Flame Thrower (Blairon)

Fifty Steps

"Dat wum wooks wike you, daddy!"

"Are you sure firecracker? It looks like a pig to me. See the nose and the ears. And the funky tail-"

"Piggy's tail isn't funkwy! It's woonick,"

A low chuckle sounded through Ron's ears

"Unique, baby boy,"

"Dwos it mattow"

"Of course pronunciation matters or else people won't understand you,"

Ron went out of little space and sighed

"People don't understand me. My father-"

"Your father is like the pigs tail. Doesn't matter,"

"I love you daddy,"

"I love you too baby boy,

Ron fell to the floor with a painful thud. He was crying and panting. He wiped at his eyes furiously before grabbing his phone which had been the thing that had woken him up in the first place. He didn't recognize the number. "H-hello?"
"Hey champ!" Ron's eyes widened before we grinned a large, goofy grin. "Sam! How are you?" Officer Samuel Andrew had been Chief of Police and Head if Blaise's guard all those years ago. He still was Chief but he always made time for Ron. Samuel was like a father to Ron, since Arthur was still homophobic and racist. "Are you using a different number? Cause I don't recognize it," Ron asked and Andrew sighed. "It's the Station's phone actually. I'm sorry to say but we need you to come down here to further your statement about yesterday's accident. I'm sorry, Ron," he said sadly and Ron bit his lip. "Will you be there?" He asked and Andrew chuckled. "Course I will, see you in an hour?"
"Sure, bye Sam,"
"See ya champ,"
Ron hung up. He was frustrated. He threw his phone onto his pillow and sunk back into his bed, wiping at his eyes again. After a while, he got dressed, walked over the broken glass on the ground covered by the blanket from the night before and went into Harry's room. "Hey mate? I've got to stop by the station. They want to review my statement or something. Be back up in a few hours," he said and chuckled when Harry replied with a groan, giving Ron a thumbs up from under the covers. Instead of taking the usual Uber, Ron decided to walk. He needed a distraction and the busy bustle of the city was perfect for the job. The cars, the people, the shops, the inaudible birds. All of it just managed to wash away his worries like the raging tied washes away layers of sand on the beach. Sooner or later, Ron was met with the friendly, slightly aged face of his father figure. Though they weren't related, Ron and Andrew looked quite similar and many people usually confused them of being father and son. Like Ron, Andrew had freckles everywhere, even more than Ron. His skin was peachy like Ron's and they  had similar colour blue eyes. The only  difference was that Andrew had a dimple on his left cheek and his hair was sandy blonde. Although Andrew was in his late forties, he looked fairly young. Most people thought he as thirty when he was actually forty seven. "There's my boy!" The freckled man grinned, ruffling Ron's hair. Ron chuckled and slapped his hand off. "What is it I'm here to do again?" He asked as the two entered the police station. "They want to get a more detailed explanation of the murder and they-uh-they want to ask about the Flame Thrower." Ron groaned. He and already been through this enough five years ago and he wasn't very keen on a repeat. Suddenly, a siren blurred through Ron's ears and he flinched. Many officers started suiting up, leaving the station. Andrew looked panicked and quite angry. "What's going on?" Ron asked, fear creeping up his spine. "That's the fire alarm we made for the Thrower. When it goes off, it means a fire was started and he was the one that did it," Andrew said, pulling Ron around the station through all the distressed cops. "Sam, I can come back later-"
"I hate to ask so much of you Ron but I think you should come with-Move out!" Ron flinched at the loudness of Andrew's voice as he addressed his team. "Why would I be any help?" Ron shrieked as Andrew loaded his gun. "He'll listen to you. If we find him that is,"

Ron hadn't the slightest clue what to do. Sirens were sounding everywhere as he watched in silence. They were near the loading bay where a warehouse had been set alight. It was a large shipment  warehouse and Ron couldn't go anywhere near it without sweating or feeling faint. He watched in anticipation as the both the Fire Brigade and the Police attempted to weaken the flames and evacuate civilians and victims away from the roaring flames. As if the murder just the night before wasn't enough. He was standing in front of a burning building for fuck's sake! Though, Ron hated to admit it but, the fire was quite breathtaking. Suddenly, something caught Ron's eye as he made a move to go back to the cop cars. It was a mug. His mug. The one he had broken. The exact same one. Ron looked around curiously before picking it up. There was a small piece of paper inside and he read it. "Fifty steps to your right, twenty to your left," Ron read allowed. Was he supposed to follow? Without knowing how to help the fire and feeling quite useless, Ron took a deep breath and started.

Forty nine...