set yourself on fire

8/8/2019 Set Yourself on Fire

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Set Yourself on Fire

By Tyler Mansmith

This is for my mom and my cousin Adam, for getting me to love literature so

much.



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August in Florida can be brutally hot and the giant fire wasn't making it any more

bearable. The night was dark and a crescent moon hung in the sky above the

looming clouds. A thunderstorm was approaching but wasn't supposed to arrive

until midnight. It was ten o'clock and the moon had an almost reddish glow to it.

The fire rose higher in front of all the people gathered around it. They had all

formed a perfect circle. From a distance it might have seemed normal and

innocent, but it wasn't.

The group of people gathered there were all part of the local Christian church

where they would do the usual: pray, listen, repent, and then go home to watch

the Dolphins game. But tonight was different.

It was Saturday night, and most people were in bed or in the city partying and

drinking. The town was quiet and, for the most part, asleep except for the bugs

making obnoxious noises in the background. The preacher of the church stepped

forward, getting closer to the fire than the rest of them.

"Friends and worshipers, I am so glad you could all join me tonight. Lord knows I

couldn't do it on my own." he spoke with a slight southern accent, but not as

heavy as some in the rest of the group. He always tried to appear as intelligent as

possible, as leaders often do.

"Y'all know why we're here tonight, to protect our children. To protect our

church. And most of all, to protect our beliefs. We must destroy anything that

could be a danger to all these things! We can't let people be fooled and temped

into sinning and falling for other sinners' lies! We must help people see the light

of God so they can live in his image." He paused and looked around at everyone.

"I'm glad to see you have brought some of the books I have asked you to. Of



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course, if you don't have any books to burn, you can take one from the pile

behind me." he pointed to the dozen books behind him. The fire had grown high

and the preacher was ready to start.

"Now let us throw the books into the fire and cleanse the earth of these sinful

writings!" he said passionately.

People began throwing books into the fire and watching them burn. They threw

books in like, The Da Vinci Code, the Qur'an, and even books on the theory of

evolution. The books began to burn. The pages frayed and eventually became

ashes. The fire grew as the books fueled it higher. Many people were reaching for

more books to throw when a SUV with bright headlights pulled up to where the

other cars were parked at. They were at an off-road picnic site which meant no

visitors at this time. A car arriving now was very unusual. A man stepped out

carrying something large. It was dark and everyone could only make out his

shadow approaching them. He was a mire silhouette in the distance. As he grew

closer the preacher spoke out.

"Whos there? Can we help you?" The figured man kept approaching without a

word. Some people in the group began to get anxious and stared looking around

nervously.

The man suddenly appeared in the firelight. He was in a dark black overcoat that

hung over him like drapes. He wore a ski mask over his head with a fedora on top

and brown gloves covering his hands.

"Have you come to join our fire?" the preacher asked anxiously.

"No." the man said. "I'm here to put you in it."



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He then lifted an automatic gun from his side and began firing. He unloaded a clip

into the entire group. They all fell as the bullets ripped through their bodies and

limbs. There was nowhere to run or hide. The man was well-trained and hit

everyone with pure, intended accuracy. The bullets pierced through vital parts

and skulls, killing them instantly. The man didn't want to spend anytime wasting

more bullets. He stopped firing after fifteen seconds. Everyone was on the ground

dead and bleeding except for the preacher. The killer wanted him alive, at least,

for the moment.

"Oh dear Lord! Oh sweet God in heaven what have you done?!" the preacher

belted out. The killer ignored him, checking everybody to make sure they were

dead. He didn't doubt his accuracy but he also played it safe. He didn't need any

witnesses to appear later on. The preacher was sweaty and crying. He was

shaking uncontrollably. He had blood-splatter on his clothes from the others.

"You'll burn in Hell for what you've done!"

"Like the books you just threw in?" The killer replied. He had a very deep voice

which didn't comfort the preacher at all. "You know preacher, what you've done

here might be a bigger tragedy than anything I've ever done." He approached the

preacher swiftly. Grabbing him by the collar he picked him up and spoke to his

face.

"You don't deserve to be man of God." He then took a sidearm out of his pocket

and shot him in the kneecaps. The preacher screamed out in agony, horrified by

what was happening to him.



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"Ahh! Oh please! Please don't do this to me! Have mercy! Please God, don't do

this!" he pleaded.

"You did this to yourself preacher." the killer than grabbed his arms and broke

them both. He let out another agonizing scream. "AHH! PLEASE!"

"I hope, for your sake preacher, that Hell isn't as hot as these flames."

And with that, he threw him into the fire, where he burned alive.

"Holy crap," Detective Miller said, "this is some messed up shit!"

Detective Leary appeared next to him. "You said it." he took off his hat and wiped

the sweat off his bald, white head. Leary was Millers partner. He was slightly

overweight and had just turned 36. He wasnt in great shape but they didnt do

too much running anymore. "So how many we got?"

"We counted thirteen, although I don't know how they could tell." By 'they', he

meant the forensics team. The tiny picnic area had now become one big, frenzied,

crime scene. It was filled with forensics specialist, some firemen, and police

officers.

Miller looked back down at the bodies. "Jesus, it's bad enough to look at but theysmell too!" The thirteen bodies were in one large, heaping pile, burned to the

crisp. They had been thrown into the fire and burned for an hour until the rain

from the thunderstorm put the fire out.



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"So what put the fire out, the rain?" Leary asked. Miller gave him a "Mhmm".

"What exactly were they all doing out here?"

"Forensics told me it looked like a book burning."

"Well it wouldn't shock me. So how'd it turn into a people burnin'?"

"Well Leary, that's why we have jobs. Let's find out if there's any other trace of

evidence we can use. We found bullets surrounding the place. They most likely

came from an automatic weapon. Whose knows where he got it."

"So they were shot and thrown into the fire?" Miller nodded. "Jesus, why'd he do

it?"

Miller looked up. "Maybe he really likes books?"

Miller and Leary were on their way back to the station when Leary's phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"Leary this is Emily from forensics. Someone said to call you about the new

evidence we found after you left."

"New? What do you mean?"

"Well on the east side of the picnic area, there's a little section with three picnic

benches and a tiny awning. Apparently out killer left a note there. He put a rock



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on top of it so I wouldn't blow away. Someone noticed it while we were packing

up to leave."

"No shit? What did it say?"

"It's a quote from Ray Bradbury. It reads, 'There are worse crimes than burning

books. One of them is not reading them.'"

"Well that's fitting. Thanks Em." He hung up the phone. "Miller, I think someone's

trying to send us a message."

"This is Channel Nine News broadcasting to you Florida, live with breaking news.

Late last night, thirteen people were killed in what appeared to be a slaughter."

The old TV set played loudly in the living room. The stove was on cooking chicken

in the next room. The apartment was nice and tidy, but very dull. No pictures on

the walls, no plants or painting to brighten the mood, not even much furniture.

Just a few chairs in each room and a couple of tables. The man who lived here

was a loner by choice. He was never close to anyone and he was better off so.

"During what the police assumed to be a book burning, a man opened fire on all

the participants, killing them all. After the shooting, the man burned the bodies in

the fire they built. The storms last night put the fire out, and they were discovered

early this morning."

The man sat down and began eating his dinner for one. He sat listening to the

news for the rest of the story. "We'll have more on the story when more details

arise. Stayed tuned for the weather forecast after these commercials."



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After he was done he got up, put his dirty plate in the sink, and walked into the

hall. He turned the corner into the bedroom and turned on the lights. Instead of a

bed and a closet that most people would expect, the room was filled with a dozen

bookcases, all filled to the edge with books. Novels, biographies, and even graphic

novels. The guest bedroom contained the same sight.

He had read every single one. Most of them more than once. They ranged from

old epics like Beowulf and the Odyssey, to American classic like Steinbeck and

Fitzgerald, as well as modern books from Dan Brown and others. All of them were

arranged in an order that only made sense to him. A normal eye would be lost in

the maze of books that surrounded the room.

In all of them he had one favorite in particular. He walked over to one of the

shelves and picked it up. It was Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. It was always his

favorite. It spoke to him in a way no other book could. He sat down on his easy

chair in the back corner of the room and started to read it again. After he was

finished, he closed it and set it down. He then began to contemplate the night

before and what a success it had been....

It was September 1st and it was still hot. Not as hot as August but the humidity

was still there. 9/11 was approaching soon which meant more ignorant racism

against Islamic and Arabic people. More people assuming they're all violent, dirty

terrorist who were wronging America just with their presence. Tonight, some of

these people were out early. A radical group of white supremacist had gathered

to burn the Quran, the Muslim holy book. They were just outside Miami, at a

truck stop just off the highway. They headed deep into the woods where they



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began a fire out of forest wood and gasoline. The group had gathered, each with a

Quran, and was anxious to burn. There were at least twenty of them.

"Y'all ready to burn some fuckin' Arab books?!" The highest ranked leader asked

everyone. Everyone cheered with him. The fire was burning high and almost out

of control. "Alright! Let's git started then!" Everyone readied themselves with

him, books in hand.

"Wait! Where's Billy at?" One man said.

"Hey you're right! Where in the hell did he go?" An older man replied.

"Dale's gone too!"

"And Tony! Where'd those retards go?"

The group began to act nervous and angry at the same time. They began calling

out names, growing tired of waiting. Then a figure appeared from the trees. All

that was visible was the ski mask he wore and his fedora.

"They're in Hell." he spoke deeply.

He then quickly pull out a long, sharp knife and stabbed the man closest to him in

the heart. The man screamed briefly and collapsed. The man then slit the throat

of the next closest man without hesitation. He moved quickly killing five men

before the rest finally processed what was going on. One man began to pull a gun

from his pocket but the killer already had his sidearm out a shot the man. There

were now ten men left and five began to charge him. He shot one man in the

head, and three in the chest. The last one knocked into him and pinned him to the

ground. The killer head-butted the man directly in the forehead, knocking him off.



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He quickly grabbed the sidearm and fired, and hit his bulls-eye dead on. The other

five men that were left had taken off and ran during the scuffle. No matter, he

needed the bodies to be found eventually. He wanted all book burners to be

scared. If fear was the only way, it had to be done.

"So what exactly went down here?" Miller asked.

"Well we got a 9-1-1 call around eleven from a few guys saying a man had shot a

bunch of their friends." an on-scene officer said. "They admitted they were having

a book burning and said a man came out of the trees and started stabbing and

shooting all their friends."

"Damn. I think we may have a serial killer on our hands." Leary said. "So lemme

guess, afterwards then he threw them into the fire and took off?"

"Yep. It took the firefighters awhile to put the fire out because it started

spreading into the trees."

"And thats why I'm here at seven in the morning?" Miller groaned. The officer

nodded. "Great. Well now we know that massacre two weeks ago wasn't just a

one-time incident. This guy is a killer."

He walked over to the pile of ashes and burned bodies. There was more than the

last one this time. They were all burnt and he couldn't tell which ones had been

shot and which had been stabbed. Whoever this killer was, he wasn't just brutal,

he was passionate. He felt strongly about what he was doing.



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"Hey I got something over here!" another officer yelled out. He approached Miller

and Leary holding a piece of paper. "I found this nailed to a tree"

"How in the hell did it survive the fire?" Miller said bewildered.

"I haven't a god damn clue." the officer replied. "I was wondering the same thing

myself. I didn't notice it before either."

"So what are you implying?" Leary said looking at both of them. "That the killer

came back and put it here?"

"Well it's possible. Unless an officer put it here to screw with us. But truthfully,this looks almost identical the last note."

"Really? Lemme see." Leary took the note and looked at it. In the same

handwriting as the last note it read: "You don't have to burn books to destroy a

culture, just get people to stop reading them." -Ray Bradbury

"What's with this guy and Ray Bradbury?"

"Well think about it," Miller replied. "This guy is obviously against book burnings,

so he loves books. Bradbury is probably his favorite author and the quote fits

exactly what he stands for. I was also thinking the last note was found after we

left. What if the killer is on the force?"

"You think so?" Leary asked.

The officer who found the note looked up. "Well it's possible. I didn't see it there

before. I figured I missed it but maybe it was another cop? He could be leaving

these when he gets here."



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"Jesus I hope not." Leary said. He pulled his pants up by the belt and looked

around. "Well let's finish up here so we can get the hell out of this heat!"

Back in his apartment the killer had just finished a new book he had bought. He

decided to treat himself to a new book this morning. He deserved it after all the

hard work he had done. After setting the book down, he reflected on his previous

night.

Overall it was quite the success, although it had been a close one. That man was

able to knock him down. He had to be more careful next time. He would be. His

goal had to be accomplished. If he got people to stop burning books maybe they

would start reading them. As wrong as some people may see it, he was taking a

step in the right direction. He wondered if he should feel guilty or dreadful for

killing those people. There wasn't an ounce of sorrow or remorse in his body and

it didn't bother him. He had killed at least thirty people and it hadn't affected his

persona at all. It was just in him to be a killer. He knew he was probably a little

messed up in the head but he didn't care. He was managing his brain just fine.

Walking into the living room, he turned on his old TV set.

"Police are lead to believe that this is the work of a serial killer." a news anchor

was saying. "This massacre is very similar to one that happened around two

weeks ago, where the people involved were shot and then burned in the fire.

Inside information has also informed us that in both killings, the killer left a note

behind. We're not sure what the note said, only that it was convincing enough for

the police to believe it's one single, serial killer." The killer stared at the TV and

smiled.



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A week had passed. It was September 7th and the killer was preparing himself for

9/11. He knew of a group that was planning on burning the Quran that day, as if

that would make the situation in the Middle East better. He hated arrogant

religious people. He had killed some satanic people trying to burn bibles once. He

didn't care what religion it was. People should respect other peoples beliefs, not

burn them. So for that, he would burn them and send them to their afterlife early.

He walked over to the TV set to see what was on the news. It was the only reason

he watched TV. All he needed to know was what was going on in the world;

otherwise he'd stick to his books. After a few boring stories, one caught his

attention.

"Well it's been a week since the second book burning killings and the response

from the public has been quite shocking. We now go to Nancy Sullivan in the

streets, to see what people are saying about this killer."

The TV changed from the news room to a short, good looking reporter standing

on the streets of the city.

"As time goes by," she began, "the public reaction to these killing appear to be

different than some would expect. Instead of crying out for vengeance and

justice, people seem to be doing the opposite. Some think he's doing the right

thing. Others are even calling him an underground hero." The killer looked up

with disbelief on his face. Could it be true? People were agreeing with him? An

underground hero?!

"Sir what do you think about the book burning killer?"



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"Well to be honest, I'm really not against him."

Then a different woman appeared on screen. "I read a lot of books and I hate that

some people would burn them. I wouldn't kill them obviously, but I wouldn't stop

the guy who is."

Another man then appeared. "I say let him do his thing. He's almost like Batman

in a way."

It then cut to a mother and her young son at a park. "I'm honestly not concerned.

He's really not a threat to our community. In fact, he's probably making it better. I

don't want those people influencing my children."

The reporter came back to the screen. "As you can see and hear firsthand, these

people don't mind the killings. They see him as more like a vigilante, and less like

a criminal. The question is, will he remain at large and continue his killings? For

Channel 5, I'm Nancy Sullivan. Back to you Rick."

The killer continued to star back at his TV in disbelief. A vigilante? He had never

pictured himself like that. He had done it for himself, not for others. But he was

being praised. Praised! He had a sick brain and a love for books and had managed

to turn it into something useful. He had done wrong things to make right. He

couldn't believe his good fortune.

At the same time, Detective Miller was watching the news. He couldn't belief his

ears. The public thought he was chasing Batman? A vigilante? How could they say

that? He had seen the bodies that this man had killed. It was brutal and horrifying.



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If the people saw what he'd seen they'd change their minds about their so-called

hero!

Or would they? When he really thought about it, he realized he didn't feel that

much sympathy for the dead. Sure it was a horrible death but they probably were

just some trashy people burning other peoples beliefs. He didn't want to side

with a killer, but then again, he didn't want to side with the trashy, racist book

burners. Who side was he on? And did he r eall y want to catch this killer?

Miller didn't get a wink of sleep that night.

"Jim I really don't wanna be out here."

"Jus shut tha fuck up and do wat I told ya!" It was getting late and very dark. Jim

and Dewy had just left their car, the Quran in their hands, on their way to meet

with the others.

"Seriously Jim!" Dewy protested. "You hurd bout that book burnin' killer! What if

he comes to kill us?"

"That was closer to Miami. That's like three hours from here at least! He ain't

gonna drive here to kill us so quit your bitchin'!"

Oh how wr ong you ar e Jim. The killer was quietly stalking them in the shadows.

It was too dark for them to see him lurking and he was too silent for them to even

suspect anything. He was following them to the fire with a bag over his shoulder.

There was a big group gathering there today. They'd had planned it awhile ago,



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before he had even made his first killings in August. Now some of them were

scared to go through with it. Perfect. He loved spreading fear into them.

He had many underground sources in which he got his information and weapons

from. All of them had come though so far. This night would be interesting. They

were all meeting in an old, abandoned warehouse where they use to store

farming vehicles and equipment. There were going to be at least fourth people,

possibly fifty. And they were all sitting ducks.

"Hey I can see the warehouse!" Dewy shouted. "Why'd we have to park so far?"

"In case the cops come stupid! Then they won't see my car and we can get away

clean."

"Oh right! Good thinking."

Y ou w on't be needing your car tonight Jim. In f act, I might use someone' s car

tonight for a speci al purpose. One that w oul d tur n suspicions away f r om me. It w i ll

go smoothl y tonight, w ithout any bum ps.

They arrived at the warehouse and walked past the other closely parked cars. He

watched as Dewy and Jim entered the warehouse and then closed the door

behind them. Inside he heard a voice say, "Finally! The last ones to arrive!"

Perfect timing. Everyone was here. No more waiting. It was time to start. He took

off the shoulder bag he had been carrying with him and pulled out a few chain

locks. He quickly went around the warehouse, locking each door and garage

extremely tight so that no one would be able to get away. While he was busy

outside, they were getting the fire started inside. He could smell burning wood



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and smoke. It disgusted him but he pressed on. Finally all his locks were on.

During his time off work he came here days before to scope the place out and

make sure he brought enough for every door and garage. Now came the fun part.

He climbed the ladder on the outside of the building that led to the catwalk inside

the building. It directed him to an opening doorway, although it had no door, and

went into the building. He entered and stood on the catwalk looking down on

them with his automatic at his side. They hadnt noticed him yet. They had just

started to throw their books in. But that would end right now.

He screamed loudly to get their attention. It was so loud it echoed, even though

the warehouse was small in size. He was wearing his typical outfit: His coat, mask,

and hat. They people beneath froze in shock and horror. He then raised his gun

and the pandemonium began. He started to fire on all of them. They were fish in a

barrel with nowhere to swim. A few made it to the doors and tries to barge them

open, but they were unsuccessful. After failing with nowhere else to run, the

bullets tore through them, ripping them to shreds. He had killed at least half of

them when he saw out of the corner of his eye, a man pull out a pistol from his

belt. He quickly turned his attention.

The man open fire and let out four shots. The first three missed but the fourth

one grazed the killers shoulder. He fired back sending a dozen bullets directly

into the man, killing him instantaneously. He continued firing, reloading once,

until everyone was dead. It was only then that he stopped to look at his injury. He

wasn't hit too bad but enough to hurt and make him bleed. It was bearable. He

looked down at the bloody mess below. They were bodies strewn everywhere.



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The walls and the floor had been painted in blood. But he didn't feel remorse or

sorrow, he felt satisfied.

The fire was still burning in the center of the building. It wasn't an entirely large

fire...yet. Although it pained his shoulder to do so, he climbed down the ladder

inside to the ground floor. The bleeding from his shoulder was dripping across the

floor. The wound wasnt fatal, but he was still losing blood. He grabbed the

gasoline the burners had brought and began to pour it all over the bodies. Five

minutes later everybody was covered in gasoline, as well as the entire floor. He

climbed back up to the catwalk and lit a match. He looked down one last time,

and then threw it. He turned and headed out the opening, and didn't look back.

"God damn! The entire warehouse?" Miller exclaimed. "An entire warehouse full

of people? This guy is getting outrageously radical."

"He's taking his message a little too far." Leary agreed. "There are at least fortypeople in there. It was large group gathering to say the least."

The scene before them was chaotic to say the least. The warehouse had been

reduced to smoldering rubble. There were three fire trucks, a lot of forensic lab

rats, and a whole mess of cops. A female officer approached the two detectives.

"We drove a few hours. We better have something good." Miller said hastily.

"Better than good." the officer replied. "Follow me."

She led them to where most of the cars were parked. They stopped at one

particular green Chevy.



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"Take a look for yourselves." the officer said proudly.

"Holy shit. Is that blood?" Leary blurted out. It was blood. There was blood across

the hood of the car.

"And we found this tucked under the windshield wipers." She handed Miller a

note that had a tiny bloodstain on it. "The killer most likely left it here. We're

hoping that blood is his. If it is, case solved."

Miller looked up with relief and gratitude. "I sure hope so. That would end this

case a lot sooner and easier than I could have ever dreamed. I'll finally be able to

get some sleep!"

"What's the note say Miller?"

He read it out loud. "Where they have burned books, they will end in burning

human beings." -Heinrich Heines

"I think that's his most fitting quote yet." Leary thought aloud.

"Have you guys taken samples yet?" Miller asked the officer.

"That's what we're doing right now. We'll take samples and give you the results

the second they're in." she replied.

"Good. Lets end this already.

Miller and Leary had just returned the station. Upon entering the door one of

their coworkers, Diane, approached them.



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"The results are in."

"Oh great." Miller said with enthusiasm.

"I wouldn't say great." she replied.

"Why the hell not?" Leary asked puzzled.

"Because, he's a cop."

They walked to a computer and she brought up the photo.

"His name is Officer Matt Valentine. He was a special ops marine for a few years.

He was stationed in Guatemala for awhile."

"What made him become a lowly cop?" Leary inquired.

"He's probably seen enough action in his life. He needed something a little more

mundane."

Miller looked at the picture intently. He looked familiar.

"Holy shit, that's the guy who gave us the note at the second burning!" he

exclaimed.

"Oh my god you're right, it is! I thought I recognized him somehow."

"Wait you guys know this guy?" she asked. They quickly explained how they met

him at the second crime scene. "Wow, so he was planting those notes after the

fact?" Miller nodded.

"Well he's bleeding for some reason and he's also a serial killer so let's find this

asshole and bring him in." Leary stated.



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"You're right, we can't waist anytime. Where does he live?"

Valentine was sitting in his easy chair in the bedroom, or book room, with the

window open just waiting.

How could he have been so stupid? How could this have happened? He knew his

blood would be found so he left the note anyways. He bleed on the concrete

parking lot and had no way to clean it up. The cops would find him and lock him

away. Maybe even execute him. He then started having flashbacks of his time in

special ops. Hed seen horrible, gruesome things. Moments that changed him

inside. HE knew hed never be the same. Hed seen books, house, and people

burn just to keep them scared. He had loved books since high school but his

passion for them had grown during that time. And now everything that had

happened had come to this.

Shit! All that hard work. He had to create a plan at the last second. After stitchingup his shoulder he thought long and hard about what to do. It wasn't an easy

decision. He was saddened that it had to come to this but he had no choice. Just

then, he heard someone knock down his front door...

Miller and Leary stood ready, guns at their sides, behind two SWAT team

members. Another two stood behind them. The one in front was counting down.

"3...2...1..." He kicked the door in making a loud crashing noise. They ran in, guns

raised ad scanned the place. The front room was clear, and very dull from what

Miller could tell. They moved into the hallway. Miller turned with the SWAT



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leader, his gun pointed, into the bedroom. Valentine was sitting in a chair holding

a trigger. Next to him was a cell phone strapped to something, Miller couldn't tell

what. He wasn't sure what was going on until the man next to him yelled

"BOMB!"

The man grabbed him and all together they ran towards the door. They hit the

deck as an explosion erupted into the apartment. Miller could feel the

unbelievable heat on his skin. It shook the entire building so hard he thought it

was caving in.

After fifteen horrifying seconds, one man got up and looked around. The rest of

them slowly got up after him. Everyone's clothes were covered in black ash but no

one was burned or seriously hurt.

"Jesus Christ!" Leary shouted. "What the hell was that?!"

"He...he blew himself up..." Miller said struggling with the words.

They ran back in. The entire inside was destroyed. It looked exactly how Miller

expected it too.

"Leary, I think our investigation is over." he sighed.

Twenty minutes later, Miller and Leary walked out of the apartment, or what was

left of it. By now, more cop cars had arrived with a few ambulances and fire

trucks. The scene was getting more crowded. There were a lot of neighbors and

bystanders gathered around, trying to see what had happened.

"You alright Miller?" Leary asked.



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"Yeah I'm alright. Just hard to shake what just happened."

"Yeah no kidding. We coulda died."

"I just can't believe he blew himself up like that. And the room he was in was

bizarre."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, at first before we entered I thought it was a bedroom. But as we turned the

corner the room was filled with bookshelves except for a chair by the window

that he was sitting in."

"Well we obviously know this guy was big on books."

"But that's the strange part." Miller paused for a second. "The bookshelves were

empty."

"Empty? Why the he'll would he have a ton of bookshelves and not have any

books on them?"

They were approaching their car when Miller stopped.

"Oh my god. Because he wasn't planning on killing himself"

"What? What do you-" Leary stopped and notice what Miller was starring at. A

note tucked under their windshield wiper.

"No...no it can't be. It doesn't make sense..." Leary stammered.

Miller picked up the note. He unfolded it and read it.



24

"When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire." -Torquil

Campbell

"This guy is too literal for me. It's starting to creep me out."

Miller pulled the note away from his face. "He mustve had the bomb on a timer

and jumped out the open window. God dammit!"

"Jesus, he escaped from that?!"

"Do you not see the evidence?!?" Miller yelled waving the note around. His face

turned red in frustration. "The guy almost blew me up just to get away?!"

He stood in place, breathing heavily, and couldn't decide if he wanted to scream

some more or just bottle it up. Almost dying in an explosion wasn't something he

could just shake in a few minutes. All he wanted to do now was find out where

the bastard went...

"Hey Miller, I think you should see this."

He looked up at Leary. "Hm? What?"

"Come over here!"

As he got up he looked at his calendar. It was November 1st. Above the dates

there was a picture of a grove of trees with brown and orange leaves that

changed with the season. He laughed to himself, knowing he'd never see that in

Florida.



25

"Look at this news report I found on the web." Leary said pointing to his computer

screen. He played the video and a news anchor from CNN appeared and began to

speak.

"Also in today's news, a group of bodies were found this morning just outside

Lexington, Kentucky. It appeared that they were shot, and then burned. The FBI

has stated they believe it's yet another killing by the infamous Book Burning Killer.

It started in Florida back in mid-August. When Florida police had discovered his

identity, he was able to slip away after he bombed his own apartment. The FBI

also believes he is responsible for the two sets of killings in Georgia last month.

The FBI will continue working on the case..."

"Hey Miller, what's wrong?"

He had walked away from the computer and sat back down at his desk.

"We're done with that guy." Miller replied sternly. "He's not our concern

anymore. He's the FBI's problem now."

"The FBI will continue working on the case until further notice." the anchor was

saying. The killer, Valentine was no longer his name, was watching from his newly

bought laptop. He no longer had a TV. His books that he had put in storage for the

explosion were now all set up in his new place and surrounded him.

"For a few people last night, the horror of Halloween was a little too real. As for

the killer, is he still a vigilante? An underground hero? That's up for us to decide."

Looking up, he closed his laptop, and smiled.

set yourself on fire

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