cHApTEr 14. HAir on firE (2 of 3)

Natalie stared into the fire without moving. For a moment, she could have passed for a statue, the shifting shadows sliding across her face, only signs of motion.

“What do you mean it wasn’t as easy as I’d think?” Mioray asked once the silence stretched too long. Whatever Natalie was considering, she clearly wasn’t in a hurry to share it.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” she said, rising to her feet and stretching her arms.

When she rotated her head, her bones creaked softly. The day had been long, and it showed. The same couldn’t be said about Mioray. His right arm had been burned, and he had just spent hours pulling people out of burning buildings, yet there was no sign of exhaustion in his eyes. One of the perks of being dead.

“It’s disturbingly similar to the little information I managed to gather about Herman Clopton,” Natalie said, pressing her thumb and middle finger against her temples. “We were lucky to identify him at all from the blood he left at the university during the attack. If he hadn’t been arrested once and charged with aggravated assault, we would never have known the Dismantler’s real identity. I only learned about his death from his boxing buddies. They said Herman was pushed out of a window over shark loans. When I tried to dig deeper, it was like he never existed. Public records, mentions, anything about him – gone. It’s the same with his wife.”

“There’s nothing on her?”

Natalie shook her head.

“If he hadn’t mentioned her himself, we wouldn’t even know she existed.”

She walked toward the edge of the roof, and Mioray joined her. Below them, the crowd had thinned considerably. Firefighters remained in position, directing streams of water at the flames as if trying to corner a wild animal. A few paramedics and police officers stood farther back, maintaining control of the scene.

The residents of the complex were now without homes. Some had been taken to the hospital. Others had likely gone to stay with relatives or friends. The authorities might arrange temporary housing, perhaps hotel rooms. It was only a short-term solution. Eventually, those families would have to start over somewhere else.

Mioray’s phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced at the screen, ignoring the missed calls from his parents and focusing on the newest alert. Numinies had uploaded another video: “Unbelievable! John Doe saving people from fire?!”

He scoffed, half amused. So the mysterious vlogger had been nearby while he was inside the burning building. One day, he would have to figure out who she was and how she managed to film him at the right moment.

“So it’s a dead end, then?” he asked, slipping his phone back into his pocket and returning to the topic of Herman’s wife.

“More or less. I wouldn’t have brought it up if I hadn’t found something,” Natalie replied with a faint smirk. “I searched through every cemetery in the city, mainly looking for Herman Clopton’s grave. I found several with that name. One of them had a date of death that matched when our Herman Clopton supposedly died. There were two tombstones. One was his, the other belonged to Amika Clopton. She was born April 8th, 2187 and died September 20th, 2221.”

She died almost two years ago, at the age of thirty-four. That was months before anyone in Mioray’s circle became Restored. Could Amika Clopton truly have been the Dismantler’s wife?

“Wait, let me get this straight,” Mioray raised an eyebrow. “This is what you do in your free time? Lurking around cemeteries?”

Natalie’s expression didn’t change, but in the orange glow of the firelight, her cheeks seemed slightly flushed.

“Anyway,” Natalie cleared her throat, refusing to acknowledge Mioray’s remark. “I’ve been looking for any mentions of women who died on that date. One case stood out. The dead woman’s name was left out, but there was no mention of her being unidentified. It’s as if her identity was known at the time of death, and later erased from the records.”

“What was the cause of death?”

“Ischemic stroke.”

“Ouch.” Mioray grimaced. “And she was relatively young.”

“That’s assuming it was the same Amika Clopton whose grave I found. Unfortunately, that’s as far as I got.”

Natalie downplayed it, but the way she pieced it together was impressive. Still, it led nowhere. Was Herman’s wife truly dead or was she alive? Or perhaps Restored? Mioray wondered what kind of ability she might have developed if she had been resurrected. Something involving vibrations? Or maybe something mental, like telekinesis?

No one really understood how abilities manifested. The cause of death was the main factor. Then again, personality and circumstances seemed to influence the outcome as well. In theory, something like mind control might not have been impossible. Speculating about this was always a part of the discussions with the others.

Speculations, however, would not bring them any closer to Amika Clopton.

“Why not dig them up?” Mioray suggested.

“Excuse me?”

“You said you found their graves. But what about the bodies? If they’re the Cloptons we’re looking for, the graves might be empty.”

“I’m afraid we won’t get a permit to exhume them without solid grounds.”

“We could do it at night,” Mioray said with a shrug.

Natalie looked at him as if he had just confessed to a crime in front of her, which, in a way, he had.

“Let’s try to stay within the law, shall we?” she said evenly, leaving no room for argument. “What is it with you people and your obsession with digging up graves?”

Natalie was referring to Mioray’s group. Kevin, Terry and Matt were actually buried in the ground before they came back as undead.

“Alright, alright.” Mioray slipped his hands into his hoodie pockets.

Even if the graves were legitimate and the Cloptons buried there were not the ones they were searching for, Mioray was almost certain the Order of Mercy had something to do with the missing records. Herman had claimed he participated in their research. Yes, there was always the possibility that he had been delusional. After all, his mental state had not been stable. But was it truly a delusion? Being experimented on, searching for his dead wife., looking for others like them. Impact Corpse’s words had carried too much coherence to dismiss entirely.

If Herman Clopton had enrolled in some resurrection program run by the Order of Mercy, who was to say his wife hadn’t done the same? What if she had been Restored and was now working for them, like the figures Mioray encountered when he and the rest rescued Mia?

There had been something unsettling about those Restored. It wasn’t just the yellow hazmat suits or the firearms. They didn’t use any special abilities, and their behavior had felt off. They moved only when ordered, almost mechanically, as if their free will had been dulled.

“I haven’t heard anything about the Order of Mercy lately,” Mioray said. “Shouldn’t they be held responsible for everything that happened with the Dismantler? What is Reyna Kayree doing about it?”

Natalie maintained contact with Reyna Kayree from Lady Anetta’s Foundation. On behalf of the Foundation, Reyna was leading an investigation into the resurrection serum, aiming to expose the Order’s wrongdoings. After Herman Clopton had been dealt with, she and her team had arrived at the site where Mia’s body was supposed to be handed over to the Order of Mercy. She had no idea Mioray and the others were hiding nearby, but she did allow Natalie to leave with the police van where they were concealed. In return for that favor, Reyna expected valuable information.

“Oh, that insufferable woman,” Natalie muttered, finally letting her composure slip. She clenched her fist and gave it a small shake. “She was furious when I told her the Cursed Blade can permanently kill the Restored. I kind of let her believe the Dismantler had only been neutralized temporarily. When she found out that wasn’t true, I had to come clean. Still, she has all those other Restored who were taken down during the confrontation with Herman. From what I hear, she’s overwhelmed building a case against the Order of Mercy, and the Order is busy fighting back. That’s why it looks quiet from both sides right now.”

Mioray let out a low whistle. Eight months had passed and still no resolution? Lawyers were probably circling this case like vultures. If Kevin were alive, he would not have missed the opportunity to be involved. Instead, under a false name, he continued practicing law in low-profile cases.

“Is Reyna still asking about Erinel?” Mioray asked.

“Yeah,” Natalie replied. “She told me they’ve built some kind of device that allows them to see entities invisible to the naked eye. But they don’t have a way to properly test it.”

Mioray frowned. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that a technological device could reveal greanrips – beings hidden from humanity for millennia. The Order of Mercy had glasses like that, and now Lady Anetta’s Foundation had something similar? How long would it take before either of the organisations made contact with greanrips, completely disrupting the boundary between the living and the afterlife?

“Reyna is also trying to get information out of me about where you’re hiding,” Natalie continued, her expression hardening. “It’s a miracle she hasn’t found you yet. My guess is she understands that if she brings you in, she loses her chance of reaching the others from your group. The Foundation has a reputation to maintain, so she sticks to the law. If she antagonizes you, she won’t get answers, right?”

Mioray didn’t respond. He knew exactly what Natalie was implying.

“She knows you were involved in stealing the Cursed Blade, Mioray. Leaving the storage facility is already risky, and you chose to keep up your normal life. I understand and respect that. But this?” She pointed at the mask resting against the maintenance curb. “John Doe? I wouldn’t be surprised if Reyna has already figured out it’s you. It’s only a matter of time before she puts you on a wanted list and pulls in law enforcement.”

Frustrated, Mioray lowered his gaze to his burned arm. Maybe he imagined it, but the skin was already knitting itself back together, fresh layers forming over the damaged flesh. His resolve didn’t waver. People could disapprove all they wanted, but he would not abandon his ideals.

“Do you think the firefighters would’ve rescued everyone if I hadn’t intervened?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. Maybe they would, maybe they wouldn’t.”

“I can’t live with that probability,” Mioray replied. “If I can make a difference, why shouldn’t I?”

“Mioray, you can’t save every–”

“I know that!” he snapped. “I’m not trying to save everyone. I’m trying to save someone. Why does everyone act like that’s a bad thing?”

Natalie looked at him the way a teacher might look at a stubborn student. Then she flicked him lightly on the forehead, catching him off guard and cooling his temper almost instantly.

“Because they care about you, you fool,” she said. “Look at yourself. You’re undead, supposedly detached from normal emotions, yet you’re completely consumed by this hero act. Have you thought about the risks? I’m sure you have. And you chose to ignore them. Yes, you won’t die if something goes wrong. But what if you’re exposed? What if people learn you’re like this because of the Order of Mercy and decide it’s a breakthrough worth supporting? They’ll back the Order in creating more Restored. And you, of all people, know where that leads. Weaponizing them. We already saw it last year.”

Her concerns were reasonable, but they were still only possibilities. For them to come true, he would have to be caught first. And he did not intend to be caught. John Doe could do good. And he did.

The wooden mask, the one that reminded Erinel of a greanrip’s face, stood upright against the curb. Its tinted green lenses reflected the firelight, watching Mioray in silence, as if waiting for him to decide what mattered more in his life.

But that’s the thing, Mioray thought. I’ve lost my life already.

He could pretend things were normal, but they weren’t. A day would come when he would have to leave the people he loved behind if he didn’t want them to discover the truth. Maybe then Mioray would disappear for good, leaving only John Doe behind. That would still be better than becoming a monster, like Herman or Terry had.

Suddenly, a desperate cry for help reached his ears.

Both he and Natalie immediately began scanning the windows of the burning building across from them. On the fifth floor, they spotted a figure – a woman with soot-stained skin wearing a rust-colored shirt. She was waving her arms frantically, trying to draw attention. Down below, firefighters reacted at once, rushing to reposition the fire lift.

But at this pace, they would not reach her in time.

A wave of fire swept across the window where she stood. For a brief moment, the flames swallowed the frame entirely, and when they receded, she was gone. She couldn’t have… just died, could she? She must have seen the flames coming and retreated deeper into the apartment.

“Everyone was supposed to be evacuated,” Natalie said sharply, gripping the edge of the roof. “How did she end up there? She won’t last long there!”

“It doesn’t matter.” Without giving himself time to reconsider, Mioray rushed back to grab the mask. Standing by the curb, he extended both arms and latched onto the edge of the roof in front of him where Natalie stood. “If she’s in danger, I can’t just sit here.”

“Mioray, we just talked about this,” Natalie protested.

“I understand what you’re saying,” he replied, a faint smile hidden behind the wooden mask as he braced himself. “You know, Terry once told me we should try enjoying our situation a little, avoid keeping everything too serious. Now that I think about it, maybe that’s what I’m doing here. Just having some fun.”

The black threads snapped tight as he reeled his arms in, pulling his body hard toward the roof edge he had grabbed. The momentum carried him forward, and as soon as his hands cleared the edge, he was already launching out into open air, propelled toward the building across.

He could hear Natalie shouting after him, but the rush of wind and the roar of the fire swallowed her voice. Knowing her, she was probably promising a long conversation about his reckless decisions.

Heat engulfed John Doe as soon as he landed inside. The room barely resembled what it once had been. Judging by the charred remains of a sofa and the melted plastic smeared across one wall, it had likely been a living room. Smoke slipped into the mask, clouding his eyes and throat, though he didn’t feel any discomfort.

The woman was not there. He checked the other rooms, moving quickly despite the smoke, but they were empty as well. How had she survived this long without being found earlier? Realistically, she should have already succumbed to the fire or the fumes. And why had he not seen her when he searched the upper floors before?

Maybe I imagined her?

No, that couldn’t be it. Natalie had seen her, and the firefighters did too. She was real and in danger. Perhaps she had fled into the hallway? John Doe stepped into the corridor and spotted her almost immediately. She was slumped unconscious beside the elevator doors. Her long, straight coffee-blonde hair, darker at the roots and lighter toward the ends, spilled across the floor and covered her face.

“Hey, can you hear me?” John Doe knelt beside her. “Hold on. I’ll get you out of here.”

He checked her pulse – she was still breathing. Good. He detached his arm, preparing to secure her the way he had done with the others.

But suddenly, the ground seemed to vanish beneath him. A strange lightness rose from below his knees, and the world tilted violently. The hallway spun. He barely processed that the dark surface in front of him was the ceiling, not the wall. He lifted his head and looked down toward his feet…

They were severed just below the knees. His feet lay beside him, still in their sneakers, blood spilling from clean, precise cuts.

It had happened almost instantly, just before he began tying the woman with his detached arm. Strands of her long hair moved as if alive. They wrapped around John Doe’s legs below the knees and then sliced through flesh, nerves and even bone.

The woman stood over him now. Her soot-stained face was no longer hidden by her hair. Her brown eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

“Boy, are you predictable,” she said, leaning down to remove the mask from his face. She brought it close to her own. “I came up with this on a whim, and you still walked straight into my trap.”

Mioray struggled to process what had happened. He had to focus on controlling his bloodflow. If he didn’t, he would bleed out and lose consciousness. With the fire still creeping through the building, recovery would take even longer if his body burned to ash. It had taken Mia more than a month to regenerate after she blew herself apart in the suicide attack.

His thoughts drifted.

Suddenly, he was back in elementary school. He sat at a desk surrounded by faceless children. On the screen in front of the class, only one word was present.

“Good morning, class,” the teacher said as she walked in. Why was it Erinel, wearing glasses, jeans, and a blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves? “Today we are going to learn the definition of the word ‘cockiness.’ Does anyone know what it means?”

“Me, me!” an auburn-haired girl raised her hand. Unlike the others, she wore a winter puffer coat instead of the white uniform. “It means being too confident, to the point that it annoys other people.”

“Correct, Farah. Well done,” teacher Erinel replied. “Do you have an example of a cocky person?”

A boy in glasses sat at his desk, clipping his nails so that the clippings flew in every direction.

“Well, I could offer myself as an example,” he said, “but I believe Mioray here has surpassed even me.”

All eyes turned toward Mioray. He shrank into his seat. Why was he the one being singled out? He hadn’t asked for this. He didn’t want teacher Erinel thinking he was the cocky one.

“Don’t worry. You can always join us if you want.”

Mioray turned toward the voice. In the corner of the classroom, a boy drove in circles in a toy car while another, too large and muscular for his age, staggered beside him. Were they supposed to be Terry and Herman Clopton?

Two girls appeared next to him. One smiled brightly in sportswear. The other stood serious in a police uniform with a skirt.

“Do you see now that I was right?” the serious girl asked. “Was I right, Mia?”

The cheerful one made a fist and bobbed it back and forth.

“Little cocky Mioray,” another girl appeared, grinning, her coffee-blonde hair trailing along the floor.

His mind snapped back to reality.

The woman stood over him, her hair writhing around her like snakes. Had she spoken those last words aloud, or had he imagined them? On second thought, it didn’t matter. There was no denying it. She was undead. A Restored. And she had the ability to control her hair.

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