Phil Olsen, veteran sergeant detective swore on the 12 precinct, stepped out of the Victoria Crown with a stone heart and a grave mood. His back straight as razor but shoulder hunched forward, and his short, bleached hair, too, swayed impossibly in the Autumn wind. And as he brushed the hair backward and held his hands over his head while squinting at the distance, the hot air blew by to chill the souls.
The mountain was burning and roaring with the crackles of splinters and trunks. Horror spread across the bleak land with dark, black smokes, going up and above, covering the whole glaring sun in the form of a flame monster. Its mouth opened and seemed just enough to engulf everything on its way.
Olsen had no hope in retrieving any useful evidences from the crime scene inside the field of fire. His luck had long abandoned him the moment he decided to join the division, and at the same time, broke off from the family business.
He was cursed but not of natural occurrence, rather man-made manipulation.
The heat rushed and darted in the air, mixing with the breeze and slowly brewing the town to a perfect cup of sweat. The firefighters swarmed into the fire, shouting and yelling; helicopters panning back and forth in the sky, dropping water to relieve as much help as they could offer. It was a chaos, totally preventable though.
"It's no one's fault, you know."
Olsen turned to greet his partner, lieutenant sergeant Kim Coe.
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