Unrepentaint. Impenitenti

"Dr. Crain?" I turned to look at the man who had come to the meeting, which didn't seem to be surprised to see us both there. This I rincuorò on the fact that our conversation, from the outside, seemed to be of all harmless; but did not delete my surprise to see him given that he was the father of Hewitt, the detective Cavanough, who for some reason unknown to me it was there. I understood then that he was calling the man in front of me, which turned immediately toward him.

"Found something, detective?" he asked, sliding the book along your side, almost to hide it.

"The librarian has helped us in the search of some old articles, when they want to analyze it". Only at that point Cavanough did slide his gaze on me. "Kerys," he added, and dedicated myself to a smile paterno. He had always had an eye for me, more so from when they began the investigation on my case and I and Hewitt had tight our bond.

"Hello, Gideon. Hewitt should be there," I informed him, stretching the look to the other side of the library to show him the direction.

"Well, then I'm going to see him". Nodded and soon I saw him disappear behind the shelves.

I and dr. Crain we were alone again, so I lifted up once again gaze on him, only to find that I was staring.

"I better go..." by turning around the book in his hands and turned away his eyes from me, he made to walk, without leaving me a chance to reply.

But I hastened immediately to lock it. "Wait..."

"Yes?" He turned around, showing me a confused expression.

Shaking off the shoulders, and took courage. "But anyway, thus ends the tale of Eros and Psyche?" The question I came out on instinct, just like the arrow that Eros had been accidentally had taken his own foot.

Dr. Crain let out a smile and only in that moment he realized star still clutching in his hands a book that does not belong to them. The wonderful heterochromia of his irises, I overthrew to this point for me to stiffen the muscles in an attempt to hold fast to the legs.

He handed me the book, removing definitely the sign with her index finger. "I guess that it is up to you to find out, sweet Kerys".

Chapter 2

Darkly, delicately

The purest hearts are like blank canvases, they are the easiest to dye.

Davil

"Dr. Crain".

Doctor. So it is that you call when you have a degree in medicine. But I was anything but a curator, what this epithet immediately recalls. And even as the forensic medical was

unusual. I preferred to leave to others the honour of profaning the dead bodies, I wanted to focus on the offender and his conduct.

The dead I was interested up to a point, it was the living that I was worried.

Not uccidevo, but even salvavo. Not kept his life, but

diagnosticavo the presence of evil. And those that diagnosticavo were often the worst of all.

I, however, inside of me, I did not feel completely different from the beasts that I examined. Moreover, to recognize a son of a bitch is more easy, when you are, too. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Perhaps I ought to have to have an expert opinion, but why contaminate irreversibly the pure soul that he would try to save me?

And then, inside of me I felt that would be down to only one thing: the time that I could live as a free citizen. Which, for the record, I was certain he had started a countdown from the moment I met you she.

"The warning that it will not be a very pleasant thing to see". The detective Gideon Cavanough walked to my side, making my way in the house of death.

The light of the lights that lined the ceiling, flashing, illuminating the linoleum, gave the morgue th one.

I did not reply to his comment, perhaps a provocation: probably believed that I was one of those who have only seen their desk, and that I had never found in front of a crime scene live. If he only knew what I had been right in the first row, you would have remo that grin from beneath his moustache. I wondered if he would have had the same desire to make comments if, lying on the table under the nose

the legal practitioner, there had been his son instead of the other guy.

As I reflected on this attitude, a few meters before the door, a pain harassing and sudden spread out along my quadriceps right. In the silence, shut the jaw for me and I continued to follow the detective, with a slight hesitation in the distance.

A guard watched over the entrance of the laboratory, with the look of

absent he nodded towards us: he recognized Cavanough, and did not add anything else because it has to open the door.

I was a few steps behind him, aware of being there as an observer and adviser: I had to stay for good if I wanted to work w above all, to find fertile ground for my investigations. Despite my specialization, the case was not assigned to me.

As soon as we were both inside, I focused immediately on the corpse lying on the steel table, a guy who should not have had more than twenty years, and still wore the uniform of the Rotten College.

The face of the dead man was laid back, seemingly giving him the air

a star only sleeping. If it were not that the chest was of granite under clothes, not a sigh or a tremor, not a semblance of vitality. Only death, tetra and invasive in the ramifications that had planted in that body.

"Doctor Foster". The detective interrupted my thoughts by calling the attention of the doctor standing next to the table. Not presented to me not there was a need, and I and dr. Foster, we knew each other already had worked on some of the past cases.

"I have waited before begi

"I wanted you to see this".

The doctor, whom I knew to be nearly sixty-year-old turned around to grab a pair of disposable gloves that went to the detective; and while Cav if he ducked, grabbed an envelope in the mail on the table behind her.

Handed it to the detective, who had to scroll between the fingertips under my curious look. He pulled out a sheet of paper folded and opened it.

It was reported that a time, a date and a place in the middle of the arabesques decorative. As the imitation of a parchment printed on a normal sheet of A4 paper. "An invitation..." I commented aloud. I continued to examine the details. Dear ladies and gentlemen... you're welcome... in honor of Alex Moore.

"It seems the invitation to a memorial". Dr. Foster looked over the body. "In the pockets of the same dead to which it is dedicated. Our killer likes the irony."

"Yes..." said the detective, but his tone was not fully so. The expression thoughtful and skeptical, suggesting that,

probably, he would have taken for granted the thing as he was by dr. Foster, if it had not been for a relevant detail that I noticed that too. "We need to understand these signs for what they are, if they are an invitation or a trap".