Ellie smiled, glad Dale came to her defense, happier that he seemed to be getting used to the idea of being a dad. “Well, it has a milk-like appearance, probably diluted. It’s not dripping off the wall which means it’s not fresh,” she swallowed hard, the image of the bloody bodies still in her mind, “And the writing is done in calligraphy, kind of old school.”
Picking up copies of the writing, “He used a feather pen?” Doran asked.
“Yes. And the guy must have mixed it with some powder for it to crack like that.”
“Wonderful.” Gwen coughed, tapping her foot impatiently. Ellie starred at her, her own impatience rising.