After that tasteless prank by Klaus, I decided to return to the orphanage. I was aware that it would be in ruins forever and that the case would never be solved. But the past still bound me. At least, I wanted to try to find the body of my companion, Sakura, if it was possible.

When I returned to the orphanage, I needed to control my emotions. Even from the bus, I could see its ruins. It wasn't even worth describing them; they were nothing but ashes. I had to face it, but it was difficult for me. I had spent my whole life there, and now I had no home to return to. At least, thanks to the money given to me by that strange man named Klaus, I could move forward.

When I reached my stop, I had to walk along a small dirt path of about a kilometer. To the right of the path was the mountain slope, to the left, the lake. My gaze obviously went to the left side as it was more visually appealing and brought back many memories. Despite it being a winter day, it was surprisingly clear, though the breeze was utterly cold. I still remembered when I was about fifteen, spending many spring and summer afternoons fishing. I rarely caught anything, but when I did, I leaped with joy. After several warnings from the authorities, the nuns asked me not to do it again.

After a ten-minute walk, I realized I couldn't go any further because they had put up a yellow tape between two poles to restrict access. I felt frustrated for not being able to continue my path to satisfy my tragic curiosity. Despite everything, I didn't want to turn back. I wanted to see for a bit longer the last moments of that place which had sheltered me all those years of my life. It wasn't the best as a final memory, but I had to confront my past. It wasn't right for me to erase everything as if nothing had happened.

"Are you aware that the police have cordoned off the site?" asked a photographer perched on a rock above me, of whose presence I became aware when he spoke. He was dressed in a white anorak and blue jeans, with black hair, carrying a DSLR camera.

"Yes," I replied as I descended the slope.

"What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?" the boy asked as he reached the same level as me.

"I was a survivor of the attack."

"Wow. That must have been shocking... I'm sorry. I knew the sole survivor had been hospitalized. Though it's unknown how she got to the hospital since the ambulance found no one when it arrived."

"Yeah, well... I was unconscious, and a strange man took me there."

"Interesting... And congratulations on your recovery."

"Thank you."

"Sorry if it's rude not to introduce myself. I'm Michel Dubois, a reporter for Blick."

"My name is Constanze Bemberg. By the way, I'm aware that the priests and nuns were murdered... But do you know anything about the children and the other girl?"

"Regarding the other girl, you mean the Japanese one? They've all been declared missing."

"Do we know who was responsible for the attack?"

"It's unknown, although the police suspect it might be Al-Qaeda or another Islamic terrorist group. But I doubt it; what would they be doing in such a remote place?"

"I think the same. From what little I remember, I don't recall them wearing characteristic clothing or speaking any Arabic words."

"Hmm... Your testimony could be interesting for an article in our newspaper. Would you be interested?"

"No, thank you. After being interrogated by the police, I've had enough questions."

"Very well. If you change your mind, here's my contact card." He pulled a small red card from his anorak pocket, with the newspaper's logo, his name, and phone number.

We walked to the beginning of the path and went our separate ways. He to his car, me to wait for the bus.

After waiting about five minutes, Michel reappeared in his gray Volkswagen Polo.

"Would you like me to take you somewhere?" he asked, stepping out of the car.

"I'd appreciate it if you could take me to the hotel where I'm staying in Zurich."

"No problem." Without saying another word, I got into the car in response.

Upon arrival, I thanked him for being so kind.

Once at the hotel, the first thing I did was to go to the available computers and start investigating on my own. Looking for news about the fire among many press clippings that didn't offer much, I came across a very strange blog entry. Its title was "Was the Fire at the St. Philip Neri Orphanage Caused by Magicians?" I clicked on it to read more.

The entry read:

"On the night of December 24th near Zurich, Switzerland, a tragic event occurred with the fire at an orphanage. Despite investigations showing the fire was arson, the official version suspects an Islamic terrorist attack. However, everything might suggest it was a mass kidnapping of children for magical rituals. In recent years, numerous children from Germany, France, Austria, Switzerland, and Northern Italy have disappeared without apparent reason. According to alternative press investigations, it all points to numerous users who control magic hiring mafias to take children for their gruesome experiments..."

I stopped reading because I was starting to feel terrified. "What cruel fate could have befallen the children?" I asked myself. I didn't know what might have happened to Sakura. Perhaps she was killed in the process. I wasn't sure. The author of the entry was also the author of the entire blog, focused on paranormal, mystery, and conspiracy themes. I checked the "Contact" section and found the author's name, Ronald Howard, based in CaƱon City, Colorado, USA, without an exact address, along with an email for inquiries.

Before doing anything else, I took out Michel's contact card and called him from a payphone.

"Michel Dubois speaking, who's calling?" he answered.

"It's me, Constanze," I replied.

"Oh, what a joy! Have you decided to be interviewed?"

"No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm calling to ask you something. I just read a strange blog entry by someone named Ronald Howard. Do you know him?"

"Oh, please! It's best you stay away from that old lunatic! He only publishes sensationalist, yellow journalism about purely fantastical and pseudoscientific things! Plus, he works for media where everyone is of his ilk! Whatever he tells you, let it go in one ear and out the other, okay?"

"Yes, thanks." I hung up.

Despite the warning, I felt like talking to him. I sensed he might be the only one at that moment capable of providing answers, even if they were lies serving as a placebo.

So, I decided to email Ronald Howard, telling him I was a survivor of the fire and that I needed some answers, offering him information in return, preferably in person. For a moment, I was skeptical whether he would reply. But within minutes, he did, agreeing and asking when I would come, to which I replied in three or four days.

The next day, I bought the tickets and left.

First, I transferred in New York and then to Denver. It was over sixteen hours of flying. When I took the bus to Canon City, I was completely exhausted, unable to keep my eyes open. It was night, and with my eyes half-open, I could only see lights. I almost missed my stop.

When I got off the bus, I looked at the address he sent via email. I walked to the left. In five minutes, I was at the door, made entirely of concrete with a single bulb hanging in the archway as the only light.

I rang the bell, and after a minute of waiting, the door opened. A plump man with a gray beard and hair appeared at the threshold. He had receding hairline, blue eyes, and wore glasses. By appearance, I could guess he was in his fifties, nearing sixty. Obviously, this was Ronald Howard.

"Good evening, who am I speaking with?" the man asked as he opened the door.

"I'm the girl who emailed you," I showed him my phone.

"Ah, perfect. If you'd like, you can come into my office."

I accepted his offer for some tea.

I entered the office and sat down. The room had walls of pure concrete, lit only by a hanging bulb. The walls were lined with gray filing cabinets.

"Here you go," Howard appeared with my tea served in a white cup.

I thanked him. When I took my first sip, he began asking questions. My answers seemed to reaffirm his theories. I noticed this when he couldn't help but stroke his beard.

"All this information could be useful for my next blog entry," Howard said with a wide smile. "Anything else?"

"Well... I want to ask about something," I said, somewhat hesitantly. "You see, in my last year at the orphanage, I met a girl who was my coworker. After the fire, she was never heard from again. I knew little about her and felt she was hiding something, though I knew she was a good person."

"Could you describe her?"

"She was Japanese, purple hair, short..."

"Do you remember her name?"

"Sakura Araki."

"And what makes you suspicious of her?"

"Once, I overheard her confessing to the priest that she came from a magical lineage. I never asked because I shouldn't have been eavesdropping. I'd like to know if you know of similar cases..."

"Let's see... The world of magicians is tricky to investigate... If they know you're sticking your nose in there, you're a dead man... All the information you get is through hearsay, and very little of it is verified... Still, let me see what I have."

He got up to search through the files, returning a minute later with a folder in hand, which he glanced over.

"Sorry, I grabbed the wrong folder - UFOs," he got up to search again.

He sat back down, looking at the new folder.

"This is it," he said and lit a cigarette while searching.

As he continued to search through the pile of papers, he intended to light another cigarette. But I put my hand over it to ask him not to, telling him I didn't tolerate tobacco well. In fact, I detested it, viewing it as an invention of the devil, without even knowing its harmful chemical components. But mostly, it was part of my trauma because my father would light up after abusing me.

"I have to say I don't have any information on a Sakura Araki," I felt somewhat disappointed. "However, I have information on another girl with a similar name but a different last name, Matou. It matches the description you gave."

"Could you read it?"

"Let's see... Originally from another family, unknown, she was adopted by one without heirs. She didn't originally have purple hair, but adapting to the new magic had that as its first consequence. What I'm about to say is quite harsh, so brace yourself... Her training involved constant penetration by a multitude of magical worms in exchange for power..."

My stomach churned. If that was really Sakura, it explained why she would tell no one. How could someone survive that and not commit suicide? I thought she had been abused by her stepbrother, but this... was on another level. Maybe she had softened the truth with her lie.

"There was an explosion at the family's mansion, and her body was never found," he continued.

This information was baffling. Sakura could have been both dead and missing at the same time. My head was full of questions needing answers.

"It's an interesting case; it could be worth investigating," I said.

"Yes, but as I said, investigating these matters isn't easy," Howard responded firmly.

"Then... I could volunteer for your investigations..."

"Sorry, I don't need a secretary."

"Then... we could reach an agreement," I unbuttoned my blouse as a last resort.

Howard's face changed dramatically. He approached me and began to stroke my leg.

"Today's my lucky day," Howard said and kissed me.

This was something I'd rather not recount. My complex of being an indecent woman had led to this decision. But I had no other choice if I wanted to learn more about Sakura's whereabouts and origins, and to make a living in another way. At that moment, I apologized to God for that act.