[[ This alternative part of the story would take place after the end of "Burned Out [Part 1]" ]]

The warm early-noon sun reflected back from the windows of nearby residential structures, shining beams of light into the smoker's balcony, breaking the cooled patch of shade that proved to be a valuable commodity during the hot summer days, and during some periods of time in the spring.

Kevin leaned against the frame of the sliding door leading outside, away from the heated sunspot, breathing out a cloud of bright smoke and ashing his cigarette on the balcony's tiled floor. He didn't feel a need to keep it looking nice with guests coming over once in a blue moon, but felt like the bare minimum he could do is not make the apartment smell like tar and nicotine more than it already does; even when guests do arrive, it's easy to keep them away from his smoking corner and inside the house, so better keep it tolerable.

The man shifted his weight and took his phone out, lazily scrolling past some of the more harrowing titles in recent news and just skimming through the interesting ones, his mind drifting as he did until he wasn't even really reading the titles, barely even giving any attention to the attached images.

He enjoyed the little time-off he got from work, earning him a few days of catching sleep and cutting back on smoking for as long as he could feel somewhat relaxed. He was promised a few more days, but who is to say when's the next call going to-

The phone's vibration caught him off guard and snapped him back as the default ring started playing.

"Karma sure hates me..." he sighed and read over the number, realizing it's not something he recognized, and the identifying app on his phone couldn't connect it to any name either. "Did they get a new custom number already? That would explain the early call..." he shrugged and tapped the green icon, bringing the phone to his ear.

"How you've been, old man?"

Kevin felt his blood run cold, and he had to put all of his mental effort into not dropping his phone or crushing it in his hand; there was a great effort put into not chewing out his cigarette up to its burning tip.

There were dozens of other voices he preferred hearing right now; he'd rather this to be the ethereal dying voice of his late sister, even if she was declaring she'd be haunting him for the rest of his life while blaming him for her untimely demise.

On the other hand...it wasn't too far-off.

"Take your time," the voice hummed on the other side of the line, as if this was a normal call.

As if it hasn't been almost 15 years.

"Thomas..."

The voice on the other end chuckled, quickly confirming the man's fears. "Good, you still remember."

"What do you want?"

Thomas hummed again, sounding like his looking around and turning away from his phone. "Do you still live in that shabby old apartment?" he wondered, ignoring the question.

Kevin spat what's left of the cigarette on the porch's tiles. "What's it to you-?" he fell silent, feeling the ice-cold claws of realization digging into his chest as he stomped the ashy remains.

Some shuffling was heard on the other side, and before he could get another word in there was a quick series of knocks at the front door behind him, each one hitting his body like a bullet.

"You didn't-" he muttered, not knowing why he was hurrying to the door.

He hoped it was a neighbor; girl-scouts; a cop; a government secret agent...He'd rather it even being his employer, who he hated seeing in person. Anyone, really, except-

Taking the risk the door might tear off its hinges, Kevin pulled at the handle and threw it open, meeting face to face with the one person he was hoping to never see again; the fiery red hair and burning amber eyes threw him back in time, to when he last saw the kid on the day they parted ways. Other than his clothes, he looked pretty much the same.

Down to that infuriatingly smug smirk he still donned as he closed an outdated model of a folding-phone shut. "Didn't what?" he wondered innocently as he slipped the relic into his back pocket and took a couple of steps past Kevin, walking inside. "This place didn't change much. You're even smoking the same brand," he commented nonchalantly, ignoring the fact that his uncle - once his legal guardian - was on the brink of passing out, pale as a ghost.

Grabbing onto the front door's handle with a shaking hand and slowly closing it, still processing the surreal situation, it took Kevin another moment to find his voice before just turning to face Thomas, who was patiently waiting for him to come to his senses while still surveying the familiar apartment. "To wha-...to what do I...owe this visit?" the air escaped his lungs like someone had kicked him square in the gut; even with his tar-laced lungs he never felt so out of breath.

"I need your help," his answer was shockingly quick and plain, but at the same time immensely baffling to Kevin, who found himself staring blankly for another moment before he realized Thomas was moving, seeing him walk to where his bedroom has been during the time he lived there.

Kevin quickly caught up, seeing him stop in front of the closed door - locked, as a matter of fact - a smile gracing his face while his hand was gently resting on the handle, like he already knew it won't open if he tried. He was still wearing the same black gloves since he burned his hands in one of his infernal misadventures, and they appeared to be considerably worn out compared to when he left.

His smile was evidence enough that he knew exactly why it was locked, as he didn't address it when he turned to Kevin again. His smile dropped in an instant, giving him a serious and quite menacing expression. "I've got in over my head, and the police might be hot on my tail. I need your help in throwing them off track," he explained in the same way you'd tell your boss why you need a day off work - a casual, rational request with no major implication.

The gray-haired man stared in quiet shock for a moment before running his hands over his face, then putting them to the sides to at least try and convey his awe at the sheer dissonance between what was just said and how it has been said. "The police? Are after...you?" his voice was strained, like he had a hard time physically wrapping his mind around it. He let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his temples. "Fucking hell, Thomas, what did you burn this time?" he muttered, already regretting the question but knowing it'll kill him from the inside if he didn't bring it up.

"I don't think it's what I've burned that bothers them as much," Thomas emphasized, and the edge of his lip curled as he saw Kevin's eyes widening.

He shook his head in disbelief, trying to articulate his thoughts into a single coherent sentence. "No... No, no- Thomas, please..." he had to fight himself to not lose his voice again. "Those arson cases and the charred corpses, every month..." he started walking back and forth for a few seconds, feeling a seething rage burning in his core, until he turned back to Thomas and grabbing him by his shirt, slamming him back against the locked door that creaked from the force of the impact. "Tell me this wasn't you. Tell me you're not the Kerosene Killer!"

Thomas appeared surprised for a split second, and Kevin couldn't tell if it was the force of the hit or the accusation, but seeing the smile return to adorn his face - with his half-lidded eyes giving him a pitying expression - the man realized it was probably the first. "Were you following, Kevin?" he wondered looking straight into his steel-gray eyes, etching the answer into them. "I'm flattered."

Kevin grit his teeth, fearing for a moment that they might crack under the pressure. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the cops right here and now," he forced the words through clenched jaws, hoping he was at least somewhat intimidating.

But the younger man was well prepared. "This is the spot with the least reception in your apartment, even for emergency calls," he wouldn't stop at one, however, "I'm willing to bet that I'm stronger than you, old-man. No one knows I'm here, this junkyard phone can't be traced...And I have a lighter," he added, slipping his hand into his pockets and making Kevin immediately let go of him and jump back, not taking any chances. "But...you wanted one good reason, right?" he pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it over to the frightened man, who instinctively caught the familiar looking object.

Feeling the cool, light metal under his fingers, Kevin looked down to see a worn down and slightly rusted pair of dog-tags on a chain, with his own details on it. He felt the cold claw at his chest again, bringing his other hand to his neck where an identical pair tied to a chain rested between his collarbones. He always thought he just misplaced and lost them. "When did you-?"

"The day I left." Thomas knew the question was coming. "Since you've been following the headlines, I guess you understand now how many opportunities I've had to frame you, as the perpetrator or an accomplice. Especially now."

Kevin felt something heavy sink in his chest, so dense that for a moment it was as if it were about to pull him through the floor, past hell and into endless oblivion. It wasn't just that he understood now in how much risk he was up until that point. It was more than that. It was yet another realization, one about how well prepared Thomas was; how long he'd been aiming to systematically kill people; how he used every single detail in this apartment, insignificant as it may seem, to make the man feel trapped in his own residence.

But if that's the case, and it certainly was, "Why now?" Kevin wondered aloud, looking up from the stolen tags and closing his hand around them. "You're not the type to simply drop by and 'catch up'. No one is, after 15 years, unless they've been in a coma," he took a step back, not even noticing that he did, as Thomas stepped away from the locked door. "You just said that you could've framed me to get away with it."

Much to his surprise, Thomas shook his head. "Just as an accomplice, this time," he clarified. "I've also said that the police might be on my tail. It might have been my carelessness, but I suspect the appointed officer that interviewed me as a character witness might be sharper than she lets on."

"And you think she's starting to put the pieces together." Kevin concluded, running his free hand through his hair. "Don't tell me-"

"It's the best way to throw their investigation into chaos," Thomas followed his uncle as he turned to the living room, knowing he feels somewhat safer where he knows the reception is decent. "But if I'm right about her, that'll mean she already has her sights set for as long as her suspicion persists. She would be prepared for any action on my behalf," he paused, walking next to Kevin until he stopped, staring out the sliding glass door to the balcony. "But you...She doesn't even know who you are."

Kevin let out an angry grunt, searching his pockets for another smoke. "And I intend to keep it that way." he huffed and stuck a slightly bent cigarette between his teeth, turning to the sliding door that has been left open, and Thomas followed.

A knowing smirk adorned his face, and as soon as the older man turn around again, he tossed a lighter at him. "I know," he watched Kevin almost reluctantly clicking the lighter and flicking the flame open. Clearly, he wasn't eager to accept anything from the devilish man, seeing as everything might serve as an opening for a 'favor'. Kevin took a quick drag and walked outside to lean on the balcony's rail, and like a shadow Thomas followed him out.

"Know what?" Kevin wondered once the spot of fire came into view in the corner of his eye when he leaned against the rail too. He's been around long enough to know not to give away information if the questions aren't specific enough.

Thomas sounded amused, like someone who knows he's being lied to, but still enjoyed watching the liar squirm. He could see the man quickly growing uncomfortable under the torch-like gaze, repeatedly tapping his cigarette to scatter the ashes into the wind even when the end was barely burning. "No one really enjoys dealing with cops, in any circumstances. You, however, seem highly reluctant to engage law enforcers of any kind, even at the cost of your own safety."

Kevin stared ahead, away from Thomas, and finally took another drag after ashing a chunk of his smoke. "The fuck gave you that idea?"

"You said you knew, back then," the old man noticed Thomas moving his hands around a little, thinking he was about to get a smoke as well and already prepared to return the lighter, but something else soon caught his attention; some sudden lack of a certain dark patch. Seeing this, he realized that he had never really seen how the burn scars healed, and his curiosity got the best of him. He looked over, and for a brief moment could've sworn he was seeing the same pained and anguished expression on the hazardous teen's face. As the rapid vision faded, he realized he wasn't completely wrong, noticing Thomas' expression really did change as he traced the discolored skin on the back of one hand with the other, both bearing similar burn patterns and scarring. Despite that, his skin appeared to be rather rough and signs of newer scars were evident, suggesting he had been working hard in some menial labor despite his condition. "Mom knew, too," his voice snapped Kevin back once returning to a somewhat amused tone, as of someone who's fondly reminiscing days long gone. "And I've guessed from your conversations that she had told you as well. I later thought that I may have been mistaken, until...this happened," he turned his hands over, "and you said you knew what I've been doing. Anyone else would've called the cops on such a clear proof of arson. But you didn't."

He shouldn't have been surprised. After all, he had just come to understand how perceptive Thomas is, would it really be far-fetched to assume that he'd always been like that? Of course not. Then why? Why did he feel like he's standing trial? Like he's talking to an undercover private investigator sent to stalk him.

“Alright, Mr. Junior Detective,” Kevin exhaled a thin wisp of smoke and looked ahead trying his best to avoid the sun's harsh glare reflecting from the windows of the neighboring building, “how about the fact that I had nothing to gain from turning you in?” he took another drag, throwing the butt of the cigarette down to the street below. “Besides, I'm just gonna look bad, sending a recently orphaned, injured, and underage kid on trial for lighting his own fucking hands on fire.”