The moment she stepped through the
veil, she was encountered with howling winds that threatened to knock
her back. She leaned forward and kept moving.
The wind died down, and she suddenly
found herself in a theater. She walked down the aisle, noting the
sticky splash of mud on the floor as she walked. She stopped and
looked around, noticing a man sitting in the fourth row. He hadn't
noticed her; he was completely engrossed in the film.
When it ended, he stood up and noticed
that his arm was on fire. He patted it out, then picked a few items
from a nearby table—a phone, a wallet, and keys. He also picked up
a bookend, which he slipped under the seat. He walked for the exit,
and the table—which, she noticed, still held his wedding
band—collapsed to the floor.
She followed out the same exit, and
spied him standing next to a tree on an old country road. He was idly
staring at the fruit—not quite blackberries, but something close.
She chuckled; she knew what they were.
The man heard it, but when he had turned to look, she had vanished.
# # #
Claire Blackpool opened her eyes, and
sat up with a jolt. “He's guilty. He killed her with a marble
bookend and hid it. It should be close by, probably still in the
house.”
“Let's roll!” one of the officers
in the room shouted, and several of them went for their cars.
Detective Alan Vire grabbed his coat,
as well as Claire's. “I don't pretend to understand, but you
haven't been wrong yet. Hurry up so we can catch this guy.”
“We will,” Claire said, remembering
the mulberries.
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