“Get away from me,” the woman said, backing away.“Are you… are youfilming me?Get away!”
Walsh followed her with the camera still running.“Please, you don't understand the danger you're in.The chemical contamination is affecting your spiritual matrix.I have methods that can help purify your molecular structure.”
“I'm calling the police,” the woman said, pulling out her phone.
“The authorities don't understand chemical auras,” Walsh said, his voice becoming more agitated.“They're part of the contamination system.Only someone with proper spectrographic training can detect the radiation you're carrying.”
The woman started walking faster, but Walsh kept following.“At least let me document your contamination levels.People need to understand how widespread this chemical warfare has become.”
The video ended abruptly as the woman rounded a corner and Walsh apparently lost sight of her.Miles could hardly believe what he was seeing.It seemed that Jeremy Walsh ticked just about every box, and then some.
“Yeah…” Vic said, “he seems a little off the charts, right?Maybe a little mentally unstable?”
“Could be.”
Vic sighed and glanced down to the map on her phone.“Well…we’ll find out soon enough.We’ll be there in five minutes.You ready?”
All Miles could do was nod because quite honestly, he wasn’t sure.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Miles looked up from his phone as Vic parked on a tree-lined street near the Georgetown University campus.The neighborhood was typical of student housing areas: older row houses converted into apartments, narrow sidewalks, small front yards cluttered with bicycles and recycling bins.Coffee shops and bookstores occupied the ground floors of many buildings, and students with backpacks moved along the sidewalks.
“That's his building,” Vic said, pointing to a narrow brick row house with multiple mailboxes by the front door.
The building was three stories tall and looked like it had been subdivided into small studio apartments.Paint peeled from the window frames, though it showed signs of someone trying to make it nicer in the recent past.The front steps were cracked concrete, but looked to have been swept recently.It was the kind of place graduate students rented when they needed cheap housing close to campus.Miles had lived in one just like it before he’d moved to the academy.
“Apartment 2B,” Vic said, checking the address from her notes.
They climbed the front steps and entered a small vestibule with a row of dented mailboxes.The interior door was propped open, leading to a narrow staircase covered in worn carpet.The building smelled of old wood and cleaning products.
Walsh's apartment was on the second floor at the end of a dim hallway.Miles could hear music or voices coming from behind the door.It was faint and subtle, but definitely there.Vic knocked firmly on the door.
The sounds stopped abruptly.After a moment, they heard movement inside the apartment.Someone walked tentatively toward the door.
“Who is it?”a male voice called through the door.He sounded irritated.
“FBI,” Vic replied.“We'd like to speak with you.”
There was a long pause, then the sound of multiple locks being undone.The door opened to reveal Jeremy Walsh looking exactly as he had in his videos, only a bit more disheveled.His dark hair hung in greasy strands, and his pale face had the hollow look of someone who spent too much time indoors.He wore a t-shirt and jeans that looked like they hadn't been washed in weeks.
“FBI?”Walsh looked confused.“What do you want?”
Vic showed her badge.“I’m Agent Stone.This is Dr.Sterling.We're investigating some cases that might relate to your research into chemical contamination.”
Walsh's expression shifted from confusion to interest.“You know about my work?”
“We've seen some of your videos,” Miles said, easily picking up on Vic’s tactic of making a suspect feel important before anything else.“We think you may be able to provide some insight into a current case.May we come in?”
Walsh hesitated, then stepped back to allow them into his apartment.He smiled for a moment but then bit it back, as if purposely trying not to show any emotion.The space was smaller than Miles had expected; it was basically one room with a tiny kitchen alcove and a bathroom door.But what struck him immediately was how the entire apartment had been converted into an office workspace.
Every available surface was covered with notebooks, printouts, and electronic equipment.A laptop sat open on a small desk, displaying video editing software with one of Walsh's recent recordings in the timeline.Multiple monitors were connected to various devices that Miles didn't recognize.Books were stacked everywhere - chemistry textbooks mixed with volumes on auras, spiritual cleansing, and what appeared to be occult subjects.
“Sorry for the mess,” Walsh said, closing the laptop.“I’ve been working on my latest documentation video.”
Miles picked up one of the notebooks from a nearby table.The pages were filled with obsessive handwriting - names, addresses, detailed descriptions of supposed chemical auras, and complex diagrams that looked like a cross between chemistry formulas and mystical symbols.
“You documenteverything,” Miles observed.
