It was a bitterly cold November morning in the small town of Astoria. while detective Richard Ness crouched down near the deceased body of an unknown young girl. There were ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. A bullet hole from a browning 9mm pistol in her head, A roll of parchment paper of intricate designs clenched in a death grip in her left hand. written on it was a short series of numbers and symbols that looked like something from Egyptian times. Blood etched across her once beautiful face in haunting symmetry, as if crafted by a skillful artisan that made her look hauntingly beautiful. Who was this girl? Why was she here on the porch of a run down house that no one had lived in for years?  Richard had a lot of questions but was short on answers. He pulled out his journal pad and started getting to work.