I do not stir.

The frost makes a flower,

The dew makes a star,

The dead bell,

The dead bell.

The two brothers were back in the café a couple of hours later. They had loitered behind to comb the place together with the police investigators, in hope of finding something that the killer might have left behind.

He left nothing behind for Isaiah, except the vision of him murdering and mauling in anger. They were all looking for the note, since Isaiah was convinced that the killer was one and the same. They found none, not even a minute piece of paper. Isaiah did not place much hope on the fingerprints, the blood samples and various other scrapings that they had retrieved. The killer was a very cautious man. Serial killers were likely to be very acquainted with police procedures such that they knew what the pitfalls to avoid were.

Elijah had asserted that Father Terrence might be the next target, along with the other two pastors, a Baptist and a Lutheran. Stern promised to keep an eye on the three religious figures in town but not before engaging in an argument in which he experienced for himself Elijah’s commands which were unwavering and stalwart in face of any opposition.

"So, what do you think?" Isaiah stirred his coffee with as much enthusiasm as he would have counting sheep. Isaiah had already narrated his conversation with Carter to Elijah who took down notes. Elijah then reiterated a near perfect piece of verbal transcript from his "tête-à-tête" with Dan who, to Isaiah, sounded like he could use an IV drip of happiness soon.

Elijah blinked; his eyes unfocused. Isaiah was getting used to his brother’s spells of silence which he now knew was spent on thinking. He had never met anyone who ransacked his mind as much as Elijah. In a way, he was intrigued. In a way, he was proud of his brother’s keen intelligence.

"The case is definitely surrounded around Leonard, Shelly, Ben and Alvin and the fact that the former three did a project on Parsifal with Alvin giving them guidance could be more than a coincidence. Maybe their area of interest got them into trouble and they might have got acquainted with the killer by chance. Maybe one of them is the killer. Right now, I don’t want to make any conclusions yet. But don’t you think today’s crime scene is pretty interesting?" Elijah enquired, raising a brow slightly, gazing at Isaiah as if he was challenging his elder brother.

Isaiah was not fazed. He knew what Elijah was implying at.

"That the obvious signs of struggle came from the murder of the priest, not from that of Shelly. Shelly had no wounds on her, only an indication on her neck that she was garroted by a thin wire of sorts. The fibers that we managed to obtain from the wood splinters on the door will most likely be from her loose t-shirt. Shocked by the horror presented to her, she would most probably be momentary paralyzed. The killer took the chance to loop the unknown wire around her neck and strangled her. She must have struggled but was no match for the killer as she would be gasping for air at the same time. She fell just next to the door, her t-shirt caught onto the splinters while she…" He breathed in deeply. Stick figures he conjured in his mind, directing them through the motions that he had just described.

"Dropped dead?" Elijah eyes slit in the most disrespectful manner, his lips curled a little at the sides. Isaiah seethed inside but said nothing. In his mind, he imagined an answer. He imagined himself chastising Elijah but that was all. A figment of his imagination.

"I haven’t finished." Isaiah gazed intently at his brother. Icicles hung precariously from the edges of his words. If Elijah was affected, it did not show. Elijah simply dismissed Isaiah’s change of treatment towards him with his usual indifference; maybe even some glee.

"Anyway, I was just thinking that she might have struggled but I don’t think we’ll get anything from her fingernails’ clippings. The killer was wearing a pair of black leather gloves. I think he should be aware of how we work as he can ill-afford to make any mistakes."

Elijah brows arched a little before he knitted them. Relaxing his mien after a split second, he nodded. "So the most logical conclusion will be that she knew this killer well. The lack of struggle in her as well as the first two victims points to that," he paused and cast his eyes onto his cup of bitter coffee in front of him.

"So you think it’s one of the kids?"

"I didn’t say that. I want to be certain first."

"Afraid to embarrass yourself? And how will you go about doing that? Shoot ice daggers at them until they either confess or freeze to death?" Isaiah could not contain his annoyance with Elijah over the previous, undeserving remark. It surfaced up finally and demanded an outlet which Isaiah was strangely happy to give.

Isaiah was pissed off at the killer as well.

Elijah only gazed curiously at Isaiah to which Isaiah grunted in frustration.

"It’s always going to be this way, isn’t it? We sit here and wait until the killer to do enough killings for us to see a pattern, to bridge the gap so we can finally hop over to his side, stop him from sacrificing more innocents."

His blond sibling gave him a twisted smile that seemed more like a sneer. "We’ll check up on the students involved, of which only one is left, Ben. Then we’ll talk about the gap you so desperately want to hop over."

"Don’t you?" Isaiah drawled dispassionately.

"Yes. But not for your reasons, brother. I’m not that noble." Elijah declared, still retaining his throne as the king of apathy.

Not wanting their discussion to degenerate into a spiteful conversation, laced with acid that would ultimately only corrode only one soul- his own- Isaiah diluted his own anger and frustration with swallowed saliva and focused back on the case. Elijah had almost raised his voice at Stern when the veteran officer was adamant that Eaeshore’s police department lacked the resources to guard the three religious figures. It was almost like Elijah had seen a pattern which eluded Isaiah.

"Why are you so concern over the old priest and the pastors? If you’ve deduced something, it will not hurt to share."

"Thesis. Skyner’s thesis. His list of victims coincides with the order of the killings. Maybe it was pure coincidence but perhaps, Skyner met someone who had an insight into the nature of these killings which had a precedent in New Orleans. Maybe he even met the previous, dead killer or even this new one. He simply reiterated the same order into his thesis and the killer’s list did not change as well. I’ll admit I’m grasping at straws. The killer may not even want to kill a priest anymore for the time being."

Isaiah nodded. It was a long shot, but still, a shot nonetheless. Silent with contemplation, the vision of the hand wove with his stream of thoughts, such that it dominated his attention; unsettled his guts.

"Why are you so sure that the killer wore black gloves? And you addressed the killer as a he. Your certainty is most… interesting." Elijah’s vacuous stare gave way to intrigue mingled with sneering amusement.

Isaiah’s black eyes narrowed in annoyance as he scrambled for an answer to the sudden question and decided that honesty was the best policy. "The Network scouted me not for my IQ; I can assure you of that. I’m…psychic." He wanted to state it like a matter-of-fact but ended up sounded ridiculously silly to even his own ears, sounding like those nutcases on the streets proclaiming that Armageddon was near.

Isaiah thought Elijah would give that most condescending smirk as a finale to his silent derogation of him but Elijah did not. He blinked twice instead- the derision melted away from his mien, unveiling, yet again, the inscrutable; chiseled face.

"You believe in things beyond… beyond this." Elijah meant it as a statement, not a question. Isaiah pressed his lips together. He did not what he believe in anymore with the exception of his faith. He wondered about the goodness that human beings were supposed to have yet the world had transformed into twisty stretches of dark alleyways with demons ready to pounce on anyone who dared explored.

Demons that were once human beings as well.

"I don’t know but maybe there’s really evil in this world. I thought I’ve read something about Hitler- one of his friends, I can’t remember who, narrated about how he witnessed this transformation of Hitler during a conversation of theirs, how he seemed to be in some form of… rapture… as he spoke about his ambitions…"

"The friend of Hitler was August Kubizek. A more realistic explanation for that encounter will be that something in Hitler just snapped. I don’t believe in… what they call it? The supernatural? Paranormal?" Elijah’s drone sawed through Isaiah’s words bluntly. Isaiah took in a deep breath. Maybe Elijah was right. Maybe those visions he had were all hallucinations and they were just lucky to be accurate all the time.

"I have visions."

"You implied it."

"I’ve seen the dead priest’s hand pointing to that broken clock in the cabin."

"You’re stressed up." Came the terse reply; brisk and final.

They were in silence; familiar unfriendly silence. Isaiah had no interpretation for Elijah’s last respond and was not in the mood to analyze it. Or maybe he knew the unspoken message, because his brother’s words cut. He took a drink of his coffee and swallowed it with much difficulty before involuntary making a face. He waved for the friendly waitress over.

"Yes! What can I do for you? Where’s your girlfriend?" She chimed, beaming at Isaiah. Isaiah smiled, a little tired and tried by her too happy voice.

"She’s busy."

The waitress clucked her tongue and placed a hand on her hips. "My boyfriend too. College workload. But it gives me more time for myself anyway."

"That’s nice." Isaiah replied off-handedly; distracted by the incoherent murmurs inside his mind. Always, he would return to the vision of the mangled hand.

The waitress paused for a moment before shrugging with her shoulders. "Yah. Crappy place. Like I said before, I’m glad I’m not there. So, what do you want?"

Isaiah gestured to his cup. "I need a change of coffee, mine turned cold long ago. And another cup for my brother as well." He requested politely of her and she beamed into his grimness before spinning around, her skirt flaring as she did so. She almost danced as she went to get their coffee.

Elijah was giving him yet another curious stare, the stare of a scientist faced with a very strange and new entity. He had very characteristically ignored the bouncy waitress the entire time. Suddenly, Isaiah was feeling inquisitive over the sort of woman Elijah went for.

"After the way I’ve treated you, you still call me your brother." It was yet another statement.

Isaiah allowed the implication to sink in before a weary look, accompanied by a half-hearted smile, exhibited through his features. "Believe me; I may not always be so kind."

The cold mask cracked as Elijah chuckled softly. Isaiah could not see the teaser. He knitted his brows and gestured around vaguely. "What? I don’t get it."

Elijah stopped abruptly and his torso stilled. "You don’t need to know. I do envy you sometimes."

Isaiah did not want to seem too pushy. He simply raised a brow in silent, gentle probing. Elijah caught the look and shook his head.

"You don’t need to know." He repeated.

Isaiah sighed. He knew Elijah would honor his own words.

"And Isaiah… don’t try to read my mind."

He was a little stunned by Elijah’s sudden request. It was a demand uncanny for someone who blatantly admitted that he did not believe in such gifts.

"I can’t. I don’t think my gifts work like that. I can’t read minds. Though I do hope that yours not empty inside." Isaiah meant each word as his gaze bored down deep into Elijah’s, matching concern with the indifference that he saw. Elijah did seem too empty. He was definitely not devoid of thoughts. It was something else. He was devoid of something else which was very important.

Elijah lost this staring contest. He averted his eyes, almost uncomfortably, and gazed out of the window.

"Indifference is better than hate Elijah. I don’t want to kill you." The voice was softer; cautionary even. Isaiah’s mouth gaped open.

"What?" His eyes narrowed with disbelief at what he had just heard.

Elijah faced him again; a mirthless half-smile crept onto his face. "Pardon my poor attempt at a joke."

"No, it’s not. What do you mean, Elijah? Just tell me, freaking damn it!" Isaiah screamed quietly, gesticulating about widely. There was much frustration and mystery. Isaiah did not want Elijah to be a mystery forever but Elijah was stubborn. Like a diary, he kept himself shut- clasping the covers together with a lock. Unlike a diary, the lock was not simple.

Isaiah was afraid that Elijah had thrown away the key.

"Coffee!" The waitress sprung out from behind him, her jovial voice still did nothing to raise Isaiah’s spirits by even a millimeter. He simply smiled with difficulty as she swapped his cup with a new one and poured steaming hot coffee into it. Elijah had returned his sight to outside the window, probably hypnotized by the confetti released from the swaying branches of the trees, assaulting the window panes. The frail leaves became the media for the anger of the wind.

"None for me." Elijah spoke, still gazing out of the window. The waitress stopped in mid-action and glanced at him with some annoyance before reverting her attention back onto the more amiable brother.

Him.

"Weather’s extremely rough outside. A storm’s coming." She informed him, smilingly still.

He twisted his lips at the bad weather report. "Hmm. Well, thanks. Looks like we’ll be trap here for some time."

"You can be trapped here anytime, handsome." She flirted with him before walking away to serve other customers.

A storm was indeed brewing in the cauldron which was his world then. A cauldron bubbling with sadness and anguish. A cauldron that was now being stirred by his brother’s hands.

But he did not. He did not know how to say it. What does someone say to those left behind in the depths of an abyss? Especially when the someone flew up, up and away from it, promising to return for him in letters after letters.

Again, silence embraced the two brothers even as the café became rowdier and more packed.

The doors swung open and close in intervals as pedestrians escaped into the café from the impending tempest. Familiar faces were spotted by a few people as some of them clapped one another on the back, wishing well; asking for updates. The café owner was happy because his cash register was chiming with the promise of wealth much more frequently.

The last person in was a little boy, being dragged in reluctantly by his mother with an aggravated expression on her face. The first few drops of rain plopped down onto Earth then.

And then the skies exploded in full fury.

***

The rain only stopped after close to three hours. Finally they could leave the restaurant and Isaiah walked in a different direction from Elijah the moment they reached the deserted car park to retrieve their cars. He was about to start driving off when he realized the blinking red light on his dashboard, informing him that the driver’s door was not shut properly.

Rolling his eyes, he swung the door opened. Nothing was going right for him.

He had spent three hours in tedious silence just opposite his brother.

A sharp pain shot through his temple and his world was black. The thing he thought of last was a scream. A scream that might as well be silent because nobody heard.

***

Elijah had memorized every single word on every single newspaper available for complimentary browsing in the café. He was not affected by the silence between him and Isaiah. The silence was good; welcomed. He could think of the case at hand. It had to be crack soon. Part of him wanted to win.

Another part did not wish to see more lives gone- a suppressed part of him.

And the silence gave him time to chide himself for falling in front of Isaiah; for revealing too much. But he had been a little amazed by Isaiah’s revelation. He was not envious of Isaiah’s gifts. They might be senseless hallucinations for all he knew.

He was envying something else Isaiah had. Each time he saw the cross brushing against Isaiah’s collarbone, he was envious.

Then he heard the crack of a gun, the volume muffled by a silencer. Immediately he whirled around to the direction of the sound and saw a figure, fully cloaked in black- the face hidden behind a black ski-mask- a distance away about to take aim at him.

With lightning quick reflexes, he ducked while drawing out his gun at the same time. From his slouched position, he fired a shot. The blast was deafening and he felt the force of the shot jolting him slightly backwards. He was a natural marksman. He never missed what he wanted to target at before.

Not even once.

The man clutched his forearm and dashed off in the covers of a slightly forested area behind the car park. Elijah instinctively wanted to give chase, cursing Eaeshore and its undeveloped, forested sporadic plots.

However, he stopped when something prompted him to look to his left. A gentle touch; an anxious touch.

His heart lurched. There Isaiah was, crumbled on the grimy ground of the car park next to his car with the door half-opened.

Blood matted down his hair; blood that flowed from the side of his skull.

Elijah rushed over.

Isaiah was still breathing. There was no sign of the bullet exiting. Elijah had not time to think of how it could have occurred. The fact that Isaiah was even breathing was a miracle. From the corner of his eyes, he saw some people who must had heard his gunshot from wherever they were when it happened running towards him.

He had no time for them.

Carrying his brother up with atypical gentleness and a strength that belied his lean physique, he placed Isaiah placidly and carefully on the passenger seat of the Lexus. Getting into the car himself, he turned the key in the ignition, floored the accelerator and sped out of the car park. He followed the visual in his mind from his memorization of Eaeshore’s map- the shortest route to the hospital.

His brother’s blood was fast turning the champagne leather into a crimson work of abstract art with rivulets of dark, red mortality.