Cast a cold eye

I needed information. I needed to know what was going on. I needed to stop panicking and start figuring out what the hell was happening.

I started with Little Frankie. There was the starting point. After the incident of the church, after sitting at the side of the road for several hours trying to calm myself, trying to make my heart stop beating so fast, I drove to Frankie's house. The house he had left behind when the Feds flipped him.

I unlocked the door with a well-placed kick. Inside, it was dark and musty. He must have packed lightly, because everything still looked like it was here.

I did notice one thing: no mirrors. I checked the bathroom and confirmed it: the bathroom mirror had been completely covered. Whatever was after me had also been after Frankie. Frankie must have fled to the Feds in order to get away from it. Too bad it didn't work.

There were books scattered around his bedroom. Books on Greek Mythology and Hinduism and lots of books on snakes. In one book, written on a slip of paper was the words ECHIDNA? MEDUSAE? NAGA? SEE PROF HAMILTON.

Professor Hamilton. There was a lead. Did Frankie go to see him? If he did, doing so didn't help him. But I would see him anyway.

What did I have to lose?