"Not if the little men with white coats come calling." He nodded toward the stains on the wall. "Whatever this thing is, it's got a mean temper. I'm not exactly psychic, and even I can feel the anger lingering on the air. I've called in one of the magi."
I raised my eyebrows. "Really? How could they help with your investigations?"
"They can't. But by being here, they might be able to get some sense of what this thing really is, and how it might be stopped."
"It's worth a shot."
Hell, anything that could generate answers was worth a shot. I rubbed my arms. The chill in the room was growing stronger, and I wasn't sure if the cause was the fading day or a soul getting ready to appear. I hoped it was the former, not the latter. Part of me just didn't want to face the soul of the woman. Didn't want to face her fury and confusion.
How could a simple apology ever be enough?
"There is, perhaps, one tangible clue here." Cole bent and picked several strands of golden hair. "The soul or spirit or whatever it is seems to have a fetish for cutting off women's hair. He's even forced this woman to cut off her own hair. There can't have been many serial killers in our past with that sort of obsession."
"He might not have been a serial killer in life. He may have just killed an unfaithful lover, then suicided." And maybe that meant it was true that such souls roamed the earth, unable to enter heaven or hell or wherever else it was that regular souls went. Though it didn't explain how he'd gained the power to enter others and make them commit such atrocities. To others, and to themselves. "But you're right, it's definitely a clue."
Hopefully, I'd find similarities and answers in one of the three files I'd requested.
The chill in the air was getting fiercer, and I rubbed my arms again.
"It's not that cold," Cole commented.
"It is when you're feeling the chill of afterlife," I muttered. "Have we got an ID yet?"
"Veronica Ward."
The cold sharpened abruptly, and energy ran like ice across my skin. I looked past him and saw her. A wisp of fragile cotton that hovered over the body, rapidly finding form. Finding voice.
Why, it said. Why?
I closed my eyes against the pain and confusion in that voice. Because I couldn't stop it. I'm sorry, Veronica, So very sorry.
Which sounded as inadequate as I'd feared, but there was little else I could do or say.
It rotated, that soul, its movements more controlled, less frenetic, than the others I'd seen. Considering her options, taking stock before she made any move. I had a feeling she'd been like that in life, too.
But you must stop it, she said eventually. Before the cycle stops for another year.
Cycle? So this had happened before? We're trying.
Fawkner. He lives in Fawkner. It is there you must stop him.
With that statement, the cold energy fell away, and her soul disintegrated, fleeing to whatever region of afterlife she was bound for.
I took a deep, shuddering breath. "Well, that was interesting."
"The soul spoke?"
I nodded. "She said we had to stop him before the cycle halts for another year. She also said he lived in Fawkner."
"See, I told you we had a serial killer on our hands."
"Yeah, but does she mean now, or when he was alive?"
"Does it even matter?"
"I guess not." I forced myself to study the room. "There is nothing else here that provides a clue in any way?"
"Nothing so far."