A week after? Interesting.

What would my Father say reading this email? Rationally speaking, a string of random accidents doesn't look more than that. My Father would probably claim that they are looking for something that isn't there. That all of this is coincedental. And that there is nothing to extrapolate from this information.

There is a pattern there. Three criminals. Dead within weeks apart from each other. If this was a string of accidents, than why wouldn't there be other people dead besides criminals? But, how would someone be able to setup a string of accidents? It require a lot of resources and connections. I wonder if we should start with the people there. Witnesses. The one driving the vehicle that killed Morrison. Whether or not Hayes had a prior known medical condition, blood clots can form unexpectedly if he were a smoker.

My concern with cases like this is that people are too focused on creating fictitious, almost conspiratorial theories, that they miss obvious information. I don’t want to say that we have a case yet, but it certainly gets you thinking. As cold as it sounds, people die in random accidents everyday. Within weeks of each other too. Where it gets weird is when they are all the same sort of people. Killing criminals.

“Here I thought I walked in to find you asleep,” Wolf remarks, she’s back from a break.

“I am secretly undead,” I respond.

“Yes, I did wonder about that,” Wolf tells me, “What has your attention this time?”

“An invisible killer,” I state, lifting the tablet up with my left hand and waving it in the air.

“You’re joking?” she ask, she almost sounds skeptical.

“Maybe,” I tell her, “We could just be very bored too.”

“Hmm?” Wolf asks to walk over to the couch in the hotel room.

“You can look,” I offer her the tablet.

She accepts it and begins to thumb through the emails, “Oh. I see. I love when poltergeists start murdering criminals.”

“That’s your theory?” I ask curiously.

“A man fell off some rails, he could have not tied his shoes properly,” she tells me.

“I am not sure that’s how it works in Reformation Centers,”

“Ah, you’re right they probably have velcro on their shoes,” she pauses, handing me back the tablet, slightly leaning over the couch, “What do you think? Are you going to further investigate?”

“Perhaps,” I respond, scanning the room for a brief second. There aren’t really any personal belongings here. It’s all mostly the hotel’s own decoration, “My Father would likely say that Florian’s theory is irrational. He’d also likely say that the both of us are giving into superstitious conspiracy theories. He’d probably even call Florian paranoid, most likely. Strangely, I do feel like something is there. That there is more going on, but there is so little evidence to say so that I don’t think anyone can really claim we have anything.”

She looks at me briefly, there is some consideration in her eyes, “So, we’re talking about your Father now.”

“Sorry that may have been too personal,” I tell her, “For me, that’s what has defined my current reputation. Sometimes you find evidence in the oddest of places.”

She takes a second, “How did you figure out who the tea room poisoner was, anyway?”

“Perfume,” I tell her.

“Perfume?” she asks.

Yes. Perfume. It stained the tea set. And overpowered the scent of leftover jasmine tea. The kind of cologne you get at one of those boutique scent shops.

“You wouldn’t really understand it’s hard to explain,” I tell her, “I notice little things like that. It wasn’t really the scent.”

She scrunches up her face in thought, “So, are we going to go chase this poltergeist?”

“I have to wait for more evidence before I can propose it to my Father, I doubt it’s a poltergeist,”

“Speaking of poltergeist, there is one that keeps drinking all the coffee,”

“Not all of it,”

“Does this poltergeist eat food I wonder?”

“Well if he’s a poltergeist, then it would just go through him,”

“Ah, so just like the invisible murder, there is someone who curiously drinks all of the coffee-

-some of it-

-and is too translucent to eat food,”

I do wonder why she cares. No, I probably know the answer to that. I wish she wouldn’t. Cisco and Neptune were okay with not knowing who I was, nor did they care much. They were Wardens, their job was to Ward me. That comes off callous. I am sure it does. I rather not have to be callous, but she should probably worry about her job more than worry about what I do and don’t do.

“You don’t have to worry about this poltergeist much,” I tell her.

“Hmm, that’s true, I was asked to protect this poltergeist from others, not himself,” she states pushing herself off the back of the couch and walking to the kitchen, “The problem is my paychecks are too nice to let this poltergeist wither away.”

“But isn’t a poltergeist already dead? Your logic doesn’t make much sense,”

“Undead I thought-

-pretty sure that’s a vampire,”

“Maybe that’s how I get food into this poltergeist, I need to get him some blood,”

“Maybe you should just consider food,” I tell her.

She looks back at me, she looks a bit perplexed, “Did I say something wrong?”

No. She doesn’t need to know that.

“It’s fine,” I respond.

She's raises her brow, "It doesn't sound very fine."

"Just get what you need done, done," I tell her.