Burn It to the Ground

Maura’s POV.

Cruising down the highway was peace at last. Well, if you consider Kassia busting out laughing at something on her phone every seventy seconds peace…It was pretty close, at least. The radio was belting out tunes and the air conditioner was behaving, so overall things were going great.

But all good things must come to an end, and Alba, Missouri was creeping up on us fast like an omen of doom that I chose to completely ignore in an act of self-preservation.

“You promised me Florida.” I reminded my sister, glancing briefly at the rearview mirror at the traffic and the Impala. The idea of Florida was almost mouthwatering; god knows I had not seen the ocean since I had to throw a dead body off a cliff in Maine. Not exactly something for the scrapbook. Kassia was half-asleep, leaning against the window and eyes drooping until a bump in the uneven road momentarily jerked her out of it.

She sighed good-naturedly, “I didn’t promise, I never even said anything.” I told her it was implied and turned up the radio, drowning out her objections. Finally things were back to normal, or as normal as they got. And to be perfectly honest, I was kind of looking forward to seeing Dean in jail; It put a smile on my face just thinking about it.

But the job came first, sadly, and the case did seem promising; so many suicides for such a small place, there was no way it could be a coincidence. Either that or somebody needed to slip some anti-depressants in the water system, which I would be happy to do if it got me out of research, which was bound to come along somewhere in it. Kassia was still texting; she would try to show me something before I swatted her away, trying to keep my eyes on the road and complaining about being the responsible one. Now I looked at her, contradicting myself, grinning and probably freaking her out. “I’m feeling optimistic about this.” I confided, just earning a cautious look from her. Granted, I wasn’t known for my optimism, but I was really starting to think we could pull this off; have men actually in our lives and not get screwed in the process. Well you know, so to speak…

And even though she wasn’t saying anything about it, I knew Kass was thinking the exact same thing. Which we both knew was dangerous.

But for the time being, the sky was clear and the sun was shinning little rays of happiness that made you think of fluffy kittens and rainbows and unicorns; all that good shit. Missouri might not be everybody’s cup of tea, but it at least seemed more promising and full of hope than Wyoming, which left us beaten up and smelling bad. More so, though mostly on the smell part, than many other cases.

As we began to enter Alba, the Impala veered off onto another road and disappeared from the sight
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Sam’s POV.

We were sitting in the Sheriffs office of Alba, Missouri. Suited up, badges out, interviewing the potbellied man in charge. We weren’t in there five minutes before he became impatient, rubbing his hands together and grunting like a pig. Sadly, just in the rude way and not ‘I’m guilty of killing all these people and just don’t want you to know.’

“They’re all suicides, gentlemen. I already explained that in the last interview.” Sheriff Summers told us, shifting in his seat and looking through a stack of papers on his desk; more than likely police reports of the suicides. “We understand that, sir, but did you notice anything strange about the crime scenes or the victims?” I pried. He just shook his head and grunted at us again, which was starting to get kind of weird.
It never ceased to surprise me how blind law enforcement could be. I mean civilians, I can understand that. But the police are out there on the front lines and they don’t see anything suspicious about that many suicides in such a small area?

“Look, Elizabeth was a good friend of mine; I knew her almost as well as Michael did and she was a happy woman. They had the perfect marriage, hell they had a grandchild on the way. I don’t know why she did it, but I know Michael Taylor doesn’t need to be put through any more of this.” With a dismissive wave, he went back to his paperwork and pointedly ignored us until we finally, and awkwardly, thanked him for his time and left.

“Well that was totally unproductive.” Dean said. “What about Henry Gresham?” He was the most recent suicide victim, having died three days ago in his crummy, run-down house just outside of town. He was also Michael Taylor’s childhood friend. It was effortless to feel sorry for the guy, even knowing that he might have had something to do with the deaths that were claiming people all around him. “Uh, he basically blew his brains out Remington 870. Friends say he had been acting anxious all week.” I recalled, having memorized the police reports and newspaper articles about it.

It was a nice day, the sun out and the birds singing, with only harmless white puffy clouds spotting the skies. Hardly the kind of weather to talk about mass suicides…Not that there was ever good weather for that sort of thing.

“So I say we head to the nearest burger joint and see what the girls have dug up.” Taking out his cell and more than likely texting Kassia with his plans, my brother jogged ahead and hopped into the Impala. So eager for a man who was wanted for murder, what the hell were we getting ourselves into? And all for two women we really only barely knew. But I couldn’t blame him; I would’ve done the same thing if I were in his position. I might have done it with a little less self-destructive enthusiasm, but I would have done it.

I just really hoped we could get through this one without having to break out of jail.