questions were not meant so much to answer Salva’s concerns as to help her sort out their situation.
“Where are our parents?” Salva asked.
“You assume that they have died,” Melvina replied.
“What else would the soldiers have done to them?” asked Salva.
“We have rested long enough. Let’s find somewhere to sleep and then we can find someone to help us,” Melvina said sharply.
Shaking her head as if trying to make Salva’s questions go away, Melvina struggled to sound as reassuring as she possibly could. She had no idea if anyone else existed within a day’s walk of where they were.
Salva grudgingly rose to her feet and walked toward her sister. After giving each other a halfhearted hug, they both began to walk back toward the pebble-strewn trail.
They walked for what seemed like hours without saying much of anything. Salva complained about the cold. Melvina reminded her that dead girls don’t feel cold. Salva showed her the goosebumps on her arms.
Melvina spotted a fire in a clearing just a short distance down the road. Salva saw it too. They both looked at each other with a sigh of relief.
“What do you think, sister?” Salva asked.
“What do we have to lose?” Melvina replied.
The two girls quickened their pace and soon reached the source of the fire. In a small clearing set a small distance from the path they saw a simple thatch hut. The hut was surrounded by six large dogs. The animals appeared to be asleep and did not stir as the girls approached.
The animals had shiny black manes spotted with bits of blood and tissue from some unnamed prey. Their glistening fangs hung from their mouths, rising and falling with the rhythm of their slumber. Their sleepy growls seemed to add an ominous tone to the air.
Just in front of the hut, the two girls spotted an old man. He sat quietly and did not stir as they approached. He wore a simple green robe that covered his body completely. He was bald and was perhaps the oldest person they had ever seen. His eyes were sunken and dark. Large wrinkles lined his face and deep circles rimmed his eyes. His skin was the color of pale moonlight before a storm. His hands were wizened and the skin hung from his arms like the leaves of an ancient willow. The only ornamentation on his body was a large, brilliant red stone that he wore on a pendant that hung from his neck.
The two girls stopped to warm themselves by the fire. The dogs did not move, neither did the old man. The girls looked at each other, glanced at the dogs, and decided to sit down as they continued to warm themselves. As far as they could tell, death gave certain freedoms not normally available to young girls traveling alone in the wilderness.
The old man still did not move. He did not look at them. His eyes remained steadfast upon the fire. The girls glanced at him from time to time but said nothing.
After a while, the man closed his eyes and began to sing softly to himself. The girls could not make out the words to the song, but the sound was beautiful.
One by one, the dogs began to awaken. They quickly encircled the fire and, before they could move, the girls were surrounded. The old man continued his song. As he sang, the dogs glared fiercely at the two girls. The dogs did not approach them, but they did not need to. Their message was clear.
Abruptly, the old man interrupted his song. He rose without speaking, glanced at the two girls, smiled a wide, toothless grin, and motioned for them to follow. As he moved, the dogs parted silently in response to his gesture. The girls followed him into the house. The dogs followed the three of them to the door.
After the old man, Salva, and Melvina had entered the hut, the dogs stationed themselves in front of the door. The old man closed the door behind them. The dogs quickly fell asleep.
Chapter Four
The Case
Thomas Morton’s home was magnificent by any standard. Built in 1849, the mansion had 297 rooms, 112 fireplaces, 32 kitchens, 26 baths, 17 staircases and over an acre of roof. The design of the home was strikingly similar to Chatsworth, the 17th-century Derbyshire residence of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. Greensboro, North Carolina was a long way from Devonshire, England. Thomas Morton’s intention in building the largest house in Guilford County was to remind all who entered that he was descended from royalty.
The mansion sat on the edge of a wide oak forest. Morton found battling the elements in the country far more amusing than battling traffic in the city. The children had never wanted for anything in their lives. Each space in the home was designed to recreate the grand design of an English Tudor summer residence. The few neighbors that the Mortons had never suspected that the family would be the subject of the evening news—at least, not for this reason.
Mitchell drove past the large oak fence that draped the front lawn of the estate. The police had set up a perimeter around the entrance and he flashed his police consultant badge for the young officer on duty. The officer checked the badge studiously, nodded, and motioned to the senior officer in charge of the grounds to allow the alpine green convertible Jaguar to pass.
Mitchell paused for a moment to lower the roof of the vehicle and parked a few yards beyond the outer edge of the perimeter. He never had much chance to enjoy riding in the Jaguar with the top down. The ride out to the scene seemed like the perfect opportunity. He knew, however, that any minute now, Gerald would spot his car and demand the remainder of his attention. Mitchell removed the large medallion from his shirt, placed it over his chest, and closed his eyes. His breathing became deep and slow. After a few moments, a large ball of blue light emerged from his forehead and floated through the ceiling of the Jaguar. Mitchell took care to utter a quick word of obscuration over the ball as it left his mind.
The blue sphere floated high into the sky over the mansion. Even though Mitchell remained safely in the car, the sphere greatly extended his sensory perceptions. He could see the entirety of the estate from the vantage point of the sphere as easily as he could with a satellite orbiting from space. The sphere offered immediate access to information related to smell, taste, hearing, sight, touch, and a host of other extrasensory perceptive data streams.
Almost immediately, he picked up an unusual scent. The odor was oddly metallic, somewhat foul, not unlike meat that has been sitting too long on a kitchen counter. There was also something more—a sweet, sickening, flowery odor that cloaked the stronger foul odor. Extending his senses slightly, he saw the faint outline of a gray-red cloud. Mitchell knew that he was dealing with a murder scene. The perimeter tape, the number of cars, and the media blackout were standard procedure for crimes of this nature, especially in this neighborhood.
Curiously, he had not seen any evidence of the victims’ soul forms wandering around the grounds. Shortly after a violent death, the vast majority of souls wander around for days before fully comprehending what has happened to them. Before he could investigate further, he spotted Gerald walking briskly toward the Jaguar.
Mitchell was immediately jolted out of his meditative state. He muttered a word of dissolution and the ball instantly vanished. He looked toward the car window and saw Gerald’s smiling face. He knew that he would need to be more careful with his practices around his inquisitive friend.
“When are you going to let me take this baby for a spin?” Gerald had always admired a good racing vehicle.
“You
