Benighted: (1) The Case of Marisol

She had been blind. Young too—probably around seventeen or eighteen years old. Zelmyr was able to determine this information solely based on the fallen petals along the ground. She had sold flowers—marigolds to be specific. Her vivacious air registered through the petals and into his slender fingers.

Marisol had been her name.

A fitting name for a girl with golden flowers.

After several moments, Zelmyr slid one of the petals into his pocket. Then he stood to his feet to head down the path that led to the houses along the road. It was a road that also served as a trail for runners or hikers.

Within one of the houses, a young woman peered from the window. She closely watched the strange alabaster-skinned man who dressed like one of those counts or dukes in her historical fantasy books: neat button-down shirt with a corduroy vest over it, resplendent belt, and dark slacks attached to long leather boots. When she first met him two days ago, she had thought it was all a costume until he wore similar garments the next evening and again today. They were garments in black or crimson or silver or a mixture of all three to make him seem paler than he already was.

He was helping though. She would at least give him that.

Once Zelmyr was partially down the pathway to the house, the young woman opened the front door. He slowed down in his pace, his gaze briefly lowering to the area in front of him. From her limited interaction with him, he did not appear well-versed in conversation—displaying small awkward traits here and there. Her psychology professor would have a field day with this mysterious stranger.

“Did you find anything?” she asked while pulling her coat more tightly about her shoulders in crossing her arms.

Zelmyr’s eyes raised to her—those odd and bright aquamarine-colored eyes. Distinct yet so distant. They had been the first attribute she had noticed when she first met him.

“Yes,” he answered in a calm, quiet voice. “Esmeralda…correct?”

She nodded. “That’s right. And was it…Za-hir?”

“Zelmyr.”

Yes, she remembered it was something strange like that. She watched as he stood a foot or two before her.

“Your sister took a path that went to the creek and over the meadow back down that way.” He shifted his body and pointed westward.

Esmeralda glanced in that same direction. “By Butterfly Lake? Marisol would never go that far. Not without me or my mother. The police said that someone must have taken her when she was leaving our house.”

Zelmyr’s gaze rested in hers as he swallowed gently. He let the sounds of their surroundings fill in for the temporary silence he exhibited. “From what I gathered, she met with someone else down by there.” He looked off toward the left before facing forward again. “I think it was a male.”

If he told her how he arrived to that speculation, he knew that she would not believe him. It was part of the reason why these situations were quite tricky for him.

Fortunately for him, his reputation on the internet preceded him.

“Male?” she asked, her eyes drifting off again. “Robbie? That’s the only male we’ve seen her with. He’s a sweet boy though. How do you know she was with someone?” She returned her attention to him.

“Everything traced back to…a second presence.” He was quick to add on more words before he delved too far in his musings. “Do you happen to have anything else she might have been holding? The police took her flower basket and her necklace. Is there anything she may have been attached to?”

Esmeralda stared at him for longer than she had before. Her face expressed confusion and bits of doubt. “Okay, you’re not one of those mediums or something, are you? My mom especially doesn’t believe in that stuff. When they recommended you—”

“I promise that this is nothing like that.”

Zelmyr’s voice had been gentle—almost soothing—even with that air of mystery coating it. She scrutinized him a little longer, noticing bits of sincerity within his visage, though she couldn’t exactly say since he expressed so little—even in his tone.

After a moment, Esmeralda took a step back into the house and shifted toward a table directly to her left. Zelmyr remained standing in his spot some paces away front the front door. He mindlessly looked up at the wind chimes that hung from the roof. They were colorful and attached to a crescent moon that absorbed the daylight. He wondered how often Marisol might have touched them when exiting or entering the house. It would certainly assist in granting him more of her aura where he could feel and see more from her.

He began to step forward in the wind chimes’ direction when Esmeralda reappeared in the doorway. She paused upon seeing where his gaze was. It also caused her to notice his singularly gloved hand. Her eyebrows scrunched at the sight before she lifted a decorative marigold piece. “She usually wore this in her hair when she went out selling. I guess she chose not to do so during the last time she went out.”

Zelmyr’s eyes navigated from the trinket down to the doorstep and then over the pathway, forming an invisible path that Marisol might have taken every weekday. He settled his focus on the older sister afterward. “May I?” He lifted his bare hand.

Esmeralda watched him carefully. He had done those similar investigative motions when he first entered the house while her mother had also been home. He had said that he wasn’t a detective or an inspector. Then what was he? And why did he sound so sure without any evidence?

She peered down at his hand before returning her attention to his face. “Doesn’t this sort of thing cause you to be more suspicious—leaving fingerprints and all?”

Zelmyr lightly swallowed. “Call it a risk that I take in order to find the answers for people.”

Esmeralda tilted her head, gingerly drawing the marigold hairpiece toward him. “And how is this…risk…going to help?”

“Objects usually carry our emotional energy.” He took a step in her direction with his focus going to the item. “It’s energy that remains on them for days or even weeks after the last interaction.” When his fingertips brushed the item, he instantly felt a powerful and warm current inject itself into him and soar along his arm. It caused him to expel a sigh.

Esmeralda released the piece when he held it. She furrowed a brow at him. “Emotional energy…” she repeated questioningly. She recalled reading the social media praises about him—about how his unconventional methods had resolved even the coldest and most impossible of cases. In spite of that, regardless of all her research, she couldn’t find out why or how he arrived to his conclusions.

It could be why she had also read so many spiteful bits about him from the police.

Zelmyr glimpsed at her. “Yes. The more of her personal items I have, the more I’m able to trace.”

“And you’re sure you’re not some self-proclaimed psychic? I’m just…I’m just trying to understand. I don’t want this to be some joke case regarding my sister.”

Zelmyr gazed off toward the houses to his left, muttering to himself as he imagined a path to a specific area through the woods, past the creek, and toward that meadow mentioned earlier. “You did read all about me as you said, correct?”

“Yes. Testimonials.”

“Were any of them negative? Or were they enough to garner your curiosity, Miss Esmeralda?”

Esmeralda’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Instead, her mouth pursed and she crossed her arms again. “I’m just so stressed and tired is all, especially when the detectives gave us no hope.”

Zelmyr turned his head to face her. “I know.” He reached into his pocket for the marigold petal that he received at what he determined to be the scene of the crime. It was where the law enforcement said that Marisol was slain. He twirled the petal once, joined it with the hairpiece, and temporarily closed his eyes. He could mentally see the young girl’s hair here, smell her presence, and hear her voice as she headed off toward the woods some days ago. Another person had definitely been with her—the male allegedly called Robbie.

When Zelmyr reopened his eyes, he reached forward to return the hairpiece. “I can also tell you that your sister is not dead.”

Esmeralda nearly dropped the item as soon as she took it. Her jaw did fall though, and her pulse accelerated in clear disbelief. “What are you talking about? How could you know? Why would you say something like that?”

He sensed the frantic nature that instantly encompassed her. For him, it was natural and to be expected from others, especially in this sort of circumstance. “Usually, death doesn’t bring about new…aura waves. The waves stay the same. They remain residual so to speak.”

Even through such bizarre statements, she heard that calmness still resonate through his voice. She could not help but stare at him incredulously through labored breathing. “You said that you wouldn’t do that—that you weren’t one of those medium phonies. What are you talking about aura waves?”

“Miss Esmeralda…” Zelmyr took another step toward her. “…I communicate through—”

“…like an empath?”

He paused, biting his lip softly. “Not exactly.” His gaze caught hers again. “For instance, through holding that marigold, I know that it was handed to Miss Marisol through a great-aunt. A great-aunt who used to live here—whose life I could see if I focused enough.”

His distinct gaze—those bright and clear eyes—they were so attentive and genuine. Esmeralda felt and saw no deceit anywhere on him. Yet at the same time, she could not wrap her mind around what she just finished hearing. Her own throat clenched at the memory of her Great-Aunt Hilda who she last saw when she about seven. How could this man possibly know about her?

“The way I see your great-aunt’s energy is not how I see your sister’s,” Zelmyr continued tenderly. “Marisol is still alive. I know she isn’t far. Her aura is still tied here. To find out exactly where she is, I’d only need a little more of your and your mother’s cooperation.” He paused as he watched her eyes begin to water. “I know that this is unconventional, but I gain nothing in coming out all this way and deceiving you.”

Esmeralda’s hand rose and covered her mouth. “Everyone says she’s dead though,” she said against her quivering palm. She strongly attempted to resist the emotions that threatened to spill forth in front of this man. Her eyes closed and her face lowered. “I guess I always held onto the possibility that she wasn’t.”

People usually did. Zelmyr knew that. Hope was what caused many to reach out to him via the internet or his phone. He had gotten into this by accident—after assisting a search party with his unique abilities. These abilities were how he planned to help this mother and daughter now because he knew that their beloved Marisol’s heart was still beating.

He knew because the threads of life and death spoke to him. He could smell them, touch them like anyone could a tangible item. Interaction with those threads made him what he was.

“We’ll find her,” he told the weeping Esmeralda who looked up at him with renewed faith yet also doubt in her gaze. “You have my word.”

Zelmyr’s word was never given at random. Life and death never gave falsities. They were completely real, and would forever be a part of him for they had always been his only companions.

Being alone with life and death were part of a necromancer’s way of life after all.