Thanks to those of you who read and/or reviewed. And now, I present the second chapter in my tale.

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We returned to the office several minutes later, and I opened my computer to find links to newspaper articles, containing the photos I had asked for. "Excellent," I said.

"You got the pictures?" asked Goofy.

"Better; Lea sent me links to newspaper articles that have both pictures and stories."

"Nice," said Donald, coming over to look. "What's the scoop?"

I opened each of the links. There were three articles—one entitled "Robert Clayton Inherits Family Legacy," one entitled "Disappearance of Local Couple Mystifies Authorities," and one entitled "Longtime Resident of Lake Ojibwe to Sell House."

"Looks like Lea sent you a gold mine," said Donald.

"Three gold mines," I said. "Good thing Lake Ojibwe keeps up with the times so well."

"How's that?"

"By having newspaper articles online."

"Ah, yes."

Goofy came over to join us, and we all read the first article, featuring Clayton's inheritance:

With the recent death of his father, Mr. Matthew Clayton, Robert Clayton has inherited both his father's house, a large brick dwelling in the center of town, and his family's legacy. The last of the Claytons, a family living in Lake Ojibwe for generations, Robert Clayton now carries the responsibility of continuing his family's work of preserving the Native American culture that has been a part of the town for centuries.

"I fully intend to continue this noble tradition of the Claytons'," Clayton commented, "and hope to, one day, see my children and grandchildren do the same."

The Claytons' efforts to keep Native American culture alive have included the establishment and continued support of the Lake Ojibwe Museum of Native American Culture, encouragement of focus of Native American ways in local schools, and outspoken support of the preservation of Native American reservations. Clayton has stated that he is already making plans to "donate to many of the Native American-related establishments around the area."

I snorted. "That means gamble away his money at the Indian Casinos," I said when the others had finished reading. I then turned my attention to the picture at the top of the article: of a fit, healthy-looking man, in contrast to the pale, gaunt man I had seen in recent days.

"He has a lot of connection to the Native Americans," said Goofy. "Maybe that's why he was possessed by the wendigo spirit?"

"Could have something to do with it," I said. I went to the next tab, the article about the missing couple:

Authorities have still found no traces of Peter and Wendy Pann, a local couple who went missing last week after Peter's boss noticed he did not come in on Monday. After calling the house several times, he asked a coworker and friend of Peter, who reported the house empty. Local police were called in when none of their family or friends had heard anything about the couple leaving.

Police have questioned several suspects, but have found no concrete leads. If anyone has any information regarding the whereabouts of these two, please call the Lake Ojibwe Police at 1-513-555-9902.

Included was a photo of the two. I studied it. Peter Pann was probably in his late twenties, though the baby fat he retained suggested a younger age. He looked cheerful in the picture, and I felt a stab of sadness as I contemplated that this was probably a man who was a victim of murder and cannibalism. Wendy had a similar look to her husband, and—I felt another stab of tragedy—she was pregnant. Had Clayton picked her because of that? Extra meat for him? I averted my eyes, unwilling to continue to look at the image of the young, promising couple whose lives had almost certainly been tragically cut short.

"Horrible, isn't it?" said Goofy, noticing my reaction.

I nodded. "If Clayton turns out to be their killer, I'm going to have a hard time holding back."

Donald nodded grimly. "I know what you mean."

Unwilling to dwell on such matters, I clicked on the third and final article, and found myself presented with an image of Robert Clayton, as he was preparing to make his leave of Lake Ojibwe. The change in him was drastic. He looked much more gaunt and white, and there was a slight red tinge to his lips. And, I might have been imagining it, but he did seem bigger than in the previous image.

Donald and Goofy noticed the difference, too. "Is that the same guy as before?" said Donald.

"Sure is," I said. "And now I'm almost entirely convinced. Robert Clayton, at some point after inheriting his family's house and roles, was possessed by the spirit of a wendigo, and killed and ate Peter Pann, Wendy Pann, and their unborn child." Anxiety clawed at my insides. "This is worse than I hoped. He's eaten three people—"

"Two, technically," interjected Donald. "Depending on where she was in her preg—"

"Not now," I said. "I don't think the behavior of wendigos is concerned with the whole when-does-a-person-become-a-person debate. Wendy was pretty far along in her pregnancy, so that baby would have had time to grow and develop human flesh. That's what increases a wendigo's power."

Donald conceded, and our political differences were forgotten. "So, it's farther along than we thought," said Goofy.

"Provided Clayton hasn't eaten anyone in New York," I said. "The city's so big, someone could go missing and easily be overlooked."

"But you said a wendigo becomes more savage after its fourth person or so," said Donald. "So he can't have eaten that many others, or he'd be going crazy for meat."

"He seems to sate himself with non-human meat," observed Goofy.

"But I suspect that's only until he gets a chance to get more," I said. "And how better to lure someone into your trap than date them?"

"There are plenty of ways," said Donald. "If his girlfriend goes missing, won't he be the prime suspect?"

"I doubt he's thought that through," I said. "He's already lost some of his rational mind. He probably hasn't thought that through entirely. Or, maybe he's planning to leave human society entirely once he's finished with Jane."

"Why's that?" asked Donald.

"His transformation," I replied. "If he gets bigger, paler, and more savage, people are going to notice something strange."

"What can we do now, then?" asked Goofy.

I frowned. "I wish I could say this was enough, but it isn't. We need hard evidence to have justification for doing something about Clayton."

Goofy looked concerned. "Are you planning to kill him for certain?" Goofy didn't like violence.

"I'm preparing for the possibility, which I consider likely," I replied. "If there's a way out of it, I'll look for it, but I'm beginning to think there isn't." I paused. "I'm sorry."

Goofy sighed and gave a small shrug. "It's not your fault. I just sometimes wish people didn't have to kill each other."

"Don't we all." I frowned at the picture of Clayton on the screen. "We need to tell Porter about this."

"What, that her boyfriend's a wendigo?" asked Donald.

"Don't be an idiot," I said. "We'll tell her that we suspect that he's…dangerous. And maybe she'll have an idea as to how to trap him, and reveal his true intentions."

"Turning to the client to help us? Isn't that our job?"

I shot a look at Donald. "Do you have a better idea? We need to do this as quickly as possible, and I think Porter's our best bet."

Donald looked sideways at Goofy. After thinking for a moment, he nodded. "I think it's worth a shot," he said.

Porter had given me her number, so all it took was a quick call on my cell phone and we had a meeting arranged. Around two o'clock, someone knocked on the door. "Come in," I said, getting up. We had discussed what we would tell Porter, and I was not looking forward to delivering the message.

Jane Porter walked in, a timid-looking woman with long brown hair. "Hello," she said, her speech tinged with her British accent.

"Ms. Porter. Thank you for seeing me."

"Oh, it was no problem." She shut the door and sat in the chair Goofy offered her. "Have you found out anything about Robert?"

"Well…" I never liked delivering bad news, but it was something I had found myself doing on more than one occasion. "We have no proof, but our research has turned up some…possibly disturbing findings. How well do you known him?"

She looked taken aback. "Well, I've only known him for about a month, and we've been dating for a little under a week. I'd like to say I know him pretty well, but…" She shrugged. "Well, I wasn't sure. That's why I came here."

"So you are aware you may find out something about him that you do not like?"

She looked fearful. "Why?"

"Because we suspect something that isn't pretty. Are you prepared to hear it?"

She drew herself up, unsuccessfully trying to conceal her anxiety, and nodded.

I took a breath. "We have reason to believe Robert Clayton is a serial killer."

Porter gasped, and turned almost as white as her boyfriend. "What?" she said in almost a whisper.

I nodded grimly. "And worse. His pale complexion and erratic behavior may be a sign of degrading health, caused by…are you ready?"

She didn't answer, but I went on anyway. "Caused by cannibalism. Robert Clayton, we believe, has killed and ate people." We had decided that we could tell her this, since, after all, you didn't need to be a wendigo to eat other people. To her, it would seem a little out there, but less so than if we told her the truth.

Porter looked at me for a moment, barely comprehending. "Surely…surely you…you must be mistaken," she said. "How…how can that be possible?"

My face darkened. "Some people have deep psychological disorders. They're very messed up in the head."

Very technical terms, a part of my mind sneered at me. I ignored it, preoccupied by Porter's reaction. "Would you like something to drink, Miss Porter?"

She nodded very faintly. Goofy rose, went to the water cooler we kept in the office, filled a cup with water, and walked it back to her. She took it with a trembling hand and drank. "Unfortunately," I said, "we do not have enough evidence to convict him, and as long as we don't, you are in—"

"Hold on a moment," she said, lifting her face to look at me. "You say you're not certain of this."

"I am certain enough."

"But you could be mistaken."

"I very much doubt that."

"You're not answering my question." She was on the offensive now.

I sighed. "There is a slight chance that I could be mistaken. But I—"

She cut me off again. "And so, without any evidence to support your claim, you call me over and tell me your suspicions, based on information I don't even know about, and which are almost ridiculously fantastic. You nearly gave me a heart attack, Mr. Parker. My family happens to have a history of weak heart health. How would you like it if your information had caused my heart to give out? You'd be left with a dead person on your hands, and on your conscience. What if Robert wasn't even what you said? Then what?"

This was not going in the direction I had intended. "Miss Porter, our—"

She stood up. "I don't know what sort of business you run here, Mr. Parker, but it is not to my satisfaction. Thank you for your effort, but it is no longer required." And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed out.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered under my breath. Donald, Goofy, and I rose to our feet. "Miss Porter!" I strode over to the door and opened it, to see Porter walking briskly towards the elevator. "Miss Porter, please wait!"

She did not. "So, Miss Porter, you are willing to go back to him, after what I told you?"

That slowed her down. I continued. "I realize I'm throwing modesty out the window here, Miss Porter, but I have solved quite a number of cases like yours. I have learned to follow my intuitions, and they have, consistently, led me to the truth. I want to help you, Miss Porter, and see that you do not end up as another victim of Robert Clayton's. If I am correct, then it may very well end up saving your life. If I am incorrect, then that will be a great source of embarrassment and discrediting, yes, but isn't that infinitely preferable to you losing your life?"

She stood still, still facing away from me. I felt my heart pounding; this woman's fate could very well rely on the choice she made next. Finally, she slowly turned around. "Mr. Taiko said that you were an investigator of great prowess."

I nodded.

"And he is one of the most renowned detectives in the area."

I nodded again.

"And it is your professional opinion that I am in danger of being killed…and eaten…by Robert?"

I hesitated for a split second, then nodded again.

Porter continued to stand still. Then, she blew out a sigh. "Very well. I…I just found it hard to believe."

"I don't blame you at all, Miss Porter," I said. "Cases like this are very rarely heard of."

"But you say you have dealt with similar cases before."

"I have. I have experience with this sort of happening."

She looked at me. "Then I shall do my best to put my trust in you, Mr. Parker."

I bowed my head. "Thank you, Miss Porter. That is all I ask for."

We managed to get Porter back to my office, and after filling her in on what we had discovered (again, omitting anything related to the supernatural), we began to discuss our plan to convict Clayton. "It won't be easy," I said. "If we were to conduct an investigation into the deaths of the couple that went missing back in Lake Ojibwe, it could take a long time, and I don't want to take that risk."

"I can avoid him for the next few days, to give you time," Porter suggested.

I was pleased by her offer, but turned it down. "He might get suspicious. There's no telling what he'll do; his brain could have been affected by consuming human flesh, and he might be more prone to his primal feelings."

She nodded. "I have noticed behavior of that sort."

"Besides," I continued, "there's no guarantee that we'll find anything in Lake Ojibwe. I—and my partners—have decided that the most likely way of catching Mr. Clayton is to catch him in the act. There are two ways of doing that—and we can get by with either one. The first is to have one of us entice him. Get him to attack one of us, and show his true nature."

Porter nodded. "What's the second?"

I hesitated. "The second option—and remember, we do this only if you want to—is to entice him to you."

Her expression froze. "I thought you said you wanted to save me from him."

"And we do. That is our number-one priority. However, if we are correct, then he has had his eyes on you for at least as long as you've been dating, probably longer. He will be predisposed towards targeting you, and if he is pushed in that direction, he may carry out his plans, and we can catch him doing so."

Her look of fear had resurfaced. "What did you have in mind for that plan?"

"He would invite you to dinner at his house. Has he done so yet?"

She shook her head. "Then he is probably planning to carry out his plans once he does," I said.

"How would you get him to do that?"

"I have something in mind, which would involve me confronting him and getting him to think that it would be easy and convenient to get you to disappear at dinner."

She paled slightly. "Remember, we can work with either plan, if you don't want to do that one," I said.

"But not either plan would work equally well," she said. "I can tell; you think the second one is the better one."

I made a mental note to work on concealing my features better. "Do not think that that means that I am pressuring you into—"

"I'll do it."

I raised my eyebrows. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm willing to try. You are a professional, and I'm sure you know what you're doing. If you believe that it is the better one, for…for catching Robert and for saving me, then I can find a way to put aside my fears and do what I need to."

I'll admit, I was surprised. I had pegged her as a timid young woman, but here was a spark—no, more than that, a flame—of courage rising up in her. I smiled. "I commend you for your bravery, Miss Porter. I assure you, we will make the most of the opportunity you are allowing us to take."

We went over the plan for another half hour, until Porter was satisfied—well, satisfied enough—and had left. "Now for Clayton?" asked Goofy.

I nodded. "Now for Clayton. I'll handle the actual confrontation." I looked at both my partners. "Unless either of you want to do it."

Donald chuckled. "Does it say our names on the door? Nah, Sora. You're the head honcho; you can do all that work."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically as I prepared to send another email to Lea. "You're a real pal, Donald. Always there when I need you."

"I'm sorry, did you ask for one of us to do it? I didn't hear any such query."

I forced back a grin. "Wise-ass."

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There you are. Hope you enjoyed it.

For those of you who are wondering where Kairi is and what the heck I'm doing with this unrelated case, I put it in for two reasons: one, to give you a sense of the sort of stuff that Sora does; and two, because I wanted to briefly feature a lesser-known supernatural being—Kairi's appearance will involve a much more traditional creature (not going to give it away, but a lot of you can probably guess what I'm talking about). So, there's this chapter, one more entirely devoted to this case, and then we move on to different things.