LITMIR.BIZ

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study the inside of the pyramids and the Sphinx," James explained to him sitting at his side, and the boy rushed to embrace his father so strong that he almost choked him.

      "Hey, watch your arm or we'll have to go back to the doctor."

      "Thanks, Dad," said Harry, moved.

      "I knew you would like it," said James satisfied.

      "Will you help me assembling it?" The boy asked hopefully.

      "You know I don't have the knack for it, it takes too much patience. And then the professor of Egyptology in this house is you. That's what we are gonna do: now you get to work and I go to fix up the garden, you should see how bad violets are reduced. If I can't fix it in time I don't really know where we will put the Christmas tree this year. As soon as you finish you'll call me and I'll come to admire your work, then we will go for the glasses ... agree?" Proposed James.

      "All right," Harry replied absently after almost a minute, his words were coming from far away because he had already begun to arrange all the pieces neatly on the floor.

      "Then I go," James concluded without getting any answer. Harry was already completely absorbed in his new task.

      Helen and the Coroner were seated facing each other in her office, she continued to examine the photographs taken that morning where the corpses were discovered, perplexedly. She was very sure of having checked that area personally during Harry's research and, like her, many other people, some even accompanied by dogs, had been in that part of the wood.

      She kept telling herself that at least the latter should have noticed something; how was it possible that no one had noticed a pink convertible Cadillac with two people on board? It was true that the research had taken place in the middle of the night, but it had been a fairly bright night and what's more, the area was not very thick.

      "I have a really nice tiger by the tail, I don't envy you at all!" Stevenson said just to break the silence, he had finished his task and was waiting for Helen to dismiss him because he had many other matters to deal with that day. She continued to scan the photos without answering, so he took an aluminum foil from inside his jacket and started to open it.

      "Yeah, just a nice tiger. I don't even know where to start!" Helen answered after a moment. "Do you think that ..." she took his eyes off the pictures and as she saw the Coroner she stopped horrified, because he had just snapped a sandwich filled with roast beef and green sauce, and a trickle of reddish liquid had slipped down his chin to ooze on his shirt.

      "What?" He said innocently.

      "This is too much!" She snapped up.

      "But why? What's wrong?" He protested.

      "Get out! Get out of this room immediately!" Helen snarled, grabbing him by the jacket and pulling him out of the chair with force, dragged him to the entrance and thrust him out.

      "Females shouldn't do certain jobs," Stevenson said with his mouth still full from behind the door.

      "I don't want to see you or hear you anymore," she said furiously.

      "Anyway, if I were you, I'd try first to track down the caller," the doctor shouted as he moved away, then started mumbling his sandwich again, wondering what he'd done that was so terrible. Helen let her shoulders slide down the door, holding her breath, struggling against her stomach to not give up to gagging. She managed not to vomit by a whisker; as soon as the crisis had passed she opened the window searching for some fresh and clean air because she was sweating cold. She let a few minutes go by, when she judged that her stomach had completely subsided she returned to her desk and pressed the intercom button.

      "Yes, boss," Cindy answered from the switchboard.

      "I want everyone in the meeting room within twenty minutes," she ordered while continuing to rub her little finger against the rough fabric of the side pocket of her trousers because she felt again it pricking intensely.

      "But Sheriff, the agents are almost all out," Cindy objected.

      "I don't give a damn, tell them we have bigger fish to fry and to let whatever they're doing go."

      "All right, boss, I'll do my best."

      Helen hung up and took the report written by the agent Mario Benelli, who had been the first to arrive at the dumpsite. She sighed and read it again for the tenth time, continuing to scratch his finger more and more furiously.

      James immediately realized that it would take weeks for the garden to get back on its feet. Although in those days of December the climate was practically the same as in the summer, there were no ideal conditions for gardening. In fact, lately the wind was blowing mainly from the sea, making the air too salty, as well as hot and humid, and from day to night, there were really consistent temperature changes. At least two-thirds of the plants he had already checked up had definitely gone, he looked doubtfully at the few that he had mercifully splinted the trunk and judged that if he managed to make half of them survive, it would be a true miracle. He was thinking resignedly that year he would have to find a different location for the fir tree when suddenly he felt an intense gaze pointed at the back of his neck. An alarm bell rang in some remote corner of his consciousness giving him a shiver down his spine. Looking at the ground he spotted the shadow of the person silently appearing behind him, the blood shuffled in his veins because his arm was suspended in mid-air just above his head, ready to hit him with his own spade. James promptly rushed forward with a somersault to get out of the path of the spade and jumped to face the enemy, but instead, astonished he found Harry. The boy was staring at him with a piercing gaze, but completely blank. James had the impression that he was into a kind of trance. A slight tremor shook his lower lip, a thin trickle of blood had come out of his right nostril and was dripping onto the yellow t-shirt.

      "Harry ..." he tried to call him gently, but he kept staring at him.

      "Harry," James repeated, troubled. He moved to his side to talk to him in the ear, raising his voice a little, but the boy's eyes didn't follow him. While staring off into space, his lower lip leaned further and began to tremble a little harder, an intense shudder began to shake him from head to toe as his father looked at him powerless, unable to decide if and how to intervene.

      James recalled that he read that waking up a "normal" person in those conditions could produce disastrous consequences in his psyche, so he thought that doing it on his son could even be more devastating. Unexpectedly, just when he was about to give in to panic, his son was shaken by a stronger tremor and immediately stopped shaking.

      "Daddy," he exclaimed, putting him in focus as if he had just woken up, and James started breathing again. "Harry... are you not feeling well?"

      "Of course not, I'm fine, why do you ask?"

      "So what happened to you?"

      "Nothing, what should have happened?"

      "You're bleeding from your nose," James informed him, wiping it with a handkerchief, then tipped his head back to stop the bleeding. When he raised his head he noticed a kind of small scar behind his ear and he was surprised, he did not remember that Harry had ever been hurt at that point.

      "I didn't notice," said Harry, taking the handkerchief from his hand.

      "What do you need the spade for?"

      "The spade? Ah yes, you forgot it in the kitchen when you came to drink and I brought it back to you ... "the boy replied letting it fall to the ground," ... but why do you keep staring at me like that?"

      "Nothing important, forget it. Have you already finished assembling the model?"

      Harry shook his head and became absorbed again, and James had the feeling that he was leaving again.

      "... Harry?" He called worried.

      "I'm sorry for your creatures, I know how much you care about them," the boy said, calling the plants as his father usually call them. "Do you think you will be able to cure them?" He asked, getting down to lovingly caress a battered plant.

      "Trying does not cost anything, does it?" Answered James using what was now their catchphrase.

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