it had been reduced hit him like a fist in the face. In the previous two days, focused on more important matters, he had not realized the damage caused by the trampling of all these pairs of feet. He went down the stairs and approached the flowerbeds, unable to believe that it was true; not a single plant had remained healthy. He began to count a rough estimate of the damage, but an unexpected voice behind him frightened him.
"Mr. Robinson?" A boy asked; he wore a white and yellow Fedex bodice and held a bulky package in his hands. The wind was slowly dispersing the dust raised on the path by the van. Concerned as he was for his violets, James had not even heard it approaching.
"Yes ...?" He asked doubtfully, wondering what the package could contain, then he remembered that a few weeks earlier he had ordered a scale reproduction of the Giza Plateau by Internet for his son. He considered a blessing the fact that he had arrived that very day because to cheer up Harry there could have been nothing better in the world, he was sure he would have been much happier spending the morning building the plastic rather than going for a walk. He would have seized the opportunity attempting to resurrect his beloved flowerbeds; as to the new glasses, they would have thought later about it.
Stevenson turned off his mini recorder and threw it angrily onto his desk, lowered his mask around his neck and pulled off his latex gloves. "Nothing at all, damn it!" He said, taking off his medical cap to uncover his almost bald head.
"... Nothing at all?" Helen echoed.
"Not even a shred of evidence! All I can say is that my first impressions were confirmed and that the death occurred about thirty-six hours ago, but the victims show no cause of death."
"So?"
"I don't know, it's the first time something like this has happened to me," he said, almost ashamed of having to make such an admission.
"There is always the toxicological examination," offered Helen hopefully.
"It will not give us any result."
"How can you be so sure?"
"While you were staring at the ceiling trying not to vomit," the Coroner explained, pointing to some test tubes, "I tested the fabrics with the most common substances without getting any results. It remains only to analyze the samples taken with some reagents a little more particular, but I am sure that nothing good will appear."
"So what are we going to do now?" Asked Helen distressed, the investigation was certainly not starting well.
"I really don't know what to do, let me think. There is no evidence to suggest that they may have committed suicide or may have been drugged or intoxicated, or killed. They look too relaxed, not even a contracted nerve. Then they should be in full Rigor Mortis, and instead, they seem to be sleeping, rather than being dead. Do you know how many corpses I have analyzed in over thirty years ?" He added then indignantly, noticing Helen's perplexed look.
"And you have no other evidence? For example, if they had or had not yet "copulated"?"
"Whether or not they did it is irrelevant to what we're looking for. It's like if those two had died without a real reason, as if their souls had waited to fall asleep and fly away, all at once. In sync."
She eyed him with her eyebrows raised as if he was raving.
"You don't believe me, eh? And then, let's hear what happened to these guys."
"All right, let's listen to your absurd theory!" Helen challenged him, crossing her arms over her chest.
"You know what's a hairdryer, don't you? You take it, you turn it on, and when you finish using it, you unplug it and in the end, you put it back in the drawer. The same thing happened to these two. They died out of the blue, as if something or someone had suddenly pulled their thorns out, you know? And the exact same thing happened to their car."
"Now what has their car to do with it?" Asked Helen, always more and more confused.
"When I arrived where they were found to carry out the preliminary inspection, the mechanic who went to pick it up was swearing badly. He tried in every way to start their car but failed; the car is new and the engine is perfect, but it won't start."
"Maybe because of a hole they broke some electrical wires, or it was flooded," Helen suggested, but the Coroner shook his head. "The guy had the laptop with him for the self-diagnosis, he connected it to the control unit and it said everything was working perfectly. Simply, the car didn't want to know how to start."
"Strange indeed," Helen said.
"And furthermore, the control unit said the last time the car was off more or less at the same time when those two kicked the bucket," he concluded.
Helen looked at him pissed-off because of his disrespectful way of expressing those two poor people's deaths.
"The only thing that could explain this fact is that those two were hit by an electric field, that had the wave frequency necessary to simultaneously blow their hearts and the control unit of their car, but I just can't imagine what might have produced a similar situation in the middle of a forest," concluded Stevenson.
"I have never heard such an absurd theory," the woman considered after thinking for a moment, then began to wander thoughtfully around the room looking at her feet going back and forth. When she raised her head looking for Stevenson to ask him a question, she saw him with his forefinger resting on the "on" button of the pod coffee maker.
"Don't do it," she told him, but he was already pressing the button and a moment later all the lights went out.
"What is going on now?"
"The machine is short-circuited, every time it is turned on it blows the current to the entire compartment."
"Then why don't you get rid of it?" Stevenson asked, annoyed.
"The fact it has the plug disconnected doesn't mean nothing to you? And then I would love to know how you can think of having a coffee just five minutes after having gutted two bodies, you still have the bloody coat on," she replied disgusted, turning with her arm outstretched toward the corpses. Something about those bodies caught her attention and came closer to watch them better.
"What's going on?" He asked.
"Be quiet."
"Tell me what the hell is going on?" Stevenson insisted.
"That blue fluorescence they have on their foreheads and arms ... do you see it?"
"It is really strange ... is it radiation?" He proposed.
"I wouldn't say," she replied, shaking her head doubtfully.
"It looks rather like a powder that has adhered to the skin, so fine that it penetrates the pores and gets trapped inside ... I found something similar even on Harry's bike."
"Harry?"
"Yes, James's son."
"Your James?"
"Is it possible that even in moments like these you have to start joking?" She scolded him, pushing him.
"Ok, sorry ... but then what is it?"
"You should tell
