The second time

The first time:
Let's Call It Love: I might get dirty looks for this

Not long after I woke up from my homework-induced coma this evening, my mom received a phone call from the gas station. All I heard was "Fire?? You're kidding! You're not kidding!! Celeste!!! Go with your father!!!!"

I jumped out of my shorts and threw on a pair of jeans. I think that was the shortest amount of time I've ever taken to put on pants.

My dad and I ran to the car. He drove at 50 mph up our hill. For those who don't know our hill, it isn't easy to drive up at 50 mph. He must have been flooring the van's accelerator. We got to the intersection and the light was red. Dad didn't even hit the brakes. He flew through the red light, making a left turn and driving down the middle of the road. There were no such things as lanes tonight. For a few moments, I tried to accept the fact that I would die this night. Either I would blow up at the gas station, or dad would kill us in his car.

As soon as we got to the last intersection before the gas station, we saw all the cars being forced to turn around. The police had come quickly tonight and they had parked in the middle of the highway. Dad had to stop to wait for all the cars in front of him to turn around. I opened my door and ran towards the station as fast as my legs would carry me. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I as I got closer, I saw fire trucks, which made me feel a little better. At least this was an improvement from last time.

As I was sprinting, I looked over my shoulder to where dad was trying to drive past the police roadblock. An officer had drawn his gun and pointed it right at my dad as he tried to drive through. I heard yelling (something like, "I'm the owner! I need to make sure the gas is shut off!!"). Somehow, no one really noticed me racing towards the station on foot.

The cashier was standing in front of the door with the customers. One regular customer who was at the bar across the street ran over when he saw the flames and helped the attendant with the fire extinguisher. He was still holding on to it when I reached them. The cashier told me it was the same guy who set the pump on fire the last time. Our hero with the fire extinguisher (thank GOD for him!) pointed out to me that there were three matchbooks lying on the ground next to the charred pump. You don't need to be a detective to realize what this guy intended to do. He was hoping for fireworks tonight.

I wanted to yell at someone. Unfortunately, I started screaming at the firefighters: "WHY DIDN'T THE POLICE ARREST HIM AFTER THE FIRST TIME?? WE ALREADY MADE A REPORT!! WE KNOW HIS NAME! WE KNOW HIS LICENSE PLATE NUMBER! WE KNOW WHERE HE WORKS!! AASLKJ;ALKNASLEK!!!" I was so pissed off that I could hardly get the words out, plus I was nearly crying out of frustration. I'm sorry I ended up yelling at the firefighters. They were doing all they could.

I went inside to print out pictures of the suspect from our surveillance cameras. My mom arrived around 15 minutes later. She was understandably pissed off also. She said she had called the detective two days ago asking why the suspect still hadn't been arrested. She told the detective that she hoped this guy wouldn't come back and do it again. The detective dismissed her concern and stated that he was sure this guy wouldn't do it again. I've got something I'd like to say to this "detective" (honestly, you don't deserve the title), but for the sake of decency, I had better not say it here.

The suspect was arrested at his home while I was waiting with my mom for the evidence team to arrive.

Overall, I feel really let down by HPD. The officers who came to speak with us tonight were extremely nice and helpful (and they got the guy!), so I'm thankful to them, but this shouldn't have happened in the first place.