主妇丈夫倡导的户外生活

Chapter 260 Arsonists and Vigilantes

"And this is their house?"

"Yes. Far away into the woods, quite small. No one would even notice the smoke until it reached up for miles? into the air, and by the its far too late."

The footsteps of the two women over the dead leaves made soft crunching sounds, but none of the residents of that small cabin heard it. They were deep in their slumber.

"You said….. There was a child. And that she's dying." Joan said, her fingers clenched tightly around the gasoline tank in her hand.

"Picked an easy first time for you." Pele grinned. "Criminal father, criminal wife. Child dying from cancer, parents couldn't afford bringing her to the hospital or they'd get caught by the police. And they didn't really care about the little girl anyway. So her death would be a mercy."

The professor scoffed at this. "How generous of you. But I'm not weak. I know what deal I made, and I know that you always give me 'easy ones'."

The Lady in Red laughed at this, and her laugh sounded layered and with cracks, like the crackling of fire.

"That's delightful, then. I wonder if you'll still be able to keep that up once I go over the more difficult ones. The more personal ones."

Joan gritted her teeth. "You promised that those I care about and myself would be spared by your sadistic flame."

"And that is true. I would never ask you to burn those within your circle. You have my protection, but from the flame AND everything else. The Imposters, other monsters…. Your circle is safe."

She then went dangerously near the gasoline tank, and Joan avoided her before she could touch it. Pele smirked.

"As for those not within your circle, no matter how much guilt you feel about bringing them pain….. There's nothing you can do. Break the deal and I break the circle. I will burn the circle, and I will relish it."

Joan glared at her. "I know. There's no need to remind me."

She set out to work, first making sure that there was no sprinkler or anything. Since the residents of the house were too poor to afford it, there wasn't one. Only a fire extinguisher was placed inside their one shared bedroom, Pele said.

She took that fire extinguisher, trying to avoid looking directly at the sleeping family. And the sickly child in the middle.

She then went downstairs, and quietly spread the gasoline all over the carpet, the wooden furniture and everything else that catches fire easily. She moved fast, for the family upstairs may smell it soon.

She took out her match, and struck it.

FIZZLE!

The fire spread quicker than it should, no doubt due to the 'gift' Pele gave her. The burnt marks on her right hand glowed bright red-orange, and it hurt her. But Joan endured it, as Pele continued to watch her with that malicious glee.

She was at the door, ready to close it once the house went up in flames. Once it did and the tongues of fire had lapped up all the way to the staircase, she left the scene.

She did not stay to listen to the screams or watch the smoke rise up. She kept her head down and walked briskly from where she came.

Pele thankfully did not join her. But she could tell that her new master was feeding, as she laughed while watching the destruction that Joan had caused.

Joan just kept on walking, until her walking turned into running. She ran and ran, and soon she was in the middle of the street. She tumbled down, holding her right hand which was burning from within, throbbing like something was about to explode.

She breathed heavily, wincing from the pain. But she would not cry. It eventually subsided as the house had completely burned down….

And the sacrifices had been received in full.

The throbbing eased, and Joan composed herself. Instead of focusing on her first kill, she instead thought about what the next one might be. What preparations she should make, what she could do to make the burning even faster.

"Matches and gasoline are too slow." She thought. "Maybe…. Maybe I should start learning how to make bombs."

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"What if we bomb their place? This… domain of Deception you're talking about?"

"You want to quickly destroy those bastards that enjoys tormenting people slowly? Stealing not just their bodies, but their identities? No. That won't do. They deserve to be tortured."

Roland frowned. "Can they even feel pain? They're made of plastic."

"Once they get themselves skins, they can. You ever wondered why they take the face out of everything else?" Chief Fieldings, loading up a sniper rifle. "It's because they take the skins off dead bodies before they kill living people. But the face is important. It needs to be fresh, needs to fit their heads properly."

They were in a shooting range, all alone as nobody really went this late. Chief Fieldings threatened the owner until they were allowed to use it in the middle of the night.

"So how to we 'torture' them?"

Chief Fieldings grinned. "We need to chase them. Make them feel fear, these bunch of mannequins. It won't be easy, but if you make them believe that they have the upperhand, the terror would be greater once they realized that they had actually fallen into a trap."

He handed Roland a pistol. "For now, we practice. Act like we're going slow and chasing after the small ones. That way they'd think that we're just sorry sods blowing off steam because we can't do anything. And when the perfect time comes…. We strike the hornets' nest."

Roland did not say anything to this, only looking at his chest. He pulled at his collar and looked down, revealing a scar that had festered inside. A bullet wound.

He felt regretful, but the anger was much stronger inside him now. It was the only thing that filled his mind.

He growled, and took the pistol from him. "And when is that perfect time?"

"You'll find out soon enough as we hunt down the morsels. They are plotting something bigger than back in '84. Back when they took the skins of all those coloreds who got their homes gentrified."

He adjusted Roland's arm and back. "You never touched a gun before?"

"I have."

"Well, your form is terrible." The policeman scoffed. "You need to grip it tightly, or else the recoil would mess up your aim. Or a strong kick or punch. Engage your core."

Roland did as he was told, but he can't help but feel annoyed by how demanding this old man was all the time. Do this, do that. Don't do this, don't do that.

He reminds him too much of his father…..

Especially when he was in high school.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

He shot the target, and the recoil still made him miss much of the vital parts. Roland clicked his tongue and fired again, obsessed on shooting perfectly.

"I know that look. Don't like any form of authority breathing down your neck, right?" Chief Fieldings grinned. "Nobody really likes it, and the more efficient you are, the less you could stand it. And you have been the efficient one all your life, haven't ya?"

"I want to focus, Mr. Fieldings." Roland said.

"No, you don't need focus. I don't want you to be precise. I want you to be brutal." Mr. Fieldings said. "Stop suppressing your emotions and start channeling them instead. That thing in front of you is not a piece of paper attached to some cardboard with marks around it."

He took out his sniper rifle and shot the target maniacally. He shot so fast, non-stop, and he was unsatisfied until the target was pocketed with holes.

And there was nothing but joy in his eyes, glowing murky red the color of blood.

"Go on to the next one and this time, I want you to kill someone. Look in their face and kill them mercilessly." He said.

Roland went to the next target, this one a dummy so he could much easily visualize it as a person.

And as he saw the face of the one he wanted to shoot….

He became brutal, just like his 'teacher'.

"Good, good. Who did you see?" The old man asked.

Roland took the sniper rifle from him and handed him the pistol. "My father."

Chief Fieldings chuckled. "Oh, never liked your old man, eh?"

"He never liked me either. He never outright said it, or was in any way abusive. But I could tell from the disappointment in his eyes. He hated that I was…" Roland sighed, and just got into position. "I wasn't the son that he wanted me to be, no matter what my achievements are. Looked at me like I was a freak."

The chief of police raised his eyebrows at this, then smiled.

"Well, that doesn't matter to me. We're all hunting for something in this life, and sometimes….. Bastards will say you can't hunt certain things. Certain people. And that also pisses me off as much as it pisses you off."

He helped him position once more. "That's much better. Now…. Shoot down anything that gets in the way of your hunt."