#tw: arson

👁 you're shaken - but accept Wally's offer. the shock of the fire takes a few days to wear off, but nothing could be more unsettling than living in close quarters with Wally Darling. existing within the living, breathing (creaking? squeaking) walls of his Home has an atypical effect on the puppet. Wally's voice is lower, and he moves with more purpose, as if he and Home are one and the same: symbiotic entities which exist in tandem with one another.

👁 to add to your creeping sense of dread, Wally flips the script on your personal space. now he is the one letting his fingers slip easily around your waist, and fixing you with uncomfortable, impossible-to-ignore stares. you try to laugh off his behaviour, questioning him openly if he enjoys having you as a guest so much. for once, Wally doesn't smile when he replies, "I love you living with me."

👁 it isn't until a week has passed that you learn all the doors are locked, and Wally never gave you a key. you try wrestling with the door handle, but it doesn't budge. then you try the windows, but they're sealed shut. 'I'm not trapped!' you think to yourself. 'Wally is just being a good neighbour - he wants to keep me safe.' but that still doesn't stop you from panicking, scouring the house for the heaviest thing you can find and trying to smash the window. the glass does not break. Home suddenly groans with the sound of a thousand old floorboards and overloaded pipes - a dreadful, ear-rending noise - causing the glass in the window to triple in height and thickness right before your eyes.

👁 terrified, you scramble backwards to run out of the kitchen - only to run smack into Wally. you collapse to the floor and gaze up at Wally, standing in the doorway with his hands tucked behind his back, that cat's smile of his holds some private amusement.

“This is madness.” Goodfellow stated. He stood next to Inspector Sullivan as they surveyed another burning cottage. This marked the fourth in the last month of fires. 

“I’m certain this one won’t be an accident either. We need to catch whoever is setting these fires before someone is killed.” The dark haired man replied. He could feel a headache coming on and the sight of a priest in a black cassock made it worse. 

The fire brigade nearly had the house fire out. Spectators had come out of their homes to watch, nearly an hour ago. It was something that bothered Sullivan, these fires were started in the middle of the day. No one ever saw someone fleeing, there was never someone who didn’t belong at the scene watching. And there didn’t appear to be any obvious link between the four houses that had been set alight. 

They were lucky so far that no one had died in the fires. There had been one case of smoke inhalation and one of the men on the brigade had received a minor burn. They needed to catch this arsonist before it got any worse. 

“Did everyone make it safely out?” Father Brown asked from where he was suddenly beside the officers. 

“Yes, please stay out of our investigation Father. Unless you know who is doing this?”

“I am afraid I have yet to hear anything of interest. I am not trying to be in the way of your investigation, Inspector.” The priest stated mildly.

“Please do. We don’t need you becoming a target and this mad person deciding to light up the church.” Sullivan responded dryly. He turned and strode toward the fire Chief, where he was talking to a couple men who had just exited the smoldering shell of a house.

“Is there anything you can tell me, Chief?” 

“It was intentional. Just like the others.” The man replied. “Whoever is doing this isn’t a random child either. They know what they are doing.”

“Thank you, Chief. Would you mind stopping by my office once you’re finished?’

“Not at all Inspector. Give me a few hours and we can discuss this more.” Sullivan liked the fire chief, he was no nonsense, work came before anything, and he took pride in his work. In another life they may have even been friends. In another life they may have been more. 

Sullivan made his way back towards Goodfellow and the Bain of his existence. 

“Dawson is going to come by once this is under control. I would like to look at the other fires and see if there is a connection between the homeowners. This can’t be purely random blazes.” He turned to the priest who made no attempt to remove himself from a likely official conversation. “Father, do you know of any links between the home owners? Any at all?”

“None that I can think of off the top of my head inspector, but I will ponder it a bit more and ask around. I am sure you’re right. These seem too intentional to be random targets.”

“Goodfellow, could you go ask around as well? People are more likely to talk to you than me.” The inspector hated to admit it, but he knew he came off as brash and insensitive to much of Kembleford. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Thank you for coming, Chief Dawson. I trust you were able to get the Thompson home put out?” He waved the other man in, offering him a seat and a cup of tea. 

“Yes. Although, there’s not much left of the place, sadly enough. Ben Thompson was telling me that they’re considering moving north, towards her parents.”

“We’ll be sad to see him leave the cricket team for sure.” Sullivan added, attempting to keep the small talk smooth. 

Dawson nodded, Ben was a good player, one that the team would surely miss. He looked up, not making eye contact with the younger man but able to see how his face remained impassive. He knew there were many in Kembleford that wanted nothing more than for the inspector to leave town and head back to London, the inspector included. But, he had always found the man professional, if a little stiff. Perhaps if he stuck around they may even become friendly. Perhaps if he stuck around they could become more than that.

“What can you tell me about these fires, Chief?” Dawson was torn from his musing at the question. 

“I can tell you that they're all the same person, and it's not a kid.”

“Just one person?” Dawson nodded, taking a sip of his tea, pleased that Sullivan got his preference right. 

“Seems likely. It’s all doable for one person, and doesn't appear to be a second source of ignition.” Sullivan saw the man hesitate. 

“What else did you notice, Chief?” 

“I think… I think it may be one of my men.” Sullivan eyebrow lifted in surprise. 

“Indeed? What led you to that conclusion?” Dawson set his cup down and leaned forward, trying and failing to catch Sullivan's eye. 

“I told you before that it's someone who knows what they're doing. But beyond that, it’s someone that has an understanding of how to put fires out as well. Middle of the day, so it’s someone local. No one is ever home, so they’re familiar with the house's routine. And, it’s never happened when I didn’t have a full house of men ready to go, so they know my station's routine as well.” He sagged back into his chair, saddened at the thought of one of his own causing this kind of harm. 

It was Sullivan's turn to set his cup down, elbows leaning on his desk. 

“I need a list of names of your men, Dawson. And I need you to tell me if any of them have been acting odd lately.”

Dawson nodded, reclaiming his tea cup. He studied the other man for a brief moment. Hard, determined eyes, clenched jaw and pinched eyebrows should not have made him attractive but Dawson found himself appreciating the look. Even with as much as he wanted to make his way back to London, Sullivan put his all into keeping this community safe. Dawson appreciated that at the very least. 

“I can’t think of anyone acting obviously suspicious. If I had to guess I’d say Nelson, McLeary, or Davis. They’re seasoned but still young, not married, dedicated.” He hesitated but continued. “They’ve been good men. They all get along with the rest in the house. But those three, I would say, run a little hotter than the others.” He shrugged, looking helpless at the thought of pointing fingers at someone under his command. 

“I would like to see your schedule for the days of the fires, and their personnel files as well. Please.” The please was tacked on. He didn’t want to appear rude. Training that had been beaten into him as a child kicking in. 

Dawson nodded and drank the last of his tea. “I’ll get that for you. I’ll stop back by tonight with it.” He stood and grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. He still smelled faintly of smoke and wanted nothing more than a shower and a good night's rest. Sullivan could see the exhaustion hanging off the other man. 

“It’s late. I have a few other things I can work on. Bring it in tomorrow.” Dawson smiled in relief. 

See he wasn’t totally oblivious, Sullivan thought of himself. Dawson nodded and headed out the door, closing the door behind him with a soft click. 

Sullivan spent the rest of his evening reviewing the other fires, the owners all similar ages, all married couples, not all had children. The husband's service records varied, nothing linking them there. The wives had similar hobbies, had all attended the same secondary school but weren’t close now. Two of the families had pets, one vacationed in the north, another didn’t make enough to take vacations. Different workplaces, different social classes, different social circles. Surely there was something that connected them all.

By half seven in the morning Sullivan was once more standing at his desk. He looked over his notes from the night before with fresh eyes, enjoying his tea. A quick knock on his door had him turning away from his work.

“Come in.” Dawson’s head peaked through the crack, Sullivan found him amusing.

“Wanted to drop this before I head in for the day.” He handed Sullivan the three files. He felt… guilty? No that wasn’t it. Apprehensive? That may have been closer to the truth. He felt apprehensive about giving the files to the Inspector, he had a bad feeling about this case. 

“Thank you.” Sullivan set the files on his desk. “Chief?” Dawson straightened up, looking attentive. “You’ve been here your whole life, minus your years in service. Do you know of any connection between the victims? I’ve been looking but I am not finding much to go on, besides that the wives all attended the same secondary school.” Dawson nodded, thoughtful.

“They all went to the same school, same year possibly? They graduated…what, six years ago? Maybe go around and ask the teachers? It’s a small school, they may remember something that I never knew about.” Sullivan nodded, he would send Goodfellow. The headmaster at the school hated Sullivan for reasons unknown. 

“Thank you, Chief. I won’t take up any more of your morning.” 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goodfellow came back later that morning with news.

“That was a good tip sir. Looks like all three girls were part of some club back in school. The teacher that I spoke to couldn’t remember what, but does remember that there were a few other members, all young ladies but the others moved away-”

“So it’s likely someone they went to school with, which narrows it down by age to… Johnathan Davis.” 

“Sir, one more thing. There’s one woman left from the group in town, Cynthia Pierson.”

Sullivan and Goodfellow raced from the precinct to the Pierson residence. 

“We will warn them first, then head to the Fire Station to pick up Davis. Hopefully we can keep this quiet.” As they were driving up the road they began to see smoke. Sullivan punched the accelerator and came to a skidding stop outside the cottage gate, leaving room for fire rescue vehicles. Both men jumped from the car, spotting a blonde man watching as flames engulfed the small cottage. 

Sullivan ran towards the cottage as flames burst from the windows. Goodfellow had grabbed their suspect, whom they caught with the lighter in hand, too entranced by the flames to hear them coming. He scanned the building and surrounding areas, looking for any injured. Just as he was about to relax his shoulders he heard a small cry.

“Help… please!” A child, a small boy by the sounds of it. Sullivan raced towards the engulfed cottage, ignoring Goodfellow’s cry of alarm behind him.

“Sir?! What are you doing?!”

“There’s a boy inside! I can hear him!” He shouted over his shoulder and he kicked in the front door and dove into the inferno. 

Smoke overtook his senses immediately. He covered his mouth and nose with his elbow, but it didn’t help. His eyes began to water as he scanned frantically in the blaze for the child calling for help. Finally after what felt like eons he spotted a small shoe peeking out from by the stairs. He sprinted towards the child, falling to his knees, he scooped the boy into his arms, the child frighteningly limp in his hold. He attempted to stand when a deafening crack overtook the house and a beam from the ceiling collapsed onto him.

Goodfellow could hear the house crumbling down. He could hear the sirens from the fire brigade coming closer, he could almost make out the sound of the onlookers. But he didn't hear his Inspector. He had already handcuffed their suspect to the car and he tried to keep people away from the house. Minutes ticked by and he was certain that Sullivan and the boy had already perished. 

The fire brigade flew into the drive with a spray of gravel.

“Inspector Sullivan is inside! He said he heard a child!” Two of the men in full turnout gear and masks raced past him and entered the house without hesitating. The gathered crowd was silent as they waited with baited breath to see if anyone would come out of the blaze. 

“God will protect.” If he wasn’t already so shell shocked Goodfellow figured he would have jumped at the sudden appearance of Father Brown. “They will find him and the child. I have faith in that.” The giant of a policeman nodded his head, his eyes never leaving the flames. 

The two men who had dashed into the blaze were able to quickly find the downed Inspector and his charge. He was stuck and writhing under the beam. His suit jacket ablaze. They worked quickly, tearing the flaming fabric from his back. With haste that did not allow for gentleness they pushed the beam off the man and child, amazed when Sullivan managed to stand and stagger his way towards the door, the boy clutched tight to his chest. 

Cheers of elation broke out when he breached the door, quickly turning to gasps of horror as he stumbled to his knees and fell onto his side. Firemen, medics, police and priest darted towards the downed man, moving him out of the way of the firemen who were attempting to put out the house fire. 

Sullivan’s breath was a rasping, hacking cough. His face coated in soot, dirty tear tracks down each cheek. Father Brown dropped to his knees at the inspector's head and began to pray. The medics were barely able to pull the small boy from Sullivan’s tight grasp. They passed the unconscious child to another pair of medics and dove back for their patient. His left sleeve and onto his shoulder and back were a charred mess of fabric and muscle. There wasn’t much they could do at the scene. They loaded him into the transport with as much gentleness and haste as they could manage. 

“Father, you may want to ride along!” 

The scene had fallen silent as those gathered watched the transports peel out of the drive with the inspector and his rescued child. Father Brown held onto his right hand, muttering prayers under his breath. Prayers of gratitude for the man being able to rescue the boy, who must have been little James Pierson, six-years old, and waiting for someone to come home. He prayed that the inspector wasn’t in any pain, as he was unconscious since they had left the scene. He prayed that it would be a quick recovery, or if it wasn't meant for the man to survive, that he would be taken swiftly. 

The good Father felt his prayers dry in his throat as the inspector began to shake, gaining just enough consciousness to be aware of the agony he was in. The Inspectors mouth opened, as if to scream, but only a choked out gasp escaped. 

“Inspector? I need you to take a deep breath. You’re all right. We are heading to the hospital.” The medic stated, close to the inspector's head. He attempted to take a deep breath but it caused his lungs to rattle and he began to choke on soot that had gathered in his throat and lungs. The medic jumped to turn him on his side, just as he began to vomit. Strings of ash filled bile ran down his face and gathered in a puddle on the floor of the van.

“It’s alright, Inspector. We’re nearly there.” Father Brown could see the agony the other man was in. He shook so fiercely that he feared the younger man was having a seizure. It was merely minutes later that the vehicle jerked to a stop and the doors were thrown open. Hands appeared and pulled the gurney from the bus, rushing the still shaking man away. 

Father Brown saw another ambulance pull up, slower in its approach and additional personnel pull little James from the back. He was unconscious but from what could be seen he didn’t appear to be burnt. Father Brown offered a prayer of praise and thankfulness that at least that mercy had been granted. 

It was over an hour before Goodfellow joined him in the waiting room. 

The duo sat in silence for a short time before Father Brown had to ask. “Did you discover why Mr. Davis was setting those houses on fire?” Goodfellow nodded sadly. 

“It was over childish cruelty. Apparently the girls were part of a club. One that had some influence over the dating lives of its members. I don't understand it myself but apparently they were cruel to Davis, and he decided that waiting nearly seven years and lighting up their houses was a suitable revenge. He said he didn’t know Jamie was home or he would have waited.” Goodfellow looked tired and baffled. How another person could do something this extreme just didn’t make sense to him. Father Brown shook his head sadly. A lost and troubled soul.

It was nearly two hours before the door opened and a doctor stepped out. Dr. Aoki was a man of small stature, delicate features that made him appear years younger than he was. He and his family had come to Kembleford after the war, looking to escape the poverty of Japan. They had settled in well, after the initial outbursts at least. The village could hardly turn away a trained doctor such as Aoki. Currently he looked drawn and tired. 

“Are you here for the Inspector?” Dr. Tatsuki Aoki asked. 

“Yes. How is he?” Both Goodfellow and Father Brown rose to their feet as soon as he walked in. 

“He is… settled. He suffers from second and third degree burns along his left arm and shoulder. If we can keep the infection out he will not lose the arm.”

“You may have to amputate?!” Goodfellow gasped out, his knees going weak. Dr. Aoki held up a calming hand. 

“We hope it does not come to that. I have him sedated currently. He is not breathing well. Hopefully clean air and water help to clear his airways of soot. He also appears to have broken two ribs. He is going to be my guest here for several nights. Likely a couple weeks.”

“He’s going to hate that.” Goodfellow felt the need to add. 

“Yes, I anticipate that. You are welcome to come sit with him. Please don’t touch him if you can avoid it. We are trying to keep him as free of contamination as we can.” The unlikely looking duo followed after his brisk steps towards the long term use rooms. 

Sullivan was stripped to the waist. He had been bathed and scrubbed clean before dressings had been applied; they covered him from finger tip to chest. He was reclined partially upright and turned so they could see the expansive bandage around his back and shoulder. From the doorway they could hear the rattle in his lungs as he breathed in and out. 

“Is there nothing we can do to help? His breathing sounds painful.” Father Brown whispered in deference to the injured man. 

“We are doing what we can. I would have liked to attempt clearing techniques with him but it isn’t possible with the burns and broken ribs. If it worsens then we will suction out his throat and lungs as needed. Again, hopefully it clears up on its own. For now, keep him company. He is heavily sedated but he may still hear you speaking. Please alert a nurse if you need anything.” 

Brown and Goodfellow took another step into the room and claimed the only two seats available. They sat in silence for only a moment before Father Brown spoke. 

“Thank you Inspector for saving James. His parents will be so grateful once they hear. I know you do not believe it but I will continue to pray until you are well enough to tell me to stop.”

“I’m here sir. You did really well. Didn’t even hesitate to rush in and save that boy. You’re a hero. Now you can rest and heal. We’ll be here when you’re ready to wake up.” It could have been their imagination but it seemed to them that Sullivan breathed just a little easier.