Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 12
Move with caution

Matilda felt exhausted that morning, so much that she almost fell asleep in the elevator. She was nodding a little during the entire descent until she was shaken by the beep announcing the arrival on the low level. Between talking to Dr. Armstrong to explain in detail everything Doug had communicated to her, then ask for help to provide her with some additional information about it at the Foundation, and also do her own research online... the truth was that she had hardly slept, and only until then did her body begin to resent it.

She was definitely not in a position to drive an hour on the road, but if she wanted to arrive on time at the hour she had agreed with Cody, she would have to leave now. She didn't even take breakfast, and instead, she just filled her thermos with coffee from the hotel dining room, and immediately went to her vehicle. Her mother would have been very angry with her if she had heard about this, so it would be better not to tell her.

The coffee, as well as some music resonating in the stereo of the rented car, seemed useful in keeping her awake enough to prevent a crash. In fact, she was lucky; much of the road she traveled almost alone. Upon entering Portland, it was when traffic hampered it a bit, and the alternatives offered by the GPS did not seem entirely favorable.

By mid-morning, and between twenty and thirty minutes after the coffee was finished, Matilda was already moving along the street of the Starbucks which she would meet her old friend. She parked on the sidewalk in front of the place, but before turning off the vehicle and getting out, she took a quick look at the dashboard clock; It was twenty-eight minutes past eight; perfect time to make the call she had been procrastinating throughout that morning; and no, it was not the call to Eleven, but another that she knew would end up being a shorter drink, but more bitter than that.

The psychiatrist selected the Eola Hospital number from her contacts, along with Dr. Scott's extension, hoping he was already in his office and did not have to call him directly to his mobile phone. The right thing would have been to call him long before to tell him about her express trip. However, her head had been a suitcase of stuff from the moment she touched that photo, going through the call in which Doug's death was suddenly informed, until that exact moment. And, of course, there was the fact that it was a call that she didn't want to make at all but was necessary; more for Samara than for Dr. Scott, of course.

Luckily, if it could be called that, the doctor was already in his office. Matilda did not go around much and informed him about the matter directly. And as she anticipated, he didn't take it all right. The day before, Matilda had promised to share with him a report of everything she had observed during that time with Samara. And obviously, he interpreting this change of plans at the last moment as an excuse to take back that obligation. Little he cared about the fact that she had used the death of a fellow psychiatrist as her motive.

"You and I had a deal, Dr. Honey," John said in the phone, while she got out of the vehicle with her briefcase in hand and her bag on her shoulder.

"And I didn't say I wouldn't do it, I just won't be able to today." Matilda crossed the street quickly while the traffic light in the corner was red. "I think that what I am telling you clearly falls into the category of personal emergency."

"How convenient.

"There is nothing convenient in this," she replied sternly. "A colleague died, in case it was not clear."

"A week ago, as I understand it."

Matilda had just opened the cafeteria door when she heard him say it, taking her a little out of her serenity. She hesitated for a while on how to react but pushed herself to do so.

"Did you know about this?"

"Sure," said the good doctor, remarkably indifferent. "I didn't know him in person, but he was acquainted with some friend. The question is, why didn't you know until now if you were such colleagues?"

Matilda felt the immediate impulse to answer a couple of things to that hurtful comment; a couple of things that her mother would surely not approve at all. But, as always, she had to take a deep breath and stay as calm as possible. Sooner or later that would stop working, she was sure.

She looked around the store once inside, until she saw her friend, Cody, sitting at a round table on the right side, with two paper cups on it. The place was relatively alone, although with enough people to feel moved. Cody also saw her from his seat, perhaps since she entered, and greeted her with one hand; she returned the greeting in the same way and approached him.

"Listen, just tell Samara that I will see her at night if possible, or tomorrow without fail."

"Now I am your messenger boy?"

"Don't push me, Scott," Matilda snapped, somewhat higher than she should. "I'm not at the mood this day."

"That's not new."

She didn't think it was possible, but that morning the good doctor was even more desperate than usual.

"Just tell her..." Before she could say anything else, the communication was cut off, leaving her with the words in her throat, and silence on the other side of the line. Matilda lowered her phone incredulously, reaching to see how the screen showed that the call was over, before turning completely black. "He hung me up!" She exclaimed exalted, turning to see Cody, who had stood up once she was at his table. "I can't believe it. Is he twelve years old?"

Cody smiled funny.

"Bad start of the day?"

"I've had worse," she replied simply, and then allowed herself to place her briefcase on the floor next to the second chair at the table, and her bag on it. "I am really sorry. Have you been waiting for me for a long time?"

"No, take it easy," the professor replied, retaking his seat an instant after her. "The Uber left me not long ago."

"Uber can take you to another city?" Matilda questioned curiously, to which Cody shrugged.

"I suppose if the driver is willing and there are no more than four hours of travel."

"I will reimburse you, I promise."

"Don't worry about it now."

Cody took one of the two cups of coffee and putting it in front of her. To her surprise, they had written on the side with a black marker: "Matilda."

"I bought you a late coffee. Do you still like it?"

"Everything with caffeine is acceptable right now, thanks."

She had finished all the coffee in the thermos during the road, but that mattered little. She took the paper cup and took a small sip. Just what she needed, although perhaps what occupied the most was a breakfast.

"Thank you for coming, Cody, really."

"You have nothing to thank, Matilda. The boys of the Eleven Foundation must take care of our backs, don't you think?"

Cody's tone seemed somewhat sarcastic, although Matilda supposed he was trying to be funny. Anyway, she managed to draw a smile on her lips as she drank her coffee. Cody smiled back, but his expression became serious almost immediately.

"I couldn't tell you last night, but I'm sorry about what happened to your friend."

Matilda sighed, somewhat uncomfortable at the mention of that subject, she had to accept.

"Thank you. I hadn't talked to him in years, and the truth is that I still have troubles locating him in my memories. I am ashamed to say it, but I had to look for him on Facebook to be able to clearly remember who he was. But it is still something shocking... that a person speaks to you for a minute, and shortly afterward simply... is no longer there."

Cody looked at her somewhat strangely. Matilda's gaze had focused on her coffee cup, which she moved slightly with her fingers to spin it. Cody may not have the ability to read people's minds and intentions, but he seemed to perceive that she was not talking directly about her deceased colleague.

"Matilda?" He exclaimed after a while in which Matilda had remained silent. His voice made her react and looked up again.

"I'm sorry..." she hurriedly apologized, and immediately began to check her briefcase to take out a folder in which she had several sheets printed on the hotel before leaving." Last night, I talked to Dr. Armstrong, a Ph.D. professor, and asked him to tell me everything Doug told him about this case. Also, I asked the Foundation to investigate everything possible in this regard as well and send it to me as soon as they could."

"Did you talk to Eleven about this?"

The mere mention of her mentor made her shiver for a moment, but she immediately recovered.

"Not yet," she replied blankly.

"Why not?"

"Because it is complicated." She took the file and placed it in the center of the table. "Right now, I think she feels I can't handle alone the case of the girl I talked to you before. And if she also finds out that I'm getting into another matter at the same time, she'll think it more."

"So you asked for help to the Foundation Trackers without telling Eleven?"

Matilda detected a certain tone of recrimination in him, which was not precisely disguised.

"I didn't say it was commissioned by Eleven," she justified herself, a little defensively. "No one questioned me, so I didn't lie to them."

"Of course they didn't question you, we all know you're Eleven's favorite, and disobeying you is like disobeying her."

"What?!" Matilda shook a little when she heard such a statement. Babbling, doubtful of what to answer, and had to take a second to take a deep breath and calm down. "That is not true!"

"Whatever you say, boss," the glasses boy replied, smiling playfully and raising his coffee toward her. "What I want least is to contradict you."

Matilda's cheeks turned red at once.

"Leave that. Yes, I will tell Eleven everything, but when we know more about it."

Matilda was stunned. That was the perception that the rest of the people of the Foundation had of her? She felt again like at school, when in each classroom she was her classmates, most of the time older than her, accused her of being the teacher's favorite, and even it's pet, just because she applied more effort and dedication to studies than them. But that was the first time she heard someone calling her "Eleven's favorite," and of course it wasn't right; if so, why would she have said she was not qualified to handle that case? Or... hadn't she said it exactly?

She began to wonder for a moment if perhaps she had overstated her reaction to her mentor's words. It is said that brilliant people, colloquially called "geniuses" for stating the friendliest nickname, are not able to deal with criticism very well. She never considered herself of that type of person, but maybe it could be true depending from who in particular came such criticism. Anyway, she tried to quickly get rid of those thoughts that the only thing they did was distract from the important.

Matilda cleared her throat then and retook a deep breath to regain her composure.

"I didn't think the Trackers were going to find much, but in fact they did. Look."

Matilda slipped the file a little towards her partner, who took and opened it, keeping an eye on it. It took a few minutes, but Matilda managed to notice how Cody's expression reflected the feeling of confusion and haste she had had the first time she read it.

"All these cases...?" Cody murmured, and although he failed to finish his question, Matilda answered with a resounding yes.

"Do you think the same as me?"

Cody kept reading for a while longer and then left the file on the table again. He removed his glasses and stared thoughtfully at his own drink.

"A shining that gives her the ability to reach people at a distance, like Eleven," he concluded quietly, and Matilda nodded; it was the same as she had thought. "But to affect people in this way, it has to be something else."

"Like an illusionist, right?" Not like you, but something more conventional."

"She would have to have a much higher capacity than just conventional. I had never met an illusionist who could affect someone without being in front of him. It would be a combination... quite creepy."

He put on his glasses again and took a couple more sips of his coffee.

"It could be something new that we have never seen before, like your other case. But whatever it is, it's hard for me to believe that a ten-year-old girl can do that..."

"You and I were younger when our skills strengthened," Matilda said calmly, but Cody shook his head slowly.

"I didn't mean precisely her ability, but..." He then extended his hand to the file, opening it, right in one of the newspaper reports that spoke about a person killed in a horrible car crash in which his body literally had been shattered," such acts..."

Matilda was silent, feeling the weight of those words fall on her head and shoulders.

"A shining like this, in a person with psychopathy... It could be something very, very dangerous..."

"Let's not draw conclusions yet," the psychiatrist said, closing the file again on her own. "The APD thing was just a Doug theory; it might not be that."

Cody looked at her incredulously.

"You say a kid could do that to so many people without having some kind of disorder?"

Matilda looked away and shrugged slightly.

"I just say that I prefer not to label anyone until we completely review the facts."

Cody leaned back as a self-reflection to her comment.

"You're right; I'm sorry," he said slowly, and continued to drink his coffee, somewhat embarrassed. "Do you know where she is now?"

"Not exactly. Last night I tried to contact the social worker in charge of her case, but it was a bit difficult. I gave my number to her supervisor, but I haven't received any call. Maybe we should go to Family Affairs personally."

"Well, let's do it," Cody agreed, and immediately took his cell phone to find out how to get to those offices. His expression, however, reflected concern. "But if that is what we believe... we must move with caution."

"That's why I have you here with me," Matilda joked, winking at him. "With you by my side, I have nothing to fear from any illusionist, right?"

Now it was Cody's turn to blush, although he tried to hide it by crouching his face to the phone.

After finishing their coffees, and Matilda a Muffin to fill her stomach, they took a taxi to the Family Affairs and Children's Services offices, to look for Adrian Wayne, the man Matilda had spoken to last night. However, upon arriving at that site, Matilda and Cody would find out about some more than rugged events that happened just that night, and that Mr. Wayne was not there at the time.

— — — —

Adrian Wayne was the chief supervisor at Portland Children's Services, at the downtown's offices. He was an Afro-American man, tall and of medium build, very short curly hair, almost shaved. He and Emily Jenkins had started working on this job at nearly the same year and had been close friends for a long time. When the opportunity arose, any of them was a candidate to be promoted to supervisor, but Emily gave him the place even before the contest began. Wayne never knew for sure why, but he assumed that she was already dealing with enough bureaucracy in her current position to also get involved in administrative matters. Luckily, Wayne wasn't afraid of such challenges. The long road he had traveled from his parents' modest house in New York to there, he had made with his own feet and carved with his own hands. But of course, it would be quite superb of him to deny the tremendous additional support he had received from the people he appreciated along that path; precious people like his parents, like Emily, or like police officer Mike Barron, a trustworthy and straight man who had become almost like a second father to both Emily and him.

And now, one of those precious people for him had just died just last night; and while driving to his office that morning, he was unaware that another one of them was one step away from following the same fate.

He was already less than eight minutes away when his phone began to vibrate inside the pocket of his bag. He maneuvered as he could the steering wheel with one hand, while with the other, he took out the device. He slowed down a bit so he could put one eye on the screen and another on the road. However, all his attention had to focus on the screen once he noticing the name displayed: R. Vazquez, abbreviated from Robert Vazquez, homicide detective, colleague, and Mike's friend, and liked to think that his as well.

He felt a small lump in his throat when he saw that name again among his incoming calls. Vazquez had been precisely the one who spoke to him last night to notify him of what happened with Mike, and he had the horrible feeling that he was now calling him to share another misfortune. The best scenario, on the other hand, was to assume that he just wanted to give him more detail about Mike or his wake.

He answered the call and put it on the amplifier so he could listen to it in the speakers of his car via Bluetooth, while still driving.

"Hi, Vazquez. I hope you're better this morning," Wayne greeted in a tone that tried to be jovial, but not too much considering the situation.

"On the contrary, I am afraid," replied the speaker, the detective's rather serious voice. "I don't know if you were informed already, but if not, I thought it was better to call you."

"Is it about Mike?"

"No," Vazquez replied dryly. "Or at least, I still don't know. It's about Emily Jenkins, Mike's friend who works with you."

Wayne was stunned; he hated being right in his horrible feelings.

Vazquez briefly told him about the situation, about what happened at the pier with Emily and the girl she was in his care. Wayne, incredulous, mentioned that he talked with her a little after Mike's new, but her reaction at that time was not even close to being able to give some clarity to such a confusing situation. The police officer also informed that both were at the Providence Medical Center. He was there too, waiting for either of them to react and be able to take her statement. Without his request, Wayne immediately turned around, taking the lane in the opposite direction he went initially, to go to the hospital now.

On the way, he telephoned Nancy Strewell, his partner in the Adoption Department, and who was in charge of Lily Sullivan's case to find her a new home. The last thing Emily had informed about it was that Nancy had already found a family interested in adopting Lily and she wanted to introduce them that same Friday. Given the situation, however, it didn't hurt to inform Nacy about it. She was really shocked and worried about what Wayne told her. He was not able to say so much since he had to have his attention on traffic, also to the fact he still didn't know much either. He also informed Nancy about the hospital where Emily and Lily were, and that there, the police in charge of the case could tell them more. Nancy said she would go straight there, and shortly after they cut.

As soon as the call ended, the music of his cell phone sounds again in the speakers. Half a song later, he decided to remove it because he was so involved in everything he had just been informed that he did not even pay attention to it. He chose better to search between the radio stations if there was any news that talked about what happened. It took a while, and he almost turned around, but he found a commentator's voice who spoke about an incident on the docks.

".. According to witnesses, the woman crossed the security gate with her vehicle at full speed and headed straight for the riverbank. Workers on the docks managed to rescue the woman and the girl, and immediately alerted the paramedics and the authorities. The state of both is still unknown to the public, as well as their identities. However, unofficial sources inform us that the woman could be suspected of having burned her own home a few hours before the incident, and escape from the police escort..."

"Burned her house?" Wayne released like a thought out loud. "For the love of God, Emily. What did you do?"

He still couldn't believe that any of that could be true. Emily? The Emily he knew? Burned her house and thrown into the river with a girl in her care? No, it could not be true. There must be some kind of misunderstanding, something that Vazquez or that commentator did not know.

"I'm a psychiatrist and colleague of Doug Ames," he suddenly recalled that he had spoken that mysterious woman the night before. "He called me a few days ago, just before he died. He wanted to ask me for help on this case, about the girl in this incident. I just found out about his death, and I need to talk with the social worker who took care of the girl. It's imperative..."

What was all that she said? What was the meaning of all that? Shortly after that call had entered, Vazquez's came in telling him about Mike, almost as if that had been some horrible omen. And now this was happening... Who was that doctor? Did she know what was going on? Did Doug know anything? and now he was dead too. The bodies seemed to accumulate around him for no reason, and he didn't understand in the least why...

Upon arriving at the hospital, he rushed through the emergency department to the small waiting room, next to the information and reception area. He looked around the room until he spotted Vazquez, talking on the phone while walking from side to side. Wayne approached him, and upon noticing the policeman indicated with his hand to wait a second until his call ended. Robert Vazquez was a tall man with brown skin and black hair, with Latin features. He had broad shoulders and a pair of scars not discreet on his face; one in the left eyebrow, and another in the upper lip, on the right side; the latter was the least visible unless someone paid due attention. Wayne always wondered what interesting story there would be behind them, but he had never dared to ask.

When his call ended, Vazquez put his phone inside his jacket's pocket. Wayne, for a few moments, could see his gun in the inner sheath, stuck against his right side. Wayne had never been a fan of weapons, not even a little, no matter how much his father had tried to be. Once his phone was in his pocket, Vazquez fixed his dark, hard-eyed eyes on the newcomer.

"Wayne," said Vazquez, expressionless greeted him extending his hand, which Wayne accepted.

"Vázquez, how are they?"

The detective sighed and ran his right hand through his hair, from front to back.

"The kid seems fine," he explained in a serious and severe tone, typical of detectives with more age and experience, although he still wasn't even thirty-five. "She swallowed some water, but they are watching her. Your employee... she doesn't react. They say she fell into a coma."

"My God," Wayne said, stunned. "In the news, they say she set her house on fire and then threw herself into the river with everything and her car deliberately. That's right?"

"I don't have all the details about the house yet, and it seems that firefighters are still deliberating. However, everything seems to indicate that the fire started from the inside, with gasoline as a catalyst. I was talking to my partner a few seconds ago, and he told me that an employee at a gas station in the center said he had filled a gallon to a woman whose description matches to her. On the river, the officers escorting them to the headquarters declared that she deliberately deviated from the route, and apparently witnesses saw her driving erratically along the highway. The dockworkers claim that the car crossed the safety grid at full speed, without even stopping. You know that I don't usually believe in the press, but in just a few hours there has been enough evidence to prove that its version is correct."

"It can't be," Wayne said, still skeptical, and allowed himself to sit in one of the waiting chairs. "What the hell happened last night?"

"I don't know. First about Mike, and then this." Vazquez then sat down in front of him. "You told me you talked to her last night."

"Yes, to tell her about Mike."

"How was she? Did you hear her altered?"

Wayne didn't know how to answer that. Altered? He wasn't sure if he could describe her that way, but calm was definitely not the right description either.

Before he could answer anything, he saw someone out of the corner of his eye, and by mere reflex, he turned in that direction. He immediately recognized Nancy, a thin, short woman with dark blond hair and black eyes. She wore an executive style suit of pants and a black jacket and was carrying in her arms a briefcase, a bag, and coat. Seeing him, she approached them, resonating her high heels against the floor, and both men stood up.

"Wayne," Nancy exclaimed, just before giving him a light hug as she could.

"Nancy," Wayne returned the greeting and hug, then separated. "He is Detective Robert Vazquez. He was Mike's colleague."

"Nice to meet you," Robert murmured, equally devoid of much emotion, and also extending his hand.

"The same," said the woman, notoriously affected. "What is happening?"

Wayne gave her a quick synthesis of everything Vazquez had told him, and the policeman complemented it with some details as well. Nancy reacted with the same disbelief as Wayne.

"I can't believe it. Mike killed himself, and Emily burns her house and throws herself into the river? All the same night? How did all this happen?"

"Mike didn't kill himself," Robert declared firmly, and even some aggressively. "Don't say that again."

Nancy and Wayne exchanged an intriguing look.

"Do you think he was murdered?" The dark-skinned man crossed his arms.

Vazquez let out a deep laugh, and then scratched his nose with a finger, and gave a big breath of air; apparently, he had some allergies.

"The bosses don't, but I'm sure something else happened. You knew Mike. He was a religious man, he loved his family. Why would he shoot himself in a parking lot? Why would he do that to Madeline and the children?"

Wayne could not pretend that he disagreed with his claims. Mike, a detective, dedicated to his work, his family, and his faith... definitely did not seem like the kind of man who would do something like that suddenly. But, if it wasn't that... what could it have been? Wayne's mind began to work in a forced march.

"And then this," the policeman added, pointing toward the hallway. "Do you really think it's a coincidence?"

Coincidence? No, two misfortunes occurred the same night, the possibilities dictated that there had to be a relationship between them. Wayne moved a little away from them, turning away. The last weeks began to pass in quick motion in his head, including all the strange and suspicious events, or out of the place that he had simply chosen to ignore, turn to the other side and pretend that he had not seen anything... but that now they began to make enough sense.

"What are you trying to say, officer?" Asked Nancy, confused. "Do you think Emily had something to do with Mike's death?"

The brown-skinned man ran his hand through his hair again, perhaps as part of some kind of nervous tic.

"I don't know. I only know that Mike Barron didn't commit suicide, and in that, I would bet my life. And although I don't know what exactly, I also know that something is happening here, and we do not see it.

"It's the girl," they heard Wayne muttering suddenly, drawing their attention.

"What do you say?" Nancy asked. Wayne then looked up at them again.

"Lily, the girl in Emily's care, the one in the car. She somehow has something to do with all this."

Vazquez raised an eyebrow in bewilderment, and Nancy was not entirely far from it.

"That's ridiculous," said the social worker.

"Ridiculous?" Wayne's tone suddenly took a much more determined stance than before. "Two good friends are dead, and a third is in a coma, and it all started when that girl appeared."

"Two?" Said Vazquez curiously. "Which two? Who is the other?"

"Doug Ames. He worked as a Child Psychologist with us. He died a week ago..."

"In an accident in his bathroom," Nancy interjected before he went on. "He slipped and hit his head."

"No, that's what everyone supposes because the police never determined something else."

"Because maybe there wasn't something else!" Nancy snapped, somewhat annoying. She allowed herself to leave her things on one of the chairs.

"What about Diego?"

"Who is Diego? Vazquez intervened again, who looked more than interested in everything they said. Wayne was about to answer him, but Nancy stopped him.

"No, enough, Wayne. Just listen to what you say. What happened with Diego's parents was a terrible thing, but it was an act perpetrated by a child with problems, which has nothing to do with this."

"Maybe we have another girl with problems here, and we don't know," Wayne added, notoriously defensively.

"Hey, calm down, friend." He heard Vazquez speak at his side, placing a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

"You don't know what you say, Wayne," Nancy continued, who also seemed aversive. "Doug's was an accident, we still don't know what happened to Mike, and I assure you that nobody forced Emily to jump into that river. Emily was acting very strange for days, I saw it myself. Evidently, Doug's death affected her more than we expected, and she almost took that poor girl in despair."

"She's right, Wayne," Vazquez said. "All this is strange, but you don't have to lose your mind and make baseless accusations."

"No, you didn't know Emily like me," Wayne said, quite sure. "She is one of the strongest women I know. Burn her house, jump into the river in her vehicle. She would never do something like that!"

He raised his voice of more, and that clearly had disturbed a little the solemn and quiet space of the living room. He also won some inquiring looks from the nurses. Wayne took a deep breath, trying to calm down a little, before continuing to speak.

"Listen, I won't say I know what's going on here; I think none of the three can say that. But whatever it is, it has to do with that girl. Doug, Mike, Emily; they all knew it, and now they are dead or in a hospital bed. And last night I received a call from an alleged doctor whom Doug had contacted regarding Lily, and she was urged to speak with Emily. Do you also think it was a coincidence?"

"Which doctor?" Nancy questioned, more involved than before. "What are you talking about? Who was?"

"She told me her name... Her last name was Honey," he began to feel his jacket and the pockets of his pants. "Her number... she gave me her number. She asked me to pass it on to Emily."

He took his wallet out of his left pocket, and then a yellow post-it where he had written Matilda's number. He then extended it to Vazquez, who analyzed it for a few seconds, before putting it in his own pocket.

"I'll investigate it."

"Listen to yourself," Nancy said forcefully, but not enough to be reprimanded by the nurses. "I know you two are affected by all this, and I understand it. But don't want to take it out with an innocent. Let us first wait for the investigation of what happened to give us some light." She turned to Wayne, looking for something common sense on his part. "Meanwhile, we have to decide what to do with Lily. This Friday I was going to take her to meet a new couple who wants to adopt her, but given the circumstances, I'll have to delay it."

Wayne nodded, and then ran his hand across his face, carving it.

"It will be the best. I don't think we want to put her in another family until I'm sure she has nothing to do with this."

Nancy snorted annoyed but restrained herself from making any other comment.

"While I will try to find out who this Dr. Honey is," Vazquez pointed out, and immediately took out his phone intending to make another call, but failed to make it.

"Not necessary," they heard someone say behind their backs, and all three turned at the same time. Entering through the door of the room, and walking straight towards them, they saw a woman with brown hair and blue eyes, and a young and thin man, with blond hair and glasses. The woman stood directly in front of them, with a very firm presence in her posture. "Sorry for the intrusion. I am Dr. Matilda Honey. He is my colleague, Professor Cody Hobson."

The thin man just smiled and nodded.

"You were the one that called last night?" Said Wayne, somewhat surprised.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne, it was me," the woman replied calmly. "In his office, they informed us of what happened to Miss Jenkins and told us that we could find you right here. We hope not to arrive at the wrong time."

Wayne didn't answer anything, but Nancy prepared to step forward on behalf of everyone.

"What do you want?" She questioned them, almost like an accusation. "Why were you looking for Emily and Wayne?"

Matilda rearranged her bag on her shoulder because it was falling a little. She then returned to her secure and firm posture, and to her stoic and calm gaze.

"We need to talk about Lily Sullivan. In a private place, preferably."

Nancy turned to see the other two. It seems like they didn't understand where that was going at all, and she was in a very similar situation. However, Wayne seemed the most intrigued and eager to hear what those two strangers had to say. Some of this could perhaps give you clarity.

END OF CHAPTER 12

Author's Notes:

—Nancy is a secondary character of Case 39 movie, in charge of finding a foster home for Lily. As we didn't see so much about her, I will take some freedoms about her personality and history.

—Robert Vazquez is an original character of my creation. Although he is based on the context of the Case 39 movie, he is not a character that has appeared directly or indirectly in it.