Fireworks and Wine

“Alright, looking at the evidence, this street should be the next target.”

Muffled bass thumps down the street from the two parties sparked by the prospect of New Year’s Eve. Outside, a small compact Fiat 500 is parked on the sidewalk, inside it sit two men tensely enjoying cups of coffee; police detective John Taylor and private investigator Shawn Walsh.

“Yeah, I know. Every four weeks the Blue Man hits a house a mile down that magic line of yours.” Taylor rolls down the window a crack. “Are you sure this is the right street though? I don’t hear any horrified screams or doors being smashed in.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Doesn’t it seem too convenient that the attacks lead up to New Year’s.” Walsh cracks open the door. “I mean. The postal van hijacking. Blowing up a telephone pole. The murder in a Walmart. It’s like he’s been planning a party.” Fishing a pair of binoculars from the dash he exits.

Taylor nods. “Yeah, I see it. You send your invite cards and texts, then buy the food. So, what next,” he leans over to look at Walsh outside, “he wants to throw the most macabre party ever?”

Walsh gives a noise of agreement as he scans up and down the street, before looking through the windows of the parties. In the window of the further house, a woman with scarlet hair competes with another, to see who can eat a liquorice lace quicker.

Walsh lowers the binoculars and gets back in the car.  “It’s that one. Must be. Let’s move the car closer.”

“What makes you so sure.” Taylor starts the car.

“Mary Johnson is in there. She was interviewed as a witness for the last attack. Every time, there’s always someone there from the last one, even if they’re not the target.”

The car rolls down the street to park opposite the party. “Okay, okay. I know I’m new on the case, but you don’t have to rub it in.”

Walsh takes a sip of his coffee before turning to Taylor. “Sorry mate,” he looks outside, “it’s just that sometimes being pushed straight in without the facts leads to mistakes we can’t afford.”

The engine idles, while the two men continue to drink and observe the street.

There’s a crackle, and the radio erupts with a burst of static.  

“Hello, detectives.”

Taylor signals Walsh to shush. “Who is this?”

The voice ignores this and continues. “My my, you are vigilant. Noticed little Mary in the window did you.”

“It’s him,” Taylor exits the car, while Walsh pulls the radio from the dash. “What do you want?”

The voice chuckles, “Why detective, I just want to celebrate the New Year. Raise a drink as we watch the pretty lights. It’s a pleasant way to end the year.”

 Through the window, Mary can be seen accepting a wine glass from a tray of drinks being passed around the party. Walsh watches them with wide eyes.

“Raise a…poison. You poisoned them.” He leaps out of the car. “They’re drinks are poisoned.”

Taylor checks his watch while the voice continues to taunt them.

“Everyone takes a drink, and ten minutes into their New Year, they drop.”

The two men run across the road.

Walsh swears under his breath. “What’s the time?”

“We got two minutes”.

“Go. GO!”

Taylor hops the fence to go around back, while Walsh sprints for the doorbell.

“We’re gonna make it.”

Ding Dong.

A woman with a confused smile answers the door and is promptly shoved out of the way.

“Everyone stop! Put your drinks down!”

People draw away from the uniformed man. There is the sound of shouting from the kitchen as Taylor pushes past the man that let him in and takes the glasses from those pouring more.

“Oi!” “Who are you!” “Aren’t you that detective bloke?” “What’s going on?”

In the main room. Walsh raises his hands. “Nobody drink! Put the cups down!”

The gun visible on his belt dissuades any argument. The partygoers respond to this exclamation with stunned silence. What feels like a thousand eyes bore into the detective. A few of the younger children, who were previously playing with a dollhouse in the corner, begin to cry at the unexpected tension.

Taylor emerges from the kitchen and nods to Walsh, before weaving through the crowd and heading upstairs to search for any evidence of the Blue Man.

Walsh raises a hand to focus their attention. “I want nobody to panic…but we have reason to believe you’ve been targeted by the Blue Man and your glasses are poisoned.”

This leads to an outcry. Voices raise in fear and shock. People drop their glasses or hastily place them on any available surface, flinching away from the glass, like they’ve been stung. Glass shards scatter across the carpet.

Walsh sighs and mumbles, “I said not to panic.”

Footsteps draw his attention, as Taylor descends the stairs and shakes his head.

There’s no sign of the Blue Man.

The radio suddenly crackles on Taylor’s hip, he lifts it and tunes it in; the Blue Man’s voice taunts them through the static.

“Well done detectives, but there are two parties.”

Walsh steps forward and Taylor hands him the radio. “What do you mean?”

The sound of trumpets swells from the television, as the Blue Man begins to sing, “Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb…”

The redhead by the window suddenly gasps and launches herself at Walsh. “My son. He’s at Vicky’s. Down the street.” She pulls his arm then runs out the door, lifting her phone from her pocket as she does.

The detectives share a split-second wide-eyed look, and Taylor yells, “Go!”

Walsh leaves the house as quickly as he had come, following Mary as they race down the street.

10…9…8…7…6…

There is a rumbling, like thunder, as time seems to slow. Ahead of them, Walsh can see the street cracking, the ground bulging with red flame-like hell itself is trying to claw its way out of the ground. The wave engulfs the building, perfectly matching the hair of the woman running towards it.

Walsh is thrown back by the blast. The faint sound of screams, confused exclamations and crackling wood wash over him.

“Shawn!” Taylor jumps the steps and runs down the street to his friend.

From the radio’s place, near Walsh’s outstretched hand, the Blue Man’s voice cheerily sings.

“What’s a New Year’s celebration without fireworks?”

…5…4…3…2…1…0