live.”
In the silence, the Grandfather clock’s ticking again filled the air. Kendal leaned forward in the chair. His eyes were fixed and ablaze. Excitement erupted on his face. He hurled his two-metre frame to a standing position, setting himself to run. At last, Patrick had become too cocky and made his first mistake.
Kendal again stared at his wife. The sheet of paper she held floated to the floor. Marg looked ready to faint, leaning against the wall. Kendal pushed the stop button on his mobile phone and switched to messages.
“Before you sprint out of the house let me take this opportunity to say I’ve a hostage.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“I knew my statement would get your full attention. I’m not telling. I want you to guess.”
“Give me a hint.”
“No,” replied Patrick.
“It seems only fair?”
“I’ve already told you. This game has grown to be a bore. In my new game, I’ll do what I want. You like guessing games; I expect you to play.”
“Games are plural.”
Patrick let out a belly laugh. “Ken
dal, I’m going to keep you, running around in circles for one more month then you’ll witness my grand finale.”
“What happens if I don’t want to play?”
“My young female hostage will die.”
“I thought you said you’re not a murderer.”
“I’m not, the fire is. The fire will eat my young hostage.”
Kendal finished the text message which included the house address and pushed send. Constable Susie Alderson was supposed to be working the graveyard shift. She should respond to his message so long as she wasn’t chatting up some young rookie cop.
“Hey, I love the text message.”
“What text message?”
“The one you just sent. You’ve forgotten I know everything you do.”
Kendal glanced about the room looking for a hidden camera. Unable to detect one he re-focused his attention on the voice coming through the phone.
“You’ve gone quiet on me. If you forfeit the game, my hostage dies.”
“You’ve kidnapped a child, a female child.”
“You’re getting warmer.”
Kendal cussed under his breath. Staring again at his wife, Kendal frowned. “When did you kidnap the child?”
“No more than one hundred and twenty minutes ago. I waited for the kid’s parents to fall asleep before entering their two storey house.”
“The child would have woken.”
“Ether works well. It’s extremely quick in rendering the victim unconscious.”
Kendal’s mind slipped into overdrive. Up to now, Patrick had only been another arsonist. Now there was a third person involved. Kendal’s Adam’s apple bobbed violently as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Patrick’s new game was to involve a hostage. There hadn’t been a death yet, but the stakes were climbing. Kendal’s thoughts were distracted by his wife’s sobs. He walked over and stared into her watery eyes.
“How old is the girl?”
“Twelve years, six months.”
Kendal could feel Patrick’s smirk through the phone. He located the sheet of paper on the carpet and read the note. In silence, he raised his gaze. His eyes were already red and glazed.
“You found my note?”
Kendal’s skin crawled. Blinking away his tears he gently squeezed his wife’s right shoulder. The lump in his throat threatened to block his words. For the second time, he attempted to swallow it. When he talked, he sounded fanatically calm.
“What note?”
“The one I left sitting on your wife’s bedside table.”
“What’s the name of the hostage?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already guessed.”
Kendal raised his hand to massage his throbbing temple. He shook his head. Not daddy’s little girl, not little Tacca. Keeping up his gaze on his wife Kendal spoke casually through the phone.
“I didn’t catch the name of the child.”
“She’s daddy’s little girl.”
“I need a first and last name.”
“Don’t play me for a fool, however, if you insist, I believe you call her little Tacca. Tegan Alexandra Kendal.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I worked fast. You were asleep for only twenty minutes. Watching you sitting in the rocker, you looked so tired.”
Kendal’s legs faulted. He buckled slightly under his weight. “You hurt my daughter; I’ll finish you off. You won’t live to see a prison cell,” he spat, squeezing the phone in a death grip.
The noise from a magnesium covered match head striking the edge of a matchbox came through the phone.
“Now, now,” snarled Patrick. “Remember your blood pressure. I don’t want you to die before your time.”
Margaret’s eyes closed. Tani reached out and patted her arm.
Kendal’s blood ran cold. “What do you want for the safe return of my daughter?”
“It’s not like you to beg. Do I hear the desperation in your voice?”
“Set my daughter free. Your grudge should only involve me.”
“I want you to suffer for what you did. I want you to know what I’m feeling. I want you to know what it’s like to have something you hold dear to your heart ripped from your grasp.”
Patrick casually dropped the match onto the petrol soaked kindling set up in a pyramid style on the highly polished marble floor.
“Hey, Coppa, catch me if you can.”
The phone went dead.
CHAPTER TWO
