Burn It Down

 

Alistair stood, the air around him hot and dry. He could feel the heat on his face, his chest, his arms. The bright orange glow lit the entire ground all around. The black sky, a sharp contrast to the licking flames.  He could hear sirens in the distance, and he knew exactly how the next fifteen minutes would play out. Stuffing the book of matches into his back pocket, he took three steps back as the heat had become almost unbearable.

Watching the flames climb ever higher into the blackness of the night, his thoughts drifted back to the day before. He sat, motionless, the leather of the couch gripping his bare legs, his feet cold. Wearing only his briefs, he stared at the television screen and sipped his Scotch, emotionless, at least that is what they always told him he was. Another school shooting, another murder, another bombing of some small, insignificant Middle Eastern country by a particularly large and arrogant nation of power.

Setting his Scotch on the coffee table, he stood, his legs peeling off the couch with a muffled, prolonged snap. Turning off the television, he walked into the kitchen and stared at the refrigerator, not hungry but feeling like eating. Then suddenly, as if a light had been turned on, he realized what he needed to do. But this could not be an off-the-cuff, spur of the moment activity.

Walking into his bedroom, he dressed for the day. Slacks, button up dress shirt and leather shoes, he combed his hair, at the same time, confirming his clothes contained no wrinkles. Always a stickler for plans and details, he turned on his laptop and created a high-level outline for the next twenty-four hours.

The sound of approaching sirens stirred Alistair from his distracted memories and moved him to the next phase of his plan. Sliding his garbage cans in the driveway entrance, he climbed into his car and slowly pulled away. In his rearview mirror, he could see the police cars and fire trucks converge upon his home, now entirely engulfed in flames. As he fully anticipated, roadblock barriers were slid into place behind him as he passed through the intersection.

Pulling ahead to the next block, with the flicker of orange reflecting upon his face, he removed a notebook from his backpack, for his laptop now provided fodder for the insatiable appetite of the flames. He thought back to his last steps of preparation, as he sat earlier that evening in his living room. Hacking into the federal government personnel records, he erased all reference to himself. Photos, school records, immunization records, fingerprints, it was all gone by the time he finished. He knew full well that someone would trace his actions, but the work was done. According to the digitized records of the US Federal government, Alistair did not exist.

Hacking the state government database was much simpler and he replicated his steps here as well. Closing his laptop, he removed the hard drive and chopped it into tiny pieces with a pair of gardening shears.  There was no turning back now.

The passing of a truck and trailer stirred him from his thoughts and putting the car into drive, he continued on. The drive ahead of him was a long one. Six hours into downtown Detroit at midnight typically was not his preference for vacation but tonight was different. What would take place tonight would forever change him. Alistair Persephone no longer existed.

Taking the main road downtown, he slowly drove through the mall, watching, searching. His endeavors eventually bore fruit and he found a car, a duplicate of the one he drove and he parked next to it. Climbing out of his own car and into the other, the keys were an exact match, a gamble he had hoped on and found to be right. He pulled onto the Interstate and began his drive to Detroit.

Finally arriving at the outskirts of the Detroit Metropolitan airport, he randomly chose a hotel, being wise enough to have done no research and to have left no electronic trail of his whereabouts. Paying cash for a room, he let himself in, lay down on the bed, and closed his eyes.

It was the beeping that woke him. Though Alistair was gone, his habits still remained. 6:00 am and he was ready for the day. After taking a shower, he returned his room key and drove away from the hotel, heading back to the Interstate. Heading northeast, he finally reached his destination, Livernois Avenue, the neighborhood his research told him was the most dangerous in the entire country. Parking the car, he tossed the keys into the lap of a sleeping homeless man. Returning to a bus stop he had passed on his way in, he sat on the bench and waited. After studying the route map, he took the first of three buses, and returned to the airport. Grabbing a bite to eat, he walked the concourses for over four hours before he found the one person he was looking for. If Alistair didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was looking in a mirror. The man was nearly identical in appearance, build, and hair color. It was uncanny.

Cautiously following the man, he “accidentally” bumped into him and lifted the man’s wallet. Quickly removing his driver’ license, he pocketed the ID and then turned back shouting after the man.

“Excuse me, sir,” he called out. “I think you dropped your wallet?” The man felt his back pocket and realizing his wallet was gone, thanked Alistair profusely.

“Oh, wow, man, thank you,” he said smiling and receiving the billfold back. Quickly thumbing through it, he let out a sigh of relief. “Phew, all my money is still there. Again, thanks a ton.”

“No problem,” Alistair answered and then turned and walked away in the opposite direction. Finding the nearest ticket counter, he approached the smiling woman standing behind it.

“Excuse me, miss, please give me a random single digit number,” he said. The woman looked at him oddly but then answered ‘3’.

Choosing the third flight on the overhead reader board, he asked for a ticket. “One ticket to Dallas/Fort Worth, please.” Paying for the ticket in cash, he showed the new ID he had just procured and receiving his ticket, walked toward the departure gate, ticket in hand. Just as he leaned in to sit down, he heard the overhead voice make the last call for his flight. “Oof, that was close,” he thought. Hurrying to the hallway, the stewardess scanned his ticket, smiled at him widely, and welcomed him aboard.