“I’m sorry to have blown off your curiosity. I just thought we had enough stresses for the evening.”

“Why would I find your answer stressful?” I asked.

“Price, I am a private detective who focuses on specific cases due to my expertise. I rule out the unexplainable activity. Ghosts, spirits . . . whatever you want to call them. I prove they are not real.”

I froze. I still was not sure if he was serious. But after each passing second of his hazel eyes waiting for my reaction, my uneasiness turned to concern. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

The change in my tone startled Vale.

“Come on. I know where to look better than anyone to disprove those theories.”

“I’m just worried about you. Why do that to yourself?”

“Because no one should live the life Elara and I did.” Vale slammed his fist on the table he had set up.

“It’s your life. I won’t ever stop you. I just know how it scarred you.”

“I promise you I am well.”

“Then what can I say, Vale? I am happy you have found work you are passionate about.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“I care, that’s all. I honestly was not suspecting your childhood cult—or whatever you want to call it . . .”

“Those bizarre static paintings were reminiscent . . . but it was not until those drawings in the basement where I scratched my head. The painter used birds’ blood and constructed it in a way that makes me very suspicious. Growing up, we were taught birds’ blood symbolized elevation from our world into the next, like a portal. And the way the painting was constructed was with only straight lines. That might appear to be an ordinary detail, but I promise you it is much more complicated, with a terrible dark history. But in short, it’s a symbol we grew up using. In fact, it is used throughout most cultures and religions.”

“Do you think the woman is responsible?” I asked, unsure how much I wanted to go into “terrible dark histories” this evening.

“I cannot say.”

“And do you know why your face is on the walls?”

“An even greater mystery. One I must sleep on.”

“Her name is Marie Dalton,” I said and took out the article copy Madelyn gave me. “Found a few trails to lead me to her name.”

Vale snagged the paper from my grasp. And read the article in great suspense over the next minute. Once finished, he stuck out his arm and let the paper dangle. “Hello, Marie.”

“I was hoping you could ask her a few questions tonight,” I said.

Vale pressed his browline glasses up the bridge of his nose. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his flowered gray vest and paced the room. He stopped by the curtains of the front window and closed his eyes. “Tomorrow. You need rest, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t we all. We need to jump on this now.”

“At this moment, I’m afraid I do not know what to ask her. I need to do more research.” Vale shifted his attention to his newly made workspace.

“What’s all of this?”

“The literature I keep in my luggage. It is the latest news on hauntings around the country, an extensive history of the ever-evolving and fading cults in our world, and of course, many scriptures from my upbringing.”

“I thought you burned all those books,” I said, noticing the top one on the pile looked like a children’s novel for nursery rhymes.

“I left that world, and I never will be part of that group again. But these books belonged to deceased family members I inherited over the years. We owe it to ourselves to never burn history.”

“Jesus, Vale, you’re worrying me. I mean, you’re actually fucking making me scared. What the hell are you looking for with this shit?” I asked.

“A starting point.”

“She’s waiting for you at the station.”

“I bet she is. But, how will I know what she is saying without studying the language?”

I furrowed my brow.

“Get some rest, Price. I promise we will start early.”