Firelight

Chapter 8

"It is a proud day for our police force. It is a day when we can say that we are taking a stand against the scourge of drug dens. It is a day when we can say we are protecting our children. And it is a day when we can say we are building a better future."

The speech was met with thunderous applause, but Connor remained silent in the audience. It was a pretty speech, full of placations for the masses, but it was meaningless. The truth behind the Ministers words was evident: the police were doing nothing.

It was one of the open secrets in the city police force; drug dens were tolerated, because removing them would leave an opening that more dangerous foreign dealers and organised criminals would fill. It was a poor excuse, an argument based on the simple truth that the police were more interested in defending their masters in government than preventing crime in the streets.

It sickened Connor to the core. If the police weren't going to stand up for what was right, he would have to do it himself.

His bedroom was becoming a chaotic mess, heaps of paper clippings and scribbled notes were in disorderly piles scattered across the floor. All of them noted drug crimes in the area – annotated police reports, media speculation, and Connor's own observations were recorded in the mass of papers that occupied the floor. Without even registering the mess, Connor sifted through a pile next to his bed, pulled out a social work report and reread it. He knew the contents of the report almost by heart, but for his plan to go off without a hitch, he needed every detail to be exact.

Indulging his paranoia a little more, he compared the report to his own notes, ensuring for the third time that hour that everything matched up. Fidgeting for another few minutes, Connor realised he wouldn't be able to just wait another four hours in his home. He needed to go outside. He needed to make a difference.

The chill of the night was beginning to set in when the two men met her. She looked strung out, but she still carried herself with the unmistakable air of a lady looking for business. The short mini-skirt and partially unbuttoned blouse were neon signs for those who knew what to look for.

It started like a normal night; the first of the men set up a camera, whilst the second handed her some money, before ripping off his shirt. She swallowed her revulsion as she kissed him, feeling him pant on her neck as he pressed his sweaty body against her. She closed her eyes, letting his hands wander. Just another hour before she could go home, just another customer.

She felt a spurt of something warm and wet hit her chest as the man grunted heavily. So soon? Hiding her smile, she opened her eyes to see the man she didn't know the name of gaze at her with dead eyes, arterial blood spurting from his neck.

She screamed, turned, and ran for the door. It was locked, but she still pulled at it, screaming in terror as she desperately yanked at the handle. Her drug fuelled mind couldn't process anything other than the need to escape. She never noticed the youth standing behind her, calmly spilling petrol over the floor.

As the building burned, she stood screaming at a door that would never open.

The fire engines roared past Connor as he walked through the near empty streets. His heart was still pounding from the exhilaration of executing God's justice. He could feel his fingers still trembling from where he had held a knife for the first time. He hated using it, but it would confuse any criminal profilers on his trail.

Ducking into a dark side alley, Connor pulled out a small mirror from his pocket. Scanning himself, he noticed he had more than a few spots of blood on his face. Cursing himself for being so sloppy, he quickly licked his thumb and tried to take them off.

More sirens sounded in the streets nearby, as the police headed to the building inferno. They'd no doubt start looking for witnesses soon enough. "This was a mistake," Connor muttered to himself. He checked his hoodie, before realising he had blood down it. He looked around, panic setting in as the sirens grew louder, but couldn't see another way out of the alleyway.

Then he noticed a sewer grate. Even though pulling it open would make too much noise, he started to improvise a plan in his mind. He turned to the wall, then charged into it. He winced, but felt his nose crack from the impact. Blood started to trickle down his face, but it wasn't enough.

Bracing himself, he slammed himself against the wall again and again, until the blood was pouring down his front. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he grabbed the sewer grate, and pulled with all his might. The rusted metal screamed as Connor wrenched it from the ground.

"Hello, is anyone there?" The shout came, closer than Connor thought it would be.

"Over here!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, "He's over here, hurry!"

Staggering out the alleyway, Connor saw two police officers running towards him. Pointing to where he'd just been, the two women run past him, one talking into her walkie talkie whilst the other pulled out her pepper spray.

Within minutes, the street was a hub of police activity. Paramedics were asking if Connor needed any medical help, dabbing at his face with wipes, telling him how to hold his nose to stop the bleeding. Then two of the officers came to him, notebooks in hand, clearly intent on asking what he saw.

One of the paramedics intercepted him, talking about how Connor was clearly concussed, that he may need to go to hospital. Connor winced to himself. It seemed his other plans weren't going to happen that night.

The hospital staff were in a paradoxically calm panic when Connor arrived. They were desperately trying to save a woman with fourth degree burns, but had a veneer of controlled professionalism and dignity that was a silent testimony to the level of training and expertise of the doctors and nurses.

A triage nurse spotted the paramedics flanking Connor and hurried over to speak with them. She kept her voice low so he couldn't hear her, but Connor picked up that he wouldn't be seen until the prostitute he thought he had dealt with earlier was either dead or in a stable condition. He closed his eyes, silently praying that God would pass judgement on the filthy whore.

The sun had fully set by the time he was seen by some one of the nurses. He chatted to him merrily, trying to make light conversation and to disguise his own exhaustion. Connor nodded along to what the nurse was saying, letting him check his pulse and blood pressure, shine lights in his eyes, and dab his wounds with a foul smelling pad.

The steriliser stung, as Connor felt the nurse gently cleaned out the wounds and wrapped a bandage round his head. Connor felt his mind drift away as he focused on the plans he didn't have time to do. The drug den he was going to visit still stood, a violation of God's plans. It was not just corrupt, it was a corrupter; guilty of warping the souls of those who went inside, turning them into demons that set out to corrupt the souls of the innocents.

"You're done." The nurse smiled at Connor, before standing and turning to go. "If you have any other symptoms, it might be best to come back here. Also, I'd recommend you ask someone to check up on you through the night. Other than that, you're free to go."

Connor stood up, smiling to himself. The fire in his soul was burning once again, he needed to let it spread, he needed to bring judgement to the unworthy.