Alright everyone, here's the next chapter of the story. Let's all enjoy it the best way possible!

chyp: You're like my best friend on here. Can't thank you enough for continuing to review!


"Excuse me," Matthew said as a woman opened her front door. "Is this 613 McClure Avenue?"

"Yes," an African-American appearing to be in her fifties answered. She wore a house robe and she looked completely disheveled. "Who are you?"

"My name is Matthew Hart," Matthew said. "Are you Marcia Coleman?"

"Yes," she said, "and let me save you some time. I already subscribe to the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, the Decatur Daily, the Buckhead Bounce, and any other newspapers you might have. I'm diabetic, so I don't eat many sweets. And I don't need any more encyclopedias. My grandson only used them one time to look up 'female genitalia.'"

"No, you've got it all wrong," Matthew corrected her, holding his hands up as if he were surrendering. "I'm not here to sell you anything. I'm here to hopefully help you."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I read in the newspaper that you're still looking for your missing family," Matthew said. "I thought that maybe I could help you."

Marcia's eyes scanned Matthew up and down, wondering whether or not Matthew's words were genuine or not. It took a good couple of minutes before she said anything. All the time she had spent worrying about her family, and all the time she spent trying to convince others that she was not crazy for still wanting to find them, all affected her ability to trust people these days, especially strangers. Matthew, on the other hand, remained silent and waited patiently for Marcia to respond, somehow sensing her afflicted emotions.

"Come in," she finally said, widening the door so that Matthew could enter. "Have a seat in the living room. I'll fix you some coffee. Cream and sugar?"

"Yes, please," Matthew said, following Marcia into the living room. "You have a very nice house, Mrs. Coleman. How long have you lived here?"

"Thank you," she replied from the kitchen. "I've been here so long I've forgotten. But if I had to guess, I'd say about twenty-five years."

"Wow," Matthew said, settling down into a comfortably broken-in reclining chair.

"You aren't from around these parts, are you?" Marcia asked. "You sound like a Yankee, no offense of course."

"Is that a Southern thing?" Matthew asked, "Yankee?"

"More like common knowledge," she replied, joining him in the living room with a tray.

The room was rather spacious, but overflowing with a little bit of everything. Pictures of almost everyone Marcia knew adorned every wall in the room. A large bookshelf showcased various types of books from encyclopedias (she really owned them) to romance novels. The sofa on which she sat was situated adjacently to Matthew's reclining chair, which in turn faced the flat screen television. In front of both the sofa and the chair stood a beautiful cream colored coffee table, complete with magazines and newspapers, all neatly arranged, with what appeared to be volumes of photo albums under the table.

"Here's your coffee," Marcia said, pouring coffee into a brown mug.

"Thank you," Matthew responded.

"My son-in-law hates coffee," she spoke. "Says it runs right through him."

"My brother says the exact same thing," Matthew commented.

"Now," Marcia said, her voice becoming more serious and conserved, "tell me exactly who you are and why you're here to help. Are you a detective? I've hired plenty of them and none of them have been able to find anything."

"No," Matthew said. "I'm not a detective, inspector, police officer, agent, none of that. I just have a feeling that I can help you. If you don't want to trust me, that's perfectly fine. I wouldn't know whether or not I could trust a total stranger under the same circumstances myself."

"Very well," she said. "What kind of feeling do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain," Matthew said. "My younger brother, the same one who hates coffee, was also taken, very recently. I think that the same people who kidnapped your family had something to do with his disappearance. Could you tell me a little about your family, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Well," she started, now feeling more at ease for some reason and fumbling through her photo albums, "my Charity has always been a good girl. She works as a teacher and wants to become a principal, so she's been taking more classes and getting more certifications and everything. She works very hard. She married Derrick, the son of a family friend. Well he's just the perfect boy next door. Tall, handsome, and grounded. He's a minister who's planning on getting his own church. He also works as a motivational speaker. He travels a lot because of it, but somehow he's always there for Charity.

"They blessed me with two beautiful grandchildren, twins. George and Tina are so lovely, here look at these pictures. Don't you just want to take them home? And so smart, too! They're only about ten, but they're both straight A students. My husband died a few years ago, and they're the only family I have left. Sometimes it gets a little lonely around here in this big ol' house, but they come over every week for a visit and it's such good times…"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Matthew said, "but why are you talking about them in the present tense? They've been missing for over six months."

"Talking about them in the present makes them seem closer," Marcia explained. "It makes me feel hopeful that they'll come back, you know what I mean? I'm not a fool. I know how long they've been gone. I remember the day they were taken. All the lights were on in their house. Televisions on, some popcorn still in the microwave. It just wasn't right for all that to be without them there. But I know that they're alright. They can take care of themselves. Besides, the twins have a birthday coming up soon. They don't want to miss Mama Cia's Chocolate cake. It's their favorite kind, you know."

"What do you mean when you say that they can take care of themselves?" Matthew inquired, obviously trying to steer the conversation somewhere more useful with even the subtlest of clues. "Do they fight or something? Are they trained counselors?"

"No," she said, laughing, "nothing like that. Now, I like you, Matthew. You seem like a nice young man. You're well spoken and have good manners. That's rare for a Yankee, so I'm going to tell you something. Now you might think this is strange, but they…we…are kind of special."

"Everyone's family is special to them," Matthew smiled. "It's only natural."

"No," Marcia repeated, this time more firmly. "I mean we are really special. You might not believe in this, but we're…well, witches."