Ju-Ju House / E. Carlyle - 16

[Japic]

Stuck in theory mode, Thurman presses his point about the dead rising. Maybe it wouldn't go anywhere, but sometimes working through issues aloud helped a group do some fact finding.

"I'm not saying that it's the only thing, sure. Though from what little I know of Voodoo, it's got to do with rituals; things done in a certain way. It's like baking a cake. you need the right ingredients to get what you want in the end. This carving could be but one of the ingredients toward manipulating them with their magic."

"I'm not saying I'm right, I'm just saying that this is what I'm wondering. Unless you want to go back and ask those mad cultists what that's all about, then all we can do is guess."

"Think about it," he states. "Why go to the trouble of marking someone when all you want to do is kill them? If you're going to kill them, why leave another clue about who done it behind? It's got to serve some purpose or they wouldn't do it at all. If ten people get stabbed to death in a month, the cops don't think so much it's the same guy. But if that stabber goes around putting his initials in people's foreheads they're going to figure it out. He's not going to do it without a very sound reason," the doctor finishes. "Right?"

[VemuKhaham]

Jeremy had been muttering while staring through the window. He eyed all pedestrians, cars and even birds as possible spies and chasers, but he did not move. In his mind played vividly the scene he had witnessed, over and over again.

It was not until he heard the word 'magic' fall in the conversation behind him that he stirred. Like something was triggered inside him that was almost automatic, Jeremy turned around and went toward his big sack which held all his belongings. He did this while continuing to mutter, sometimes short sentences but mostly collections of words that were a mixture of the traumatic mutterings he had spoken so far and of scientific terms which he uttered with some kind of vindication directed against the word 'magic'.

As such he produced from his sack an old book, worn and damaged by all the elements, but to Jeremy still very precious. Upon closer look it could be recognized as the 'Principia' of Newton, the great scientist's masterwork on physics. He sat down in a corner on the floor, placing the book in his lap, and was for the remainder of the time utterly silent, disregarding the relatively frequent flipping of pages. Whether there was some sudden purpose behind his reading or whether the letters were just a way for Jeremy to ease the pain in his soul and mind was a mystery.