Sheriff Sam swirled the mug in his hand, staring at the contents as if it could predict the future. Maybe a cup of tea and tea leaves would make a better predictor than the sludge in his mug that resembled coffee. He had needed a caffeine boost after the restless night and had brewed a cup of West African blend, a strong, bitter black roast, but now he regretted the decision. He could barely stomach the vile sludge that resembled coffee on a good day, and this was not a good day. He placed the mug down on his counter and sighed in frustration.

Neither the sheriff nor Det. West had slept any after the long night. Once Anya had been stabilized and transported to Providence, the sheriff and detective had taken a more detailed look at both the quarry and the illegal weapons cache, hoping for some lead that would tie Jeremiah neatly to the crimes and justify the pain that Anya had endured to direct their attention to him. But there was nothing. At least nothing obvious.

As the sun had begun its ascent, casting rays of soft light across the sleepy town, they had agreed to leave the investigation in the capable hands of the crime scene techs. Sheriff Sam had dropped Det. West at the Inn and had headed home to shave, shower and caffeinate. With his ablutions taken care of, the wound on his leg cleaned and dressed in accordance with doctor's orders, all that remained was the dire need for caffeine, a pick-me-up to deal with the day ahead. Sheriff Sam looked at the mug on his counter skeptically before picking it up and downing the last of the contents. He could appease his taste buds later with a treat from Aunt Cheryl's diner.

Det. West was already waiting outside her unit when Sheriff Sam pulled up. He could see the exhaustion evident in her features, in her slightly hunched posture, her sagging shoulders, and the dark circles under her eyes that the thin layer of freshly applied makeup did little to hide.

"Despite the fact that I want to get this interview with Jeremiah over and done quickly, I think we need coffee and sustenance," Sheriff Sam stated as she buckled herself into the passenger seat.

"Yes, please! At least you know how to make up for keeping me up all night," she joked as the sheriff turned the car in the direction of Aunt Cheryl's Diner.

As they sat eating a hearty breakfast of biscuits and gravy, complete with cups of steaming, and very palatable coffee, they chatted about how best to approach Jeremiah Omondi and the insinuated accusation of his involvement in the abduction and beating of Anya Cook. As Aunt Cheryl herself poured them another cup of coffee, she leaned down and spoke in a lowered voice.

"I am sorry for eavesdropping, and I didn't really hear anything, but I heard you mention the name Jeremiah Omondi. That man gives me the willies. There's something wrong with him. Do you know that he practices witchcraft? Says it's part of his African heritage. I wouldn't be surprised if he was slaughtering chickens or sacrificing babies in his back yard. I'd watch out for him if I were you. He might put a hex on you!"

"Is that so?" Sheriff Sam asked, adopting a conspiratorial tone. He caught Det. West's flabbergasted gaze and gave her a subtle wink. He sincerely doubted that Jeremiah Omondi was sacrificing babies in his back yard as some form of ritualistic practice, but given what they knew of the man's history, he was certainly capable of it. "And how do you know he practices witchcraft?"

"Oh, my friend owns the esoteric shop over on 4th, and he's in their regularly buying all sorts of things. He's even asked her to acquire a couple of special consignments - mostly African plants and herbs, a warthog tusk, some animal bones, that kind of thing. Nothing illegal, mind you," she added quickly as she watched the expression on Sheriff Sam's face morph from feigned curiosity to concerned.

Visions of headless bodies danced into the sheriff's mind, painted with ritualistic symbols, and wielding illegal Russian weapons, dancing on grass mats littered with bones and tusks. He rubbed his face with his hands to dislodge the ludicrous image that had sprung to mind. He needed more caffeine. Or possibly less. Or definitely sleep. But it would have to wait. He still had work to do, and that work involved a trip to the hospital to check on Anya and an interview with the possibly Wiccan, and very definitely dangerous, Jeremiah Omondi.

The drive to the hospital in Providence passed in an uneventful blur as Sheriff Sam and Det. West drove in silence, occupied by the thoughts in their own heads and the events of the night before. The closer the sheriff came to finding out the truth, the less he felt he actually knew. What had started with the discovery of the mysterious corpses now threatened to spill over into the realms of illegal international weapons trafficking, involving the Bratva and some as yet unknown African country, orchestrated by the dangerous and potentially protected refugee, Jeremiah Omondi. But the pieces of the puzzle weren't fitting neatly together. How did thirteen seemingly random bodies tie in with illegal weapons smuggling? The links between them tenuous at best. There was just no evidence to validate the suppositions. It was conjecture. Pure speculation. Nothing more than accusation thrown in the wind, without the tiniest shred of evidence, at best.

Completely entranced in his thoughts, Sheriff Sam didn't notice the figure coming towards him, equally lost in thought, until he had practically walked the man off his feet. He grabbed for the man's arm to prevent him from falling backwards as their bodies collided mid-stride, muttering an apology before he even fully looked up. The face staring back at him was none other than the good Doctor Linden.

"Doctor, should I worry that you're falling for me?" the sheriff teased, knowing that the jab would appeal to the doctor's dry, sarcastic, and often crass wit.

"Sheriff. I'm actually glad to see you," Doctor Linden responded, no sense of the man's usually jovial attitude present in his businesslike manner. "It seems we may have a problem with the Horne's."

As they sat in the hospital canteen drinking a cup of coffee, the Doctor explained his concerns. "I admitted Ken Horne yesterday for an overdose of sleeping tablets. The problem is, I don't prescribe sleeping tablets to him. I prescribe them to June. She told me that he had somehow gotten a hold of her tablets and had taken them, but I just don't believe her story. The tests we've run... Well, there are indications that he has been taking far too many sleeping tablets for a long time. I think she has been giving the tablets to Ken, and if it continues... She will kill him."

"This is definitely not what I was expecting to hear," the sheriff confided. "When I saw that bruise on Mrs. Horne's arm, I was certain that she was being abused, but if what you're telling me is true, perhaps Mr. Horne was defending himself. Perhaps he was trying to stop her from forcing the tablets on him. It would explain why he was sleeping when we interviewed her and why she got so defensive when we wanted to wake him."

"It's possible. But Ken may have inflicted the bruise as a result of parasomnia. He might not even be aware that he did it." Seeing the confused expressions on the faces of the detective and sheriff, he continued with an explanation. "Parasomnia is a side effect of the long-term use of sleeping tablets and basically puts the user in a mental fugue. They're awake, or appear awake and can function to some degree, walking, eating, even driving, but the brain is only partially awake. They're not always aware of their surroundings or what they're doing, and they have no memory of anything they did in this state when they do wake fully. In some cases, it can cause violent behavior that would not be present in a fully conscious state."

Sheriff Sam mused over the idea in his head. The Doctor's accusation was certainly a serious one. But much like the tenuous threads that tied Jeremiah Omondi to illegal weapons smuggling and the abduction and assault of Anya, it was little more than speculation. And none of it seemed to have any logical connection with the original twelve bodies, or the one of the young boy. Sheriff Sam felt like he was trying to piece together a puzzle with the random lost pieces of numerous puzzles, as if some puzzle piece stealing fairy had collected them all and dumped them at his door.

"West, let's see if Anya is out of theatre and awake. Hopefully she can at least shed some light on what happened to her. Maybe then we can clear up some of these accusations," Sheriff Sam stated, nodding for Det. West to follow him as he strode towards the elevator that would take them up to Anya's ward.