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Bailonz Street 13-Chapter 87: Eulogy (1)
I am unable to think.
In the mirror, Jane Osmond is staring back at me. She is a stranger. Suddenly, I want to ask her:
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ââŠwhy did youâŠâ
Why did you make me think of Jonathan as my real brother?
My parents were incredibly kind. Even if your father was a terrible man, pushing you to earn money, trying to marry off his daughter like a piece of property, my parents werenât like that.
Why am I mimicking your every move? Why are even my smallest habits not my own, but yours? Why does no one, not a single person around me, find anything odd about me?
Should I shout that this is just a game?
I heard laughter. A dark shadow appeared behind me in the mirror. A king with horns, the eyes of a goat, and a black tongue. I felt fingers silently wrap around my neck.
The dark shadow whispered to me.
[Struggle. From now on, continue to amuse me. If you let go of your mind here, wouldnât it be such a pity for me?]
My clearing mind was probably due to it forcibly waking me up. Yet at the same time, my body grew incredibly heavy. I sank down, further and further into an abyss.
ïŒ ïŒ ïŒ
âGasp!â
I barely caught my breath and managed to sit up. Itâs warm. The liquid wetting my hands rippled with my movement. A hazy light, and faint whispers.
ăJane.ă
âHow⊠how did IâŠâ
This place is strange. It drives away madness. My temporary fits vanished as soon as I came here, leaving only my clear consciousness behind. Here, I could wholly be myself.
âHow is this possible?â
I asked.
ăI pulled you out of its grip.ă
A voice replied, explaining that it had to sever my consciousness forcefully to get me out of its control.
ăHuman reason has its limits.ă
I was just sitting there, staring blankly at the floor. Elâs voice continued to speak to me.
El. What does El stand for?
ăKnowing more would be dangerous.ă
El warned. He still believed I didnât know much. I agreed. However,
âAre you worried I might go mad and shoot myself in the head?â
ăYou actually did, didnât you?ă
Yes, I did. But that was to save Liam Moore.
ăAs you said, itâs a game. Why did you try to save Liam Moore?ă
ââŠIndeed.â
I murmured. Why did I go so far to save him?
But, thinking about it, Liam was the strangest. Why is he so blindly devoted to me?
âI donât know. Let me go. Send me back.â
ăIt will be difficult. Itâs better to endure here.ă
What was that supposed to mean? I heard footsteps approaching as El stood nearby. With a wave of his hand, a landscape appeared on the black surface.
âWhat happened while I was unconscious?â
Tap, tap. His white fingers tapped the black water, and a scene began to form on its surface.
I fainted at the appearance of the Black King. In the place where the Black King vanished, a man appeared with a hat pulled low and a scarf covering his neck and face. To make sure my consciousness was thoroughly severed, a handkerchief soaked in anesthetic was pressed against my nose and mouth. The scene changed. The man who took me left Bailonz Street.
Honestly, I had seen photos of all the key figures in this case, so I wasnât confident I could recognize Philip Peterson. But I knew for sure. It was Philip Peterson taking me away.
With decaying hands, skin like rubber or orange peel, a moldy smell, and a bubbling breath. Is that what a âghoulâ looks like?
ăSome look more beastly. This one seems to have a stronger human identity.ă
He took me through various tunnels. Emerging somewhere, the destination was shocking.
A cemetery.
Philip Peterson laid me down. A rectangular, wait,
ââŠIs that bastard putting me in a coffin?â
He placed me in a coffin and closed the lid gently. He pumped air a few times and provided a tube leading above ground to prevent suffocation. However,
âBuried alive!â
Buried aliveâŠ.
Philip Peterson laughed with a bubbling sound as he covered the coffin with soil, creating a new grave.
âNo personal grudges. I just thought that detective would definitely come to rescue you.â
Of course. Heâll come running with his eyes turned upside down. Owen Cassfire might help, and the moment I think of him, heâll find my location. Either way, thereâs no retreat. With all choices blocked, I swallowed hard.
The scene blurred once, then showed me inside the coffin. Eyes closed as if dead, breathing faintly.
ăDo you have claustrophobia?ă
El asked.
âEven if I didnât, Iâd get it now.â
I replied curtly, and he laughed for a while. The water rippled gently.
ăYou need to inform your detective of your location. He canât find you, but he can come running to where you are.ă
âYeah. He did it once before. He took me somewhere instantly.â
ăYou called him âGlassâ.ă
I laughed.
âHow long will it take for Liam to come?â
ăAt least an hour. He just realized youâre missing.ă
ïŒ ïŒ ïŒ
Liam Moore woke up to piercing sunlight.
His body moved sluggishly. His head was still clouded by the effects of alcohol. His body felt heavy. What time is it? He dug through his folded clothes to find his pocket watch, squinting to see clearly. His blurred vision finally focused to show the time.
â11 oâclockâŠâ
He remembered everything from yesterday. Recalling himself acting coy made him punch his pillow repeatedly.
Has Jane woken up? But how could he face her?
He rolled out of bed. His head still spun. After drinking a glass of water that had cooled overnight, he walked out of the room.
âJane?â
Clearing his hoarse voice, he called out again.
âJane?â
Jane Osmond should have been there, reading the newspaper. It wasnât the usual Monday morning scene.
Often, while he slept late, Jane Osmond would eat breakfast and leisurely read the paper. That was their normal routine. When Liam Moore emerged in his disheveled state, Jane Osmond would shriek and hide her face behind the paper. It was almost like a promise.
Just then, Jefferson opened the flat door and exclaimed, âOh my.â
âLooks like you spent Christmas drinking. Just woke up? Whereâs Miss Jane?â
âShe must still be sleepingâŠâ
Liam Moore stopped a few steps from the sofa. Jefferson caught him.
âDid you overdrink? You didnât cause trouble, did you?â
Liam Moore snapped.
âI didnât. Who do you take me for?â
After catching his breath, he put on his dressing gown. Still, there was no response from Janeâs room.
Thatâs when he sensed something was wrong. His eyes started scanning the surroundings.
Sometimes, you see what shouldnât be seen. It had been nearly 20 years since he started reading traces in the air. Herschel, who also noticed âwhat others couldnât see,â understood the trouble Liam Mooreâs eyes brought.
Why from Janeâs roomâŠ
He moved without hesitation. Maybe he ran madly. Jefferson was astonished.
âAre you crazy? You canât just barge into a ladyâs room like thatâŠ,â
âShut up, Jefferson!â
And he saw the scene he least wanted to see.
An empty room. An open window. Muddy footprints, a trampled hat.
Jane Osmond was gone.
Though his mind registered it, his body didnât comply. He couldnât breathe. It felt like a sharp awl was piercing his heart. Liam Moore clung to the doorknob, collapsing. He realized he couldnât speak.
Did you feel like this too? Before, when I disappeared, did youâŠ
âWilliam!â
William. Hearing the name, Liam Mooreâs eyes barely moved to Jefferson. His eyes were empty, as if they had lost their light. Tobias Jefferson urgently shook his shoulders.
âYou need to pull yourself together!â
I must pull myself together. That phrase cleared his mind. Itâs just that she disappeared, I can find her, he repeated to himself while slapping his cheeks.
He couldnât tell Mary about Janeâs disappearance. He couldnât let that poor, kind girl know that Jane was missing after him.
He spoke slowly.
ââŠItâs Philip Peterson. He did this.â
Of course. Itâs harder to target me, so he targeted Jane. I suspected it.
âHe probably took her through the tunnels. Shard Thamesâ warehouse andâŠâ
âYes, weâll do that. Iâll only bring trusted police officers. If anything happens, send a telegram immediately.â
Liam Moore muttered with a weary smile. Anything that happens will be to Jane. Jefferson looked at him sympathetically before stepping away.