100 Theme Challenge #88

Sequel of #50, #51, #52, #54, #60, #68,  #69, #70, #73, #74, #76, #79 and #81.

88. Fire

Part XIV

The building was holding up by some magic, Jack though as he parked not far. Bricks had fallen and were scattered around, making the scenery of the decayed building even more desolated and macabre. Jack almost felt at home, looking at the broken windows and the soot all around. He stepped inside the hole where once stood a door and he grimaced when he noticed ashes everywhere. If anyone was coming in here, it wasn't through here. The first floor was half destroyed, with parts of the ceiling missing. Clark had been living in the 503, which would the stairs plenty of chance to break under Jack's weight and make him fall to his death, or at least a broken back. He carefully climbed the first set of stairs, grateful that he was wearing his leather gloves, for he held to the ramp all the way up, praying that nothing would break. It was on the third floor he explored a bit that he found something interesting. Someone had cleared it, swept the floor and clean the surfaces. Perhaps it was homeless people trying to make this place their home, perhaps it was for other purposes… He found a ladder attached to a broken window at the opposite of the main door, so unnoticeable. There solved the mystery of the secret entrance.

Nonetheless, it intrigued Jack even more, and he continued his ascension, noticing the stairs had been repaired by an amateur, but they held Jack's muscular frame to the fifth floor. The stairs led him to a clean floor with the walls of the apartments burnt away, so it was quite a big space… filled with pictures of one single man. Jack felt his detective sense tingle and he slowly approached, observing what seemed to be the lair of the killer. He realized it wasn't only one person photographed, it was all of his victims. James Davis, Scott Thompson, and many others. They all looked alike from afar, it was almost frightening. 

Jack continued in the room, but there wasn't any other sign of the killer. He wasn't living here, but probably only came In preparation for the murders. After a bit of search, Jack found an arsenal of multiple knives cleaned up with care in the drawer of the only coffee able remaining, along with some game cards of the same sport team. It was enough proof for Jack, he needed to call the office to bring the team here, photograph the lair and scan it for any fingerprints. They'd have to be quick though, because he left his footprints in the entrance… If he knew he would be at the right spot, he'd been more careful, especially with his car parked right before the building. With a curse, he returned on his steps, meaning to leave this place at once, when he heard noises down the stairs. Someone was climbing them, and whoever it was, Jack would have to confront them. His hand retrieved his gun, a comforting weight in his hand. He made sure his hat was pushed correctly on top of his head.

The killer wasn't exactly what he expected. He was quite small and not muscular under his tattere coat. The only thing scary was the look in his eyes when he turned his head at him.

"I see you put the puzzle pieces together, Mister Byrnes."

Jack frowned. "You know me?"

The other smirked. "Your name was whispered to me a few times these past weeks. I know you're the FBI agent on my case, and you have quite the reputation in Chicago."

Jack walked to him, his weapon still clutched in his hand.

"So you knew I'd find you one day or another… How did you know Paul Clark?"

"And now the detective wants to know the truth. Is this how you found me, through his name?"

Jack sighed and nodded, always keeping him in his sight.

"To seek refuge in his old apartment and to use his name were unwise moves."

"Unwise? Lots of people use the name of the dead for their own means, and besides, Paul Clark is truly the man who killed all of these men," the killer laughed. He made no sense.

"So you are Paul Clark?' It was possible he'd switch the names of another with his to start anew, restart his life.

"No, I'm not." Well that settled it. Jack didn't think he was lying, not with they arrogant way he was standing in front of him. "But he triggered what I am today. My needs, obsessions; my thirst."

"He was your friend."

"He was indeed, but sadly he never wanted to be more than that. I thought that if I couldn't find love, nobody would…" He walked to the table, leaned over his knives. Jack cautiously removed the safety from his gun.

"You are aware that if you touch these, I will have to shoot you. So that's why you're targeting homosexuals; not for your hate of them, but in denial."

"I wasn't the one denying my true feelings," the killer spat, turning to Jack once again. He chuckled when he saw the weapon pointed at him. "Is this how you deal with murderers nowadays? Shoot them in the back without a trial?"

"It's not, but I won't hesitate if you force me to. Place your hands where I can see them."

The killer sighed dramatically and extended his arms towards him. Jack didn't think that'd go that well, but he advanced on him, taking the handcuffs from his coat with his other hand. He successfully gripped on his hand, but before he could do the same for the other, he saw a glint of silver before he instinctively recoiled. The knife diverted from his first target, but the killer still managed to embed it deeply into his side. He gasped, and shot the killer in the knee, which made him fall with a grunt. 

He began to laugh.

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