Ignite

The knock on the front door of 6415 Westmoreland Avenue was soft and hardly detectable. At first Brian Swinton thought he was hearing things but Wild Thing was now barking and running to the door. Then he heard it again. Yep, there was someone at the front door. Ten in the morning on a weekday was unusual for visitors. Please, no Jehovah’s, he thought as he put his coffee cup down and walked from the den to the front hall. He put the dog in the small study just off the foyer and closed the door. He looked through the peep hole on the front door but it was totally black. “That’s strange,” he said out loud. The light tap on the door made him pause. “What the heck,” he thought as he turned the dead bolt and opened the door.

Standing on the threshold was Johnny Ch. Swinton was about to ask what the stranger wanted when he was sprayed in the face with some sort of sweet-smelling gas. He took in a large whiff of it and stumbled backwards. That’s when Ch smashed him in the face with a metal baton. The force of the blow knocked Swinton further back and rendered him unconscious. He fell hard on the foyer floor. Ch removed the small piece of black electrical tape covering the outside peephole on the door. He walked in and calmly shut the front door barely making a sound.

Ch looked through the glass window panes on the French door of the study. Wild Thing was jumping at the door and barking in frenzy. He took out his pistol with the silencer attached and shot the dog through one of the glass panes of the door. The house was now totally quiet.

Stepping over Swinton, he walked through the downstairs out into the kitchen. He opened the door to the garage and tried the first automatic garage door switch located on the wall. The door in front of Swinton’s blue Audi started to go up and Ch pushed the switch again. The door stopped its upward movement and returned to the closed position. He pushed the next switch and the door to the empty space next to the Audi opened. He walked through the garage and out into the driveway. He got in his car that was still running and pulled into the garage. He closed the garage door behind the car and walked back into the house. He was not seen by anyone as far as he could tell.

He took one of the kitchen chairs and dragged it to the front foyer. He then picked the old man up and put him on the chair. He used a roll of duct tape he brought with him to secure the unconscious Swinton to the chair. He first wrapped his feet and then his arms to the wooden chair. He placed a strip of tape over Swinton’s bloody mouth. The old man was still out. He stood in front of Swinton then took a few steps back. He fired a shot through the old man’s forehead. He was asked to send a message and he did so.

Ch spent about an hour searching the house for any clue as to the whereabouts of Rick Micado. He knew Emily Marsh was careful but he also knew she was still in love with the fugitive. He found nothing. He went into the garage and removed the hand held automatic door opener from the visor of the Audi. He took a small stepladder and removed the white plastic hood covering the light bulb on the opener above his car. He then changed the code on Swinton’s opener to match that of the door behind his car. He pushed the button and the door blocking his car opened. He closed it almost immediately.

He took both gas cans he found in the garage and went about the house dousing everything with gasoline. He took some old newspapers he found and made a pile in the corner of the master bedroom. He soaked the paper with gasoline. Confident that he had completely covered everything with the highly flammable liquid, he returned to the kitchen. There on the refrigerator in the kitchen he saw a list of phone numbers. Emily’s cell phone number was the first on the magnetic held list of “Things to remember.” He programmed her number into his disposable cell phone. Using the Marsh home phone on the kitchen wall, he dialed her number.

Emily Marsh was teaching third grade at Killian Elementary School located in northeast Columbia. She had finally gotten a chance to use her education. She substituted for a year at the school and when a vacancy came up she was offered the position. She kept her cell phone on her desk but in the vibration mode. Both Blythe and her father had strict orders not to call except for an emergency. As she was helping some of the students with a reading assignment, the phone vibrated. “Now what?” she thought to herself. She answered the call. She could tell right away it came from her home phone. “What’s the problem, Dad?” she said exasperated.

“Hi Emily,” Ch said on the other end of the line.

“Who’s this?” She asked concerned.

“You’re going to tell us where Micado is, do you understand? I know you will tell us because you don’t want anything to happen to Blythe. Sorry about Brian and the dog but I had to let you know we are serious. We’ll be in touch,” he disconnected the call.

Ch walked upstairs and, using a box of wooden matches he found in the den, he lit the gasoline-soaked newspaper in the master bedroom. He tossed a number of lit marches in other rooms upstairs and the place caught fire with a vroom sound. He walked downstairs and did the same thing on the first floor. He then walked to the kitchen and out into the garage. He pushed the door opener on the wall and got into his car. He backed out and faced the street. He used the hand held opener from Swinton’s Audi and closed the door to the now empty space. He pulled out into Westmoreland Avenue, as far as he could tell, he was not noticed by anyone.