The Burning Fire Rises - Chapter 3
Investigation
Flint, Michigan
Tuesday, 4:30 pm
In a remote park just a few miles away from the main city…
“Oh—oh, god! What died out here?”
John rose out of his issued brown rental car and winced at the stink that loomed in the air. The various other officers and FBI personnel on the site where all trying their best to ignore the odour. The pungent smell was like a bouquet of burnt flesh and gaseousness of rotting, putrid garbage.
It hung around the crime scene within the dense fog that totally engulfed the area. It was thick, the foulness and the fog, John wasn’t sure if this resulted from why they were there or if it was just the usual ‘country living’ air.
His expression showed that he was regretting stepping out of his car and agreeing to show up to this investigation. For a moment, a brief one at that, he thought about jumping back into the rental and peeling out of this haze-filled stomach-turning smelly place.
It was too late to make that choice now. He was out and… literally in the thick of it with all of them. Closing the door, Special Agent Mathers headed over to the evidence truck with one hand over his mouth.
“Another glorious day for the good ol’ FBI, huh guys?” He mused directly aloud to the group of men and women huddled near the back of the forensic van. “What we won’t do to earn a buck?”
The various crew nodded in agreement and laughed at his humorous nature. Agents flooded the area; staff and forensic techs dressed in baseball caps and light blue jackets with the ‘FBI’ moniker on them. All of them wanted or had mentioned something about it earlier before his arrival.
The light-hearted musing was typical for many of the veteran staff and agents. Having seen and smelled so many various states of decay at a crime scene, one got used to it. The rookies would often question this disrespectful attitude, but eventually learn that to stay focused on the job, you need to develop a sense of humour and a strong stomach.
The jokes about this scene had died off long before Mathers arrival, but they still enjoyed the occasional musings of every new agent or officer that happened to step into it. There was one who wasn’t as amused by John’s comment. A well-groomed, dark haired lead agent, that motioned to the others to get back to work. He tried to counter John’s quip with his own, and mockingly gestured as he approached him.
“Whoa! Look what special division sent us - Agent X-Files!” He grinned. “Hey, shouldn’t you be chasing aliens or something?”
The smell struck the man momentarily after removing his hand to mock Mathers, but quickly cupped it back over his mouth and nose after taking a whiff. That gave John a chuckle and shot back with his middle finger raised.
“Live long and prosper on this, Sanchez.” He snickered, then places his own hand back over his nose and mouth, the smell being still too foul to his own senses. “I wouldn’t have to be here if you didn’t pussy out and cry ‘we don’t know what it is!’, to the department. By the way, if you’re going to eat those burritos, ya might want to fart away from the wind, m’kay?”
Agent Romeros Sanchez scowled at the racist comment. Every time the two would meet (which, thankfully for him, wasn’t all that often) the sling of ethnic verbal assaults would begin. Both he and Mathers would volley it back and forth each time. Professionally, they shouldn’t be doing it to each other, seeing how that’s a clear violation of the FBI discrimination policies, but seeing how they were friends (of a sort), the banter of insults was mostly just as a way to rile one another. Mathers liked Sanchez, to a point. The fact he was younger (by ten years), flawless in appearance and so irritatingly cocky, made him keep the agent at an arms length, so to speak. Romeros was always trying to take command of any investigation, even when he wasn’t the lead investigator.
John remembered when they had teamed up on the last investigation together, Sanchez took command of it, even though Mathers had more senority. Romeros constantly reminded him that only ‘real’ FBI agents should be in charge, and cut him out of the loop of that investigation. That incident caused Mathers to report it to the top brass, who then scolded Sanchez and took him off of the case. It made things far too hostile, and both agreed to never work together again. And yet, there they were, not by choice but because of necessity and professional decorum.
Mathers took notice of the man smoothing back his trim jet-black hair as the junior female agents would walk past, giving a smile and coy wink.
“How’s your wife doing?” Mathers quipped to him.
The women looked to Sanchez quickly upon hearing it, and he scowled at John again.
“The fuck dude!” He growled. “I ain’t married.”
“Oh, right…” Mathers playfully mocked. “She’s still back in Mexico, right? I got ya…”
The teasing was for fun and his own amusement, knowing full well it would tick Romeros off. Was it too much? Perhaps, just a little bit. Maybe he would have to curb his sarcastic tongue and rethink those remarks. The slurs and jabs at Sanchez was probably more of a way of sparking some conversation, even if it was rather insulting to the other agent. But—he changed the topic and got back to the job at hand.
“So what have you got for me, more unknown meteors or cow mutilations like the last time?”
“Wouldn’t you just love that.” Agent Sanchez snickered. “Not this time though. If the usual senses haven’t clued you in—” He smirked and pointed to fog all around. “It ain’t burritos and it isn’t your cologne of ‘ode to jackass’; no, this stuff, it’s been lingering here for days.”
“Days?” John gawked in a mild surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding. Fog doesn’t last that long.”
“Well, this one does. Three days, or so… local law enforcement says it’s been that way for a while. The main crime scene is deeper in to the woods over there. But the further in you go, the more dense it gets. Kinda like you.” Sanchez grinned.
“Uh, huh…” John smirked back. “Good one, so, tell me, what’s got you and the other gang bangers so puzzled, exactly. Afraid to get your hands dirty and need a real Special Agent to do your job?”
“For the record…” Romeros bit his lower lip slightly. “I didn’t want you here at all. Not really my call on that, though. I told them we could handle it, but… the higher ups suggested we call in ‘Special Cases’ for this kind of thing.”
“Awww…” Mathers mockingly frowned at him. “Did that hurt your wittle ego, huh?”
“I told them we didn’t need you out here,” Sanchez said, glaring at him and stepping closer. “I said that my guys were more than capable of figuring this out.” He gave a faint sigh and shrugged. “But, you’re here now… so I might as well suck it up. Maybe this is one of those rare instances your services could be useful.”
“See? Was that so hard?” Mathers smirked.
“Whatever…” Sanchez rolled his eyes and backed away.
“So what is it then?” Mathers sighed. “I gather from the stench it’s not a pretty sight, just please tell me it’s not another guy who lit himself on fire over a pentagram on the ground. Cause I’ve had my fill of those dudes.”
“Oh, I guarantee this will be a new one for even you. Come and see.”
Sanchez walked past the police barrier and lifted up the yellow tape that cut off the public from entry. There was a single news person in the background, perhaps the local paper John figured, but there wasn’t a typical crowd one would find hanging about this kind of busy crime scene.
It was almost tranquil and devoid of any interlopers. The park was more for hikers and nature lovers to go exploring. Not a lot of regular visitors or kids come to this place. He noted the small trail leading into it, a worn-down path that many have made over the years.
Sanchez looked back for him and motioned to follow. Mathers nodded in acknowledgment and continued on. The time for professionalism returned. The two men strided side by side and stepped into the thick wooden forest covered in the thick grey mist.
* * *
Minutes later, they were standing in the centre of the scene. They eyed the devastation with amazement. Both Sanchez and Mathers gawked at it.
“Holy shit…” Mathers uttered. “What the fuck happened here?”
The lush greenery meshed with the mysterious vapour giving an eerie nature. The ground, however, was charred and showed a gaping crater towards the centre. Mathers was astonished to see the carnage. It was as if someone dropped a fusion bomb, but, the blast radius didn’t go beyond a certain point. He stroked his chin carefully. It made little sense.
“How did you find out about this in the first place?” Mathers crouched downward.
“An elderly woman who likes to walk her dog out here every late afternoon, she drove back to town to inform the police.” Sanchez said as he checked his notepad. “Greta Vandenberg, 62 years old, a resident of Flint, says they were walking back before nightfall yesterday when they heard something. There was a bright flash and lots of smoke rising up. When it was over, she and her dog rushed over and found this crater.”
“It must have been a fiery mess when she showed up.”
“Um…” He checked the notes again. “Nope, according to her, it was exactly how it was now. The fog, on the other hand…” He paused while flipping the notepad away. “This started the minute she stepped into the area.”
“Really?” Mathers winced with puzzlement. “Huh, that’s weird…”
“So says the ‘Special Cases’ dude.” Sanchez snickered. “Don’t you deal with weird every single day?”
“A missile or bomb—had to be.” John ignored the snarky comment and continued to focus on the crime scene. “Maybe a short range...”
“Nope, we searched for one.” Romeros rubbed his hands for warmth. “And even if there was, the blast radius would have been larger. I contacted the CIA to see if there was any threat or activity they might have overlooked.”
“Bet they loved that.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sanchez sighed with sarcasm. “Basically it was, ‘Fuck you and have a nice day!’, so figured that meant there wasn’t anything on their end about it.”
“Sure…” Mathers snickered. “I bet the NSA was just as helpful.”
“I didn’t even bother calling them.” Sanchez snickered. “They’d just tell me the same thing, but, I bet that they already knew about it.”
“Collaborative love…” John smirked. “Nice to know government agencies work together so well, huh?”
“Secrets on secrets,” Sanchez scoffed. “Everyone wants to be the gatekeepers of their own shit.”
John chuckled slightly and continued to study the ground. It had an odd consistency about it. There was no moisture at all, the fog should have at least absorbed into it and made it damp. But no, there was nothing it seemed.
He had to make sure and dipped his fingers into it. He was right. Mathers brushed his hand along the charred dirt and noticed the dry, sand-like feel to it. There was a spark in his mind. One he typically got into these type of investigations, the reason he was so good at his job, and why he got placed into the Special Cases Division.
“You’re right,” he glared into the distance with a fist full of ash in hand. “It was a fire... an intensively hot fire, but it wasn’t an explosion. It was quick and contained, like a sun burning right at this spot, a flash of ultra heat that turned it all to a cinder.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“This was something else…”
“What else could it be?”
“Not sure…” Mathers squinted in thought. “Nothing like anything I’ve seen before. Very interesting…”
Sanchez gave a frustrated sigh. He had heard of Mathers odd way of studying a crime scenes. Other agents described his weird behaviour a few times. He never took samples to a lab or gathered up evidence, only a ‘gut feeling’ as if he solved the case.
Sanchez gave him the nickname ‘X-files’ after that fact, and until today never really thought it was true. When they ran into each other, or get sent to the same investigations, the two never hung around for too long.
Having never seen him work a crime scene before, Sanchez was finding Mathers ‘wild theory’ hard to swallow.
“Okay… so not an explosion. Fire would have burnt the surrounding trees, if not the whole forest, correct? If it was that hot it wouldn’t just get contained here, you’d be seeing quite a different scenario.”
“Maybe,” John softly remarked. He let the loose ash-soil from his hand and wiped the residue on his pant knee. “Still, it was an intense fire of some kind. Yet, something drew it inward. As if someone switched on a vacuum at the last second.”
Sanchez shook his head in disbelief. It was utterly preposterous what he was talking about. Was this the masterful crime profiling he would come to expect from him? This was a joke. It had to be. This unprofessional agent strolled in and gives him this baloney. Why did he have to call him? Why did the bureau make him call him? Special Cases Division was a stupid sham as far as he was concerned. He’d rather have forensics on this and get a real ‘scientific’ evaluation.
“Inward?” The Latino agent mocked, “Come on, man. Don’t give me your ‘sixth sense’ about this. There’s no evidence of that, just a lot of ash and burnt grass—but I’m sure you’re the expert in smokin’ grass right, Mathers?”
Mathers ignored the agent’s comment. Though it was an impressive comeback to him, instead he placed his hand back in again to feel around the dirt further. Sanchez watched the odd behaviour; it must of never dawned on Mathers to wear rubber gloves. The continual lack of professionalism bewildered him.
“What are you expecting to find? There’s nothing in that mess.”
“Well, I’m a firm believer that things never look as they seem. Even if the evidence looks as well destroyed as this…” He said pawing his hands through the ash. “There’s always something left behind or untouched… nothing is ever left perfectly destroyed.”
“You’re stretching it, man.” Sanchez snickered as he looked beyond the mist. “My guys combed every inch of this area… they found nothing. Not even a body. If there was any… which I don’t think there was.”
“So then that smell is just what, your tailgate party with the cousins, Sanchez?” Mathers scoffed. “Just admit it, you guys came out here to bury some homies that rubbed you the wrong way.”
“I’d watch that racist mouth of yours, man. It’s not cool.” He pointed his finger bitterly at him and then motioned vaguely to the scene. “I’m telling you, there’s nothing out here worth our time. Someone just had an illegal bonfire, through on some gas that made it smell like this and took off. Maybe the cops got scared and dragged us out here for nada. There’s nothing, zip, zilch… a big waste of our time and resources.”
While Romeros bitched on and on about it. John’s hand suddenly stopped as he felt something. His hand had gripped tightly to whatever he discovered and slowly pulled it out. As the dirt and ash fell away, they were both surprised by the find; a pair of jeans—woman’s jeans. Mathers stood up and showed it to the other agent who fell silent.
“Every inch?” Mathers right brow raised. “I think we’ll need a few more hands for digging here.”
“Shit…” Sanchez uttered to him. “I’m never going to hear the end of this am I?”