The fire which had blazed within sight for miles had quieted down. Orange flames, their hunger already satiated, had licked and melted the snow on the ground, leaving behind crumbling walls and a huge, charred area. Michael Lear, or Mike, as he preferred to be called, had rushed to the scene with the rest of his team earlier to face the violent entity that encompassed the huge, abandoned mansion with its possessive, fiery embrace.

The pumper had gushed water out at the burning mansion and managed to keep the situation under control all the way until the fire died down. There seemed to be no one inside and if there was, it was impossible to get to them. Mike was only thankful for the site the mansion resided at because it was so isolated from the rest of Bayport and, thus, the fire had no other food to devour. He knew that the police would need their help in retrieving clues that would point to the arsonist. Maybe there was a chance that something valuable to their investigation would be found from the wreck from Michael doubted it.

He sighed. More work to be done. It was not that he was not a civic-minded person. Being in this line, there had to be some amount of civic consciousness. He was just tired. At thirty-five, he was too young to be tired. Maybe it was time to change jobs after being in such a noble line for ten years.

"Hey, Mike!" Roger, a beefy brown-haired guy with deep set brown eyes rushed up to him, an anxious expression on his face. Mike turned to face him, knitting his brows in expectancy of some bad news.

"Yes?"

"Just got a call from the police. A man staggered into a petrol kiosk nearby, covered in blood before keeling over. He’s now in Bayport Hospital and our men in blue think he may be related to this act of arson coz he had this stench of kerosene on him."

"So?" Mike asked when Roger’s speech was over, not knowing why Roger would hurry to him with news not of his duty’s concern. "That’s their purview isn’t it? We are here to quench the fire and we did it."

"Yah, just thought I’ll let you know, that’s all." Roger shrugged and looked at the charred remains. Yes, part of the house was still standing but the inside was destroyed and it did look as if it was going to collapse any moment. No longer habitable, it was in a sorry state. Mike shook his head. He loved historic architecture and this mansion was in Bayport for as long as he could remember.

Longer than he could remember. Anyway, it became some haunted house to sneak into for young children years ago- its ominous presence became even more forbidding with stories that were build upon the murder of a father by his son wrapping the mansion in layers of dark historical fact and falsehood. Some said that Daniel Raily’s vengeful spirit still hovered around in the house, waiting for its next prey.

The family who bought the house some years back- some people with the last name Ilson- left for Switzerland and sold the house recently but Mike had no idea to who and neither was he exactly too interested. He only loved the house’s aesthetic value.

"So now I know. Leave some of our boys here to see if there’s anything left. It’s getting late. The rest can go back home." Mike commanded listlessly and Roger nodded. Another fire put out. Another waste of resources.

***

"NO!" Isaiah woke up violently from a disturbing dream but he had no idea what he had dreamt about. Cold sweat trickled down his spine and he felt giddy- nauseous even. The gunshot wound had closed since last Autumn but no hair would grow over the scar so there was a bald patch which marred his dark, handsome good looks- though only slightly. He had tried to leave his hair long to hide the scar which reminded him painfully of his failure before and of the past that had regretfully came to past the way it did. However, he thought he looked pretty weird and thus, stuck to his Armani cut, letting that rounded patch somewhere at the left side of his head proclaimed its existence loudly to all who wanted a look.

It was rubbish when the doctor announced that there were no after effects. His visions and senses were rarer but when they came, they were so much more intense that sometimes, he would just kneel down in one lonely corner and cry for he felt so much pain that was the victim’s coursing through his veins, mingling with the anguish already there.

Lynn stirred beside him and he felt her struggling up. He had woken her and felt guilty about it. She had been supportive and for a few months, they had been living on her income from the Network and some of his savings. Isaiah had taken a no pay leave because he could not take the stress anymore, or rather, Lynn convinced him to take a break and take up something that could heal his troubled mind. But his mind would never rest until he found his brother though there was this wall of inertia that he had yet to break through to accomplish that. Inertia made worse by fear.

Now, Lynn was regretting her decision for it seemed to her that he was just loitering about at home, having too much time to think of funny things.

"Honey? What’s wrong?" Lynn hugged him from behind and he felt her wedding band pressing against his ribcage. In the midst of his despair, somehow, she found him for him and brought him happiness. They got married a couple of months back, in Autumn. She wanted to leave sweet memories for him in Autumn which was tainted with the remembrance of failing when he needed to succeed the most. It was Winter now- the cold bitter season that made the tormenting inadequacy extremely excruciating. Beautiful in its cruel colorless, Winter brought about much heartaches of waiting and let down hopes.

And a new nightmare. Someone was in pain and it was not a child.

"I don’t… I don’t recall." He admitted but the fear lingered behind- a disturbing aftertaste.

Lynn frowned most unhappily but decided to let the matter drop. She hugged him tightly until he melted all his fears away with her love.

"Gray Man said you can come back anytime…"

"I’m very happy just like that. I’ll find something else to do… don’t worry about me." Isaiah pulled away and slumped back against the headboard, reaching over to the bedside table next to him to get his cigarette.

"Please, Isaiah. Smoke elsewhere, not here. Go… go do whatever which can take your mind off your missing brother. It’s so stupid of you to be down in the dumps when it’s obvious he doesn’t care! Did he ever call?" She threw her hands up in the air and gave him a disappointed look. Isaiah nodded numbly, used to her tirades.

"Ok." He promised for the one millionth time. His head hurt- he felt a little disorientated and lost but it did not seemed to be any affliction arising from within him.

She exhaled heavily before slinking down into the comfort of the thick duvet, turning away from him. Isaiah waited until he thought she was asleep again before leaning over to kiss her forehead.

"I’m sorry. I love you babe."

"Then why are you doing this to yourself? Can’t you see you’re hurting me too?" She asked tearfully into her pillow. Isaiah brushed a lock of her soft, black fringe away from her face before he got out of bed for a smoke.

The phone rang at five a.m.