Chapter 14: Black Mist

Chapter 14: Black Mist

"Here we are, sir. That will be forty-five silver coins."

"Mm... wait, what?"

"Forty-five silver coins."

"Very well."

Karen could not possibly carry his secret savings around with him, but he usually kept a few hundred silver coins tucked away in his coat pockets.

He handed over a fifty-denomination note.

The driver accepted it, offering a polite smile:

"Thank you for your generosity."

"Excuse me?"

Karen could only nod, resigning himself to the fact that the five silver coins had transformed into a tip he would never see again.

Stepping out of the vehicle,

the taxi drove off into the distance.

That fare was truly exorbitant.

Fifty silver coins was enough to cover a full day's living expenses for a family of four, and that meant three solid, staple meals from morning to night.

The distance from the Crown Ballroom to Mink Street was not even that great.

In that instant, Karen was vividly reminded of his university days, staring at the glowing red digits of a taxi meter as they relentlessly ticked upward from the base fare.

The Inmeles family hearse was nowhere to be seen by the curb, proof that his uncle and the others had not yet returned.

"Sigh..."

Gazing at the structure before him, a place he was meant to call home, Karen felt his emotions grow increasingly tangled.

"Police station... report... accident... not a deviant..."

The keywords uttered by the woman in the grey dress echoed unceasingly within his mind.

Two individuals had arrived at the ballroom immediately following the incident, privy to police notifications. This implied they possessed some manner of official status, and ultimately, the matter had crossed into the realm of "deviants."

On the surface, this world appeared thoroughly normal;

at the very least, one could draw such a conventional conclusion from newspapers and books.

Yet the reality was far from it.

Human instinct always drives one to seek safety and avoid peril. Before the taxi had come to a halt, Karen's entire mind had been consumed by the desire to flee this house and pursue the life of an ordinary man. Naturally, he intended to rely on his own diligence to gradually render that life affluent and at ease.

But now, he suddenly realized that beneath the seemingly normal veneer of this world, a dark undercurrent indeed surged.

His grandfather had been constantly weighing whether or not to end his life, yet thus far, the old man's tangible actions amounted to nothing more than a soft confinement. So long as Karen did not take the initiative to flee Logia City, he would not cross that forbidden line.

Meanwhile, the world outside resembled nothing less than a witch hunt.

"How could you not be a deviant! How could you possibly not be a deviant!"

Mr. Hoffen's frantic roaring from his hospital bed still resonated freshly in his ears.

His left hand tightened into a fist once more.

Though Karen did not grasp the precise concept of a deviant, his identity as a soul borrowed from the dead had stripped away his inherent confidence from the very beginning.

For he knew with absolute certainty that he was not the original vessel.

Therefore,

was it truly worth venturing out into that world?

Contrasted against the perilous unknowns of the outside,

his grandfather’s image suddenly seemed... considerably more benevolent.

The most opportune moment to kill him had been during those first few days when he had just awakened.

Since his grandfather had stayed his hand then, seemingly caught in hesitation and calculation, the passage of time would naturally breed reconciliation. People inevitably grew accustomed and adapted to their circumstances.

After all, Karen had not behaved like a petulant child, throwing tantrums about the house or wearing a sullen expression as if everyone owed him ten thousand silver coins. Instead, he was sensible, compliant, and well-behaved.

His grandfather's anger and murderous intent would inevitably dissipate as time bled away, making his continued residence in this house safer with each passing day.

Just then,

Karen spotted Dis approaching from the west, garbed in his priestly vestments.

Karen simply watched him, his gaze fixed and unblinking.

He stared until a flicker of confusion crossed Dis’s face, and the old man finally halted his steps before him.

"Grandfather, you are back."

"Mm."

Karen pushed open the door and entered the house alongside his grandfather.

"Father, you have returned."

"Mm."

Aunt Mary immediately turned her gaze toward Karen, saying, "Your uncle called from the hospital. He told me to keep an eye out for your return. He said another funeral parlor's hearse had arrived at the scene, and to prevent them from stealing the contract, he couldn't wait for you and drove ahead to the hospital.

I shall give him a proper scolding when he gets back. An accident just occurred on that street, and someone even died. It must be in utter chaos. How could he possibly leave you there all by yourself?"

In everyday life, Aunt Mary possessed a sharp tongue but a tender heart;

yet in the presence of his grandfather, even her tongue softened completely.

"Aunt Mary, I am an adult now. How could a grown man not know his way back home? No matter where I am, I can always find my way back by following the scent of home."

Dis walked over to the sofa, seated himself, and inquired, "What happened?"

Aunt Mary gently patted Karen on the shoulder before heading up to the second-floor kitchen to prepare tea and pastries.

Karen took a seat on the sofa opposite Dis and recounted the events of the Crown Ballroom to his grandfather.

When he reached the part about discovering the corpse concealed beneath the stage,

Aunt Mary, who had just returned to arrange the refreshments, could not help but clasp a hand over her mouth to stifle a sudden gasp.

This was not an intentional display of delicate vulnerability before her father-in-law.

It was true that she had developed into an excellent mortician, but that did not mean her courage had suddenly become boundless.

She did not fear corpses because she viewed them merely as a different kind of client; once familiarity set in, the dread naturally vanished, much like how a snake charmer does not fear serpents.

Yet with a perverted serial killer on the loose, who could guarantee that the monster would not target them? There was no telling if she might one day become a guest in her own home.

After finishing his description of the corpse's condition, Karen laid bare the entirety of his analytical exchange with Inspector Duke.

Originally, he would have withheld this information. After all, he had intended to quietly cultivate his own connections and network. However, after encountering that man and woman stepping out of the taxi, Karen had altered his path.

Grandfather,

You see,

Your grandson can not only cook and provide psychological counseling, but can even help the police solve crimes.

"Good heavens, Garen, did you come up with all of this yourself?" Aunt Mary exclaimed from the side, her face filled with an expression of profound, uncomprehending awe. "How on earth did you manage it?"

"To put it simply, it is just a matter of projection," Garen said, striving to reduce the complex to the mundane, explaining not just to his aunt, but to his grandfather as well.

After all,

It was impossible for Diss to ever ask as his aunt did: Good heavens, my grandson, how did you manage that?

"By projecting oneself into the mind of the murderer, using the clues and details they leave behind to reverse-engineer the... psychological reasons for why they did it."

Diss took a sip of black tea,

And murmured coolly:

"So you find it quite easy to project yourself into the role of a killer?"

"..." Garen was speechless.

Those words felt uncomfortably close to suggesting that birds of a feather flock together.

Garen immediately explained:

"Grandfather, Aunt Mary, it is actually like this. Generally speaking, the more a murderer perceives themselves as an artist, the easier their mind is to read, and consequently, the easier it is to project oneself into.

Some people believe they are truly extraordinary:

For instance, they claim to love solitude and disdain socializing.

Yet over ninety percent of people dislike socializing, and of the remaining ten percent who excel at it, most would still prefer to be left alone in quiet contemplation if given the choice.

Or perhaps they consider themselves melancholic, their hearts brimming with sorrow, easily moved to empathy by people and things, possessing an eternal urge to express themselves, to record and leave something behind.

Yet the vast majority of people around the age of thirty who have achieved nothing, regardless of gender, mistakenly believe they are natural-born writers.

The more they crave the spotlight, the more they chase eccentricity, the more they believe they deserve to be grand and unique, the more utterly ordinary they actually are.

Therefore, their thought patterns are surprisingly easy to inhabit.

The moment they break through the cage of human nature and begin to slaughter for pleasure, they cease to be human and become beasts, and how many beasts are truly intelligent?"

Garen explained a great deal in a single breath, and having finished, took a long draught of tea.

Hearing this, Diss looked thoughtful and remarked, "A very novel theory."

"So, the formidable villains in the movies and novels I used to watch and read were all just lying to me?" Aunt Mary inquired.

"There are exceptions to everything, Aunt Mary, but literary works generally depict villains that way simply to heighten the drama and conflict." Garen picked up the teapot, rising halfway to refresh his grandfather's cup first, before continuing:

"A truly wise person knows how to restrain the urge to kill."

Aunt Mary patted her chest and said, "Yes, yes, surely the cleverest people must be among the good."

The household telephone rang, and Aunt Mary walked over to answer it:

"Yes, yes, I see, I understand, mhm."

Hanging up the receiver,

Aunt Mary's face beamed with a smile,

But catching sight of her father-in-law still seated there, she tried her utmost to suppress her mirth, yet this genuine joy was difficult to conceal entirely, leaving her expression somewhat stiff.

"Father, Mason just called from the hospital again. The injured man who was sent for emergency treatment has passed away despite their efforts, and his family has already agreed to let us handle the funeral arrangements.

Mason and the others will bring the body back around dusk."

"So late?" Diss inquired.

"Because they are still waiting for the family of the other deceased to arrive—the one with half his head severed. When the hospital contacted his wife, she still firmly believed her husband was away on official business in Wien.

Mason wants to wait for her at the hospital a bit longer, to secure that contract as well while he is at it."

When a person has just departed this world, the minds of their close relatives are usually somewhat numbed, as if they have suddenly become marionettes, robbed of the capacity to think.

Furthermore, there exists a natural momentum of thought to ensure the deceased receives a decent and prompt funeral to rest in peace, so whichever funeral parlor manages to make first contact at this critical juncture stands a very high chance of securing the business.

Diss nodded and said, "Very well, go make the preparations."

"Yes, Father."

Aunt Mary headed to the basement to begin preparing for the arrival of their guest.

Seeing Diss still seated on the sofa, Garen hesitated, not daring to leave.

"Are you not afraid?" Diss spoke, breaking the silence. "Witnessing such a scene."

"Not particularly afraid," Garen replied. "Lately, I have grown somewhat accustomed to it."

"It seems you still have something to say?"

"No, Grandfather. What could there possibly be that I cannot say to you?"

"Oh."

Diss stood up,

"I am returning to the study."

"Very well, Grandfather."

Garen stood up, watching Diss's silhouette vanish up the stairs before he sank back onto the sofa.

In truth, he had desperately wanted to ask Diss about the aberrant demons just now, and to ask about that man and woman in the taxi as well.

But upon second thought, he felt the timing was not right.

Some window papers, even if worn so thin they are nearly transparent, still serve a vitally important purpose.

Garen was deeply concerned that if he were to ask point-blank,

His grandfather might patiently explain the concept of "aberrant demons" to him,

Meticulously introduce him to the other side of this world hidden from ordinary folk,

And even help him analyze which organization that man and woman belonged to, what responsibilities they bore, and what rights they possessed.

And once the explanation drew to a close,

His grandfather would sigh, stand up, and say:

"Now that the cards are on the table, I shall no longer deceive myself. Aberrant demon, prepare to die."

When it came to manipulating human hearts, Garen was a professional. He had no desire to personally dismantle the barrier holding back Diss's intent to kill him just to satisfy his own curiosity. This was far, far more perilous than his previous venture to the basement for a "heart-to-heart" with Mr. Morsan.

Garen could still tell the difference between courting danger and seeking death.

"Meow..."

Garen looked down and discovered Purr crawling by the side of the sofa, though he had no idea when the cat had arrived.

Over the past few days, Purr had seemed entirely devoid of energy, as though stricken by illness.

Garen reached out and gathered Purr into his arms.

Purr did not resist, nor did she display her usual haughty demeanor, but rather exhibited a decadent air of quiet resignation.

In Karen’s memory, this cat's expressions had always been remarkably rich.

"Whimper..."

In the corner by the living room entrance, the large Golden Retriever pressed its chin against the floor tiles, casting an envious glance.

Mr. Hoffen had not yet been discharged from the hospital, so it still resided at the Immerse home, but the adults and children of the house seemed to lack much enthusiasm for pets; they didn't dislike it, but they were too lazy to stroke it.

Only Karen would spare some time each day to take it for a stroll around the neighborhood.

Karen waved at the Golden Retriever, and it immediately stood up, happily approaching with its tongue out, proactively placing its head beneath Karen’s palm.

With a cat resting on his lap and a dog leaning beside him, while the lingering aroma of black tea curled gently from the coffee table, all within his family’s spacious, detached villa.

Karen suddenly felt that such days were not bad at all.

Though he lacked the power to change the objective realities of existence, reality was merciful, at least permitting him to choose a comfortable sleeping posture.

Power...

Karen suddenly sat upright,

Purr, who had been lying on Karen’s lap, lifted her head in slight confusion,

The Golden Retriever, stripped of its head-patting privileges, also nudged its way forward, once again thrusting its head beneath his palm and giving a little push.

Jeff's dream,

Mr. Mosang's weeping,

Did he also possess the power to make that victim beneath the stage produce some reaction?

If he could say something, then would the murderer be directly identified?

Society had always circulated a comment regarding the forensic profession, which was that they could make the deceased "speak."

And if a victim could actually speak in a literal sense,

That would absolute be the nightmare of every murderer in this world!

But...

Karen looked at his left palm once again, forgetting how many times he had intentionally glanced at this scar today.

Setting aside the fact that he had not yet figured out this "power," even if he truly possessed and mastered it, would he use it to help the police crack cases and catch killers?

"Police station, reports, accidents, not an abnormal demon..."

Crazy, utterly ridiculous.

"Karen."

"Auntie?"

Aunt Mary emerged from the basement again, holding a box in her hand, which she handed to Karen while keeping her eyes fixed on the stairwell.

"What is this?"

Karen took the box, opened it, and found a wristwatch of the brand "Monroe." It was not a luxury item, but the price was not low either, costing around two thousand rupees.

White-collar workers employed in office buildings favored this brand of watch.

"Thank you, Auntie."

Karen assumed his aunt had bought the watch as a gift for him, but to his surprise, she shook her head directly and said, "It's not from me; Mrs. Hughes asked someone to bring it over, specifically naming you as the recipient."

Mrs. Hughes?

The proprietary lady of the crematorium.

Aunt Mary lowered her voice once more, saying, "Although Mrs. Hughes and I are on very good terms..."

Karen had noticed this the other day; Mrs. Hughes had openly teased Uncle Mason about falling while climbing through another woman's window, which was actually her way of helping her close friend warn her husband.

"But I still must remind you, Mrs. Hughes, she is a bit... a bit too charitable with her affection, so you best not associate with her too much, understand?"

Aunt Mary, just like Uncle Mason, was deeply worried that a hot-blooded young man like Karen would be reeled in the moment Mrs. Hughes beckoned with her finger.

Perhaps to Mrs. Hughes, this was merely a pastime to relieve boredom and dispel loneliness, but for a young boy, it meant the price of having his pure feelings toyed with.

After all, Karen was fifteen, an age when a boy could pierce through iron plating;

How many boys at this age could resist the temptation of a young matron?

Aunt Mary was speaking ill of her own close friend, all for the sake of her nephew.

Previously, because Karen had returned alongside Dis, Aunt Mary had not dared to bring out the watch in front of Dis.

"I know, Auntie."

That Mrs. Hughes was treating him like a sucker to fish for.

"Then would you please have someone return this watch for me, Auntie?"

"There is no need to return it, just keep it, as long as you understand the situation in your heart. I will handle the return gift, treating it as an exchange between us sisters; however, you should still place a phone call now to say thank you, just to be polite."

"Alright, Auntie."

"The number is in the directory."

"Understood."

Karen picked up the telephone, simultaneously flipping open the directory beside the machine;

Due to their business interactions, the number for the Hughes Crematorium was listed near the front, making it very easy to find.

The call connected,

After waiting a good while, no one answered on the other end.

Perhaps she was busy?

Karen hung up the phone and dialed the number once more;

"Click..."

This time, it was answered very quickly.

Karen inquired, "Hello, is this the Hughes Crematorium?"

There was a sound on the other end of the line, yet no one spoke.

Karen asked once more, "Hello?"

"You have disturbed my artistic creation..."