Blood and Ashes

"Some kid." He shrugged as he grabbed his resume from the desk, looked over it, and tore it into two pieces. "I'm not getting a new job anytime soon."

Out of curiosity, Casson walked over to the sheriff's room, trying to find what exactly did Henry want to investigate. The wall is full of posters and flyers of wanted criminals and crimes. They were all of a murder scene, all gory and crude, but there was another thing similar about them. Next to the scenes, was a symbol on the ground, indicating this has been done by the same group/person. That was when Casson realized something terrible… the incompetent kid was going against a mass murderer/group- he's gonna get himself killed! But he hesitated before thinking of deciding what to do. He was a detective, he needed to be rational in his making of decisions.

"No, I'm overreacting! Of course, that kid can't possibly be able to track them down. He's new! He's incompetent!" Casson reassured himself as he backed toward his desk and took out a document.

"Yeah, he'll fail! He won't be able to track them down, he surely won't get himself killed! The kid has issues but he's not dumb! I bet he is incompetent-!" That was when he looked down at the document, specifically at the line that changed his mind about Henry. "Graduated Gellert Grinton College at age 23 with a Ph.D. in 'Crime Studies.'" The words shone directly into his eyes, forcing the truth down his throat.

"Age 23 with a Ph.D., so I guess he isn't incompetent after all." He gulped as he dropped the file and ran over to Room A, hoping to alert the sheriffs of the boy on a suicidal mission; no one was there. "Gosh darn the incompetent sheriffs! Am I the only one that does my job well?" He stammered, hurrying over to his room, opened the cabinet at the top, and pulled out his gun, just in case he needed to use it. Over at the coat hanger, he grabbed his tan-colored coat and his golden-fur fedora. Casson swiftly capped on his fedora, placed on his coat, and hurried out of the room as he pocketed his firearm. Just before he exited his room, he felt a weird sensation on the back of his neck. Not to waste much time, he merely glanced over. He saw a flash of colors, a navy-blue color, and beside it was a set of black, and both resembled human figures in the mirror. He couldn't make out the figure in black, but his eyes instantly gravitated to the figure's clothing. The figure wore a gray vest with a blurry symbol that resembled a circle. Startled, he closed his eyes to make sure he was seeing it and turned around toward the mirror., but there was nothing there. Without another moment to lose, he shrugged it off with the explanation that his eyes were playing a trick on him, and ran out of the building.

"Think! Think! Casson! Where will he go? What was the common thing in all of the crime scenes?" Casson questioned himself as he rushed out of the building, closing his eyes to think every few moments. Outside of the building was a small front yard with most of the flowers and grass dead. A few feet from the porch of the building was the road, which was slightly slanted and lined with gravel. Every so often there would be a few cars riding down the path, whistling and smoking on their pipes. "Think! Think! Wait, they all had one symbol! What was the symbol- a double circle inside one another! It resembles the bullet hole of the gun! The blacksmith, like that weird thing I saw earlier, the blacksmith always wore that logo back in '21!"

He realized as he curved to the right, dodging a home in front of him. As he made his way down the paths, the sky became darker, the clouds turning gray, closing in on the sun.

"Oh great! It's raining!" He muttered as he finally reached the curved building that is the blacksmith's shop.

"It already looks so grim from here." He walked up, hesitantly towards the blacksmith's door, a towering door made of dark oak with a handle of bronze. With a shaking hand, he hammered onto the door a few times, not knowing what to necessarily expect. "Where was the kid? Did they already get him? Did I calculate it wrong? I must have, the blacksmith won't hurt a thing! Wait, people have been saying blacksmith is acting weird lately- what's his name? Oh, that doesn't matter now!"

Thoughts flashed in his mind but were immediately covered by new thoughts, so much that he couldn't even think clearly. But nothing happened to the door, it stood still like a stone. Casson attempted to get the blacksmith's attention again by knocking a few more times, but the door stood still. He hesitated before attempting to do something else before he nudged the door (attempting to open it); the door didn't budge, so he tried the handle. Quite easily, he pushed forward into the shop, with the door following his movements. Inside the shop was a dark room, a room that was shadowed most of the way inwards and left the interior completely shadowed. The only thing that was at all visible inside of the room was the shadowed box that stood mere inches from the right door that towered above Casson. Inside of the box seemed to be a clock, for the height is simply too high yet too thin to necessarily be for anything else. Inside of the box was a small, squeaky noise of mere taps, small noises that resembled slow tapping noises of the finger. "Tap, tap, tap," the clock aligned with his heartbeat, making him even more nervous than he already was. The tapping was relatively quick, which means that if the clock was working properly, it was counting by the seconds. The box itself looked like it was recently packed, packed in a rush. The closings of the box weren't properly sealed and looked like it could burst open with just a nudge from the inside.

He ran through his mind and came up with the conclusion that the blacksmith is transitioning to a new place, yet there are no signs that say so. Carefully, not to make much noise, he walked into the shadowed room, seeing nothing but darkness for his eyes did not adjust one bit. Even if his eyes adjusted, the room was still pitch black and would've still made him blind. His footsteps echoed louder with each step he took through the dark room, which helped him navigate a little, along with him reaching his hands outward to feel his way through the room. Although his senses were limited, he could hear a slight tingle, like the crackling of paper crumpling. "Tsss, tsss, tsss!" The echoes of the sound of crumpling paper ricocheted through the dark room, getting louder and sending small descriptions of itself to Casson. A low shaking sound that sounded as if it was moving, a high crackling sound that resembles the tumbling of wood upon each other, and just a small tint of crackling, a familiar noise. As he walked further into the darkness, in a way, his senses got better. His sight allowed him to see that there was an amber glow to the side of the room, revealing that it is a passageway leading into a different part of the building. His sense of smell told him that the air was getting thicker, so thick that it was a bit harder to breathe in than just a moment ago. Finally, his sense of hearing revealed to him that his suspicion was true. The crackling turned to roars, definitely louder than it was before, with the roars were not just simple small noises like before, it was now a combination of thundering crashes and roaring of fire.

"FIRE!" Casson yelped as he emerged to the end of the passageway. In front of him was a blazing ball of fire, splashing in all directions and causing it to spread like wildfire. His body became overwhelmingly sweaty as he tried to momentarily comprehend and think of what to do, but the sweating was so much so that it caused him to feel drenched. Casson's eyes were watering, the smoke emerging from the fire caused his breathing to be difficult, burning his eyes and blazing his flesh as he dropped to the floor, covering his mouth so he wouldn't inhale any smoke. The floor was much better, but still blazing hot. Although his skin was burning hot, his sight improved (with his hearing and smell still a discombobulated mess) and he was able to make certain things out; there was a large oval barrel on the floor, spilling out what looked to be a brown liquid; oil. On the side of the barrel was a man on the floor, not moving. Without hesitating, he instantly hurried over to him and checked him out, with his senses still mixed up. With shaking hands, he attempted to check if there was a pulse; there was none. Turning around, now covering his face with his clothing, he was running out of the burning building at rapid speed.

As Casson turned around one last time to check on the fire, which was now dozens of times larger than it was before, the man was no longer very much visible, all that was left was his boot, which was now also on fire. Turning around, attempting to see straight again and get out of the building, Casson took a misstep. Through the other dim side of the passageway, his foot kicked the wall that curved sideways, slipping and tumbling down. In excruciating pain, as he dropped flat on his back, spraining his ankle, he dared not to scream for if he did he would've inhaled a deadly amount of smoke and ash. Sideways on the floor, half-conscious, he noticed that the air was getting immeasurably thick with the amber glow getting closer to him; he was going to die. With one last attempt to save himself, Casson straightened his arms and pushed himself upwards (a bone was fractured during the fall) slowly but steadily. Despite all his effort, the condition was still too overwhelming for him. Before even being able to stand up, he started to become limp, struggling to hold himself up with all the smoke in his lungs, eyes, and nose. His sight was heavily clouded, the heat devouring any other form of emotion inside of him; his body was weak, so weak that he couldn't sustain himself any longer. His breathing gave out, his muscle gave out, and his sight and sense of pain followed right behind.

The scorching flames were now just a tint of heat to him; he was going to die. But there was a feeling of pressure on his arms, a crushing feeling but still a feeling. A propelling feeling pulled him upwards, and immediately he felt his body come back to life. His legs and his sense, still weak, were working again. Still straining, he pulled himself upwards (with the help of the weird pulling force) and began to struggle out of the passage. His sense of sight and breathing was a lot better, so he was able to see what the strong force was. A person was holding him by the arms, dragging him out of the building, a person wearing a ragged navy-blue jacket that was piled with ash and rubble, the hair over his face was looking greasy, and his glasses broken; it was Henry.