Russell returned to the bedroom, standing again before the massive oak wardrobe. This ti, instead of knocking on the wall, he carefully examined the wardrobe's structure.
"What exquisite craftsmanship, ma'am," he exclaid, gently tracing the intricate baroque carvings with his fingers. "Was this wardrobe your husband's?"
"No, it wasn't," she shook her head. "It was here when we moved in. Too heavy for us to move it, and it fit well."
"Truly remarkable in every way." Russell nodded, slowly tracing his finger along the lines until he "accidentally" touched the inconspicuous, slightly concave floral stan and pressed it.
No audible click like a spring—but just as Professor Fields had once remarked, the sound was as soft as a woman's sigh.
"What's the matter, young man?" Mrs. Joy asked, puzzled, seeing him staring blankly at the wardrobe.
"Oh, it's nothing, ma'am." Russell imdiately brightened up. "Everything's fine."
He didn't linger. After confirming all his conjectures, Russell politely bid Mrs. Joy goodbye, promised the problem would soon be resolved, and headed out. The old lady walked him to the door, repeatedly telling him to be careful and stuffing homade biscuits into his hands. Russell didn't refuse and—clutching the still-warm bag, feeling her gentle gaze—turned and went down the stairs.
Once he heard her door close, he turned, went upstairs, and reentered Holly David's apartnt.
He headed straight for the phone to call Charlotte with his findings. But after dialing the number, there was no sound—only a deathly silence.
While Russell puzzled over this, sothing black caught his eye. He stooped and picked up a strand of wire.
It was the phone line. To be precise, it had been cut.
Only ten minutes earlier, it had been just fine.
"Entering another's ho is already illegal, but now we're adding property damage to the list."
Russell tossed the cable aside and set the handset back in its place. "That's a much more serious cri, Mr. Ghost."
No one answered. He seed to be talking to himself.
Russell wasn't panicked. He strolled to the center of the living room, pulled up a chair, crossed his legs, and relaxed as if this were his own ho. He slowly opened the bag of biscuits Mrs. Joy gave him, took one, and put it in his mouth. The aroma of milk, butter, and sugar filled his palate.
"Truly, Mrs. Joy's cooking is delicious. No wonder you chose to live here." He took another bite.
"But if you volunteer at the welfare center, you wouldn't really be considered Ms. David's colleague, would you?"
The room was as silent as death.
"Actually, Charlotte and I first suspected you might be soone very close to Ms. David, but as it turns out, you're just a stranger. I admit—it's seriously disturbing."
[Malice from Lucas 5]
Lucas, huh?
A slight smirk curled Russell's lips. The intruder was obviously still hiding sowhere in the room. That knowledge made his job simple: let him co out on his own. If he went searching, he might be outplayed—better to play it safe. And, in the anti, perhaps raise the enemy's malice level.
"You probably think you really love her, right?" Russell went on. "You water her flowers, thinking it's an act of care. You keep her bed warm, thinking it's a sign of affection. You copy her handwriting, writing yourself letters, pretending it's a spiritual connection."
He couldn't help but laugh a little. "Don't make laugh, Lucas. Resonance? You might fool others, but don't fool yourself. Do you really think she likes you? Who wants a parasite hiding in their ho? I bet her face shows nothing but disgust, and she probably doesn't even want to know your na."
[Malice from Lucas 15]
Numbers fluctuated again. Lies don't hurt, but the truth is the sharpest blade.
Russell stood, paced the room, drank a sip of water, then sat again.
He could sense the "mouse" on the other side of the wall gasping for breath—but still holding out. As long as he didn't appear, Russell's taunts were just an intruder's impotent rage; as long as he didn't co out, he could keep dreaming that Miss Holly belonged to him.
Unfortunately, it was ti to shatter that illusion.
"By the way, there's sothing you may not know," Russell said, taking a sip of water. "When we were leaving yesterday, Ms. David told so things about herself. Turns out, she's interested in another man—a truly successful, handso gentleman, much better than you. Their relationship isn't clear yet, but...care to guess whose place she's staying at?"
[Malice from Lucas 20]
"But don't worry too much. Ms. David will be back in two or three days—and for safety's sake, she'll probably bring the gentleman with her. No more need for anyone to 'warm the bed' for her."
"But with your unwavering loyalty, who knows—maybe you'll still lurk in the shadows, listening in."
[Malice from Lucas 20]
This should do it, Russell thought. The ntal walls should have crumbled. One last blow.
"I heard from Mrs. Joy that you work at the nearby orphanage, but I really don't think that's the right environnt for you. Volunteering is such a waste of your talents. I know a place much better suited."
He paused, tone openly mocking.
"I have contacts at the Royal Circus. They're recruiting clowns. Interested? No resu necessary—just tell them your past job description, and you can skip the internship and get hired on the spot."
The words fell. For a mont, it was as if sothing broke—a thread, the last tie to reason.
Russell's sarcasm was like a knife probing and testing that string. Now, it snapped.
The room was deathly silent.
Russell didn't deliver any further blows. His words had already stripped away the illusion, revealing only festering rot within.
All that was left was to wait. Wait for the stench to spread.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds...
From the bedroom ca the sound of a panel being drawn back, followed by heavy, deliberate footsteps. Russell, still seated, fixed his gaze on the bedroom door as a tall, gaunt figure slowly appeared.
He was clenching his fists, his bloodshot eyes glaring at Russell as if he wanted to peel him alive.
Russell t his murderous gaze and smiled slowly.
"Hello, Mr. Clown."
As he spoke, he picked up a deck of cards he'd found in the room, took out a Joker, and flicked it at his opponent's feet. "You lost your ID card."
…
User Comments
0 comments from readers