Chapter 67: Night Run

Chapter 67: Night Run

The sky had cleared for a brief spell, only for the persistent rains to return with tedious, unwelcome familiarity.

A rainy day in the depths of winter was a form of penance; outside, the droplets would find every seam and opening in one's clothes, while indoors, the damp chill seeped into the marrow, offering a subtle, creeping illusion that one had prematurely taken up residence in a coffin.

Cullen sat near the threshold of the drawing room, idly turning the pages of a book Eunice had given him, a volume entitled The Rhapsody Diaries.

The author was named Robert, and the protagonist shared his name.

This literary Robert was a fellow plagued by exhibitionism, possessed of a grand fondness for stark-naked nocturnal runs; the author made frequent note of the protagonist feeling the heavy swing between his thighs lash against his legs like a rhythmic scourging.

The narrative unfolded in a series of journal entries, chronicling the grotesque and surreal encounters the protagonist endured during his midnight excursions.

On one occasion, sprinting past a night market stall, he beheld an elderly couple simmering their own severed heads in a boiling cauldron; as the broth bubbled, their voices drifted out, inviting him to sample their latest culinary creation.

On another evening, his route took him across a small bridge where molten magma surged violently to the west, while to the east, the river lay locked in silent, unyielding ice.

Yet another entry recalled a post office where a cadre of postmen, driven mad, stuffed mountains of correspondence into their own maws until their bellies swelled like hillocks; their colleagues then worked in concert to shove these engorged civil servants into the mailboxes.

...

The final entry in the volume was of a different temper.

During a night run, Robert encountered numerous pedestrians along the roadside; upon beholding his nakedness, they shrieked in sudden shame and frantically tore off their own garments, as though appearing clothed in public were the true immorality, a vulgar and clandestine sin to be hidden from the light.

Following this passage came the book’s epilogue:

After that day, the savor vanished. I cannot say whether the running itself grew tedious, or if the novelty of being naked under the open sky had simply run its course.

Upon his first reading, Cullen thought it bore a passing resemblance to Dante’s Divine Comedy.

Many of the tableaus felt far removed from the mortal realm.

Yet there were unmistakable allegories woven through the text, though whether they were deliberate machinations of the author or merely the desperate interpretations of a zealous reader remained a mystery.

A year after the book's publication, just as its notoriety blossomed, the author Robert chose to hang himself, shrouding the work in a deeper veil of mystique and spawning a cottage industry of analytical treatises.

At that moment, Mina, Lunt, and Chris returned, huddled beneath three separate umbrellas.

Their final examinations had concluded the previous day, and they had ventured to the school that morning to collect their report cards; the faculty, it must be said, possessed a remarkable speed for grading.

Judging by their countenances, Mina was a picture of placid unconcern; her marks were ever exemplary, the exams a mere formality.

Chris wore a pleasant smile, suggesting a successful term.

Lunt, however, appeared thoroughly dejected.

In this generation of the Immoress family, the girls consistently outshone the boys in academia; the original Cullen, too, had been a scholar of mediocre standing.

But now that Cullen was free from the burdens of schooling, Lunt had lost his comrade in the trenches, leaving him to face the family's concentrated scrutiny entirely alone.

"A poor showing?" Cullen inquired.

Lunt gave a miserable nod.

"Go along then, and present the news to your mother at once. Assure her of your renewed diligence for the coming term, and do it quickly, while her spirits remain high."

Hearing his brother’s counsel, Lunt’s eyes kindled with sudden hope, and he bolted toward the basement to seek out Aunt Mary.

Before long, Lunt returned with a broad grin; the crisis of the report card had passed. His mother had neither scolded nor thrashed him, nor had she confiscated his beloved trading cards. Instead, just as Cullen predicted, she had merely exhorted him to apply himself next semester.

"Heh, thanks, brother."

Having survived the tribulation, Lunt finally surrendered to the joyous ease of the winter holiday.

"Lunt! Come mop the floor!" Mina’s voice cascaded down from the first floor.

"Coming, sister!"

Lunt bounded up the stairs.

Cullen knew well the source of Aunt Mary’s current benevolence; two days prior had been her birthday, and he had prepared a sumptuous feast in her honor. Yet the culinary triumph was incidental.

The true catalyst had occurred at the dinner table, when Dis himself raised his glass directly to her.

"You have labored hard for this house—for the business, for Mason, and for the children."

Receiving such validation from the patriarch, Aunt Mary had drained her vintage in a single draught, lowered her head, and wept bitterly for a long while.

It was a release of pure joy, though sometimes the human heart expresses supreme happiness through tears.

Dis occupied a singular, sacred orbit in the minds of the family; his explicit commendation carried immense weight for her.

In the two days following the dinner, Aunt Mary seemed to glide through the house on a brisk wind, humming cheerful melodies. Even when Mrs. Mark arrived this morning with her customary complaints about the mourning guests plucking her blossoms, Aunt Mary had offered a sincere apology and volunteered financial restitution.

This sudden transformation left Mrs. Mark utterly bewildered; she refused the compensation and, in a fit of thwarted irritation, tore up several of her own plants on the walk back. Perhaps she had merely been seeking a good quarrel to pass the time.

Cullen closed the book. The cover bore an inscription:

"You run in the conviction of your own transparency, yet it yields no true revelation."

Cullen silently calculated the days on his fingers; excluding today, only two remained of the seven-day span Dis had foretold.

Eunice had attended the birthday dinner, and yesterday, Cullen had joined her family for afternoon tea.

He had observed that Madam Jenny was quietly arranging an impending relocation; she had even pointedly inquired whether he was susceptible to seasickness.

The hour was drawing near.

The telephone jangled sharply.

Cullen walked over and lifted the receiver.

"Good day, Immoress Funeral Parlor."

"Good day. I am seeking Cullen Immoress."

The voice on the wire belonged to a mild, cultured gentleman.

"May I ask the nature of your business with him?" Cullen replied.

"Could you put him on the line, please? I have a gift of life I wish to bestow upon him."

"I am afraid Cullen is not at home just now."

Cullen replaced the receiver.

Had telephonic fraud already manifested in this era?

Mina approached just then, drawing a letter from her pocket and offering it to him.

"Brother, I quite forgot in the bustle of coming home. This is for you."

"From whom?" Cullen accepted the envelope, noting the absence of any addressee.

"A cleric named Simon. He approached us on the tram, claiming to be an old acquaintance of Grandfather’s. He asked which of us was the cleverest, promising a token for the brightest mind.

I intended to ignore him, for he seemed exceedingly eccentric.

But Lunt blurted out that Brother Cullen was the wisest of us all, and Chris immediately agreed.

The cleric then entrusted us with this letter to deliver to you.

Brother, do you suppose he might be a charlatan?"

"It is entirely possible," Cullen murmured, offering a quiet warning. "You must exercise greater caution in the future."

"Yes, but he got off the bus right after handing over the letter."

"Alright, I have received the letter. Oh, by the way, there is some yogurt I made in the refrigerator. Go and share it with Chrislent and the others."

"Okay, brother."

Mina hugged Karen, planted a kiss on his cheek, and then ran away with a smile.

The usually quiet and sensible Mina had suddenly become more willing to express her feelings. This was not because Mina had changed, but because, with her delicate mind, she might have already perceived something.

Karen sat down again and opened the envelope:

"Hello. When you see this letter, congratulations, you are the lucky one chosen by fate.

I will lead you up the true steps of this world, to behold the true scenery of this world.

If you are willing,

At eight o'clock tonight,

You can come to the entrance of the Mink Street Church, where I shall be waiting for you.

Your guide—Simon."

"Heh."

After reading the letter, Karen smiled.

The format of this letter naturally reminded him of the various lottery scam emails that used to flood his inbox in his past life.

However,

After the smile,

Karen's expression grew serious.

First a phone call, and now a letter, and the location happened to be the very church where his grandfather had taken up office. It was fine to make fun of it, but treating it entirely as a scam would be somewhat self-deceiving.

Nevertheless,

"Rip..."

Karen tore the letter apart.

"Heh, only a fool would go."

Karen walked up to the second floor, and just at that moment, he saw Dis walking down.

The moment the eyes of the grandfather and grandson met,

Karen immediately spoke up:

"Grandfather, a priest passed a letter to me through Mina and the others. Before that, there was also a phone call looking for me, saying that I was the lucky one chosen by fate, and inviting me in the letter to meet him at the entrance of the Mink Street Church at eight o'clock tonight. It was signed by Simon."

Report complete.

Dis nodded, signaling that he understood.

Karen stretched lightly; the time had come, and he should prepare dinner.

"You do not need to prepare dinner."

"Hmm?"

"Accompany me out for a trip."

"Alright, grandfather, I will go get the car keys... Oh no, grandfather, Uncle Mason has already driven the hearse out, there is business today."

"Walking will do."

"Alright, grandfather."

Karen followed Dis to the first floor. Inside the living room door stood several umbrellas, all of which were black.

After all, umbrellas in a funeral parlor were not suited for too many vibrant colors.

Dis walked ahead holding an umbrella, and Karen followed behind holding his, as the grandfather and grandson stepped into the curtain of rain.

Karen did not ask Dis where they were going; he just followed along anyway. However, the direction they were taking was not toward the church.

Arriving at the crossroads, Dis stopped, and Karen stopped as well.

A taxi drove past. Dis waved his hand, and the car stopped in front of the pair.

Karen stepped forward to open the rear door for his grandfather first, letting him get in, and then sat in the front passenger seat himself.

So, when grandfather said walking, he meant walking out to catch a cab.

Grandfather stated the location: the West Street Cemetery.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi stopped at the entrance of the cemetery. It was a small cemetery that had long been "fully occupied," and its location was neither in the city center nor in the suburbs.

Unlike the taboo surrounding cemeteries next to residences that people were familiar with in his past life, the citizens of Luoja City did not have much resistance to having a cemetery near their dwellings. To some extent, houses closer to a cemetery were actually more popular, provided, of course, that the cemetery was well-maintained and not in the style of a chaotic mass grave.

Standing at the entrance of the cemetery, one could see a wooden cabin inside, which should be the keeper's lodge, but the door was closed now, and the keeper was likely not home.

Dis walked in along the gravel path, and then led Karen to a joint tombstone.

This should be the joint burial of a married couple, with the surname Smith.

"Today is the anniversary of the death of your father and mother."

Karen remained silent.

Reasonably speaking, he should kneel down at this moment, calling out with deep emotion, "Father, mother, your child has come to see you."

But Karen could not bring himself to display such an overly artificial expression of emotion, especially in front of Dis; first of all, the atmosphere simply did not allow for it.

However,

Karen still held his umbrella, took a step back, faced the tombstone, and bowed.

After bowing, Karen asked, "Are their remains buried here?"

Dis shook his head.

Oh, so it was a cenotaph.

Karen remembered Purr saying that the remains of the clergy would be reclaimed by the major churches because they were an important material; what Lady Molly had requested from him earlier was precisely a purified physical body.

Was the surname on the tombstone Smith instead of Inmerles to deceive people and avoid being disturbed?

From the corner of his eye, Karen glanced at Dis. "Karen's" parents had been killed by Dis's own hands, because at that time they were severely polluted, no longer human, and not even conscious beings anymore;

Therefore, the anniversary of their death was also a day of grief for Dis, a man who placed such emphasis on family, yet had personally killed two of his own family members.

Dis stood there without uttering a word, standing for a long time.

Karen accompanied him by his side, lowering his head, watching the puddles in front of him being struck drop by drop by the rain.

Finally,

Dis turned around, looking as though he intended to leave, and Karen quickly followed.

"Grandfather, do you come here every year on this day?" Karen asked.

In the memory of the previous "Karen," there was no recollection of accompanying his grandfather to pay respects to his parents.

"Mm," Dis responded. "Every year I choose a tombstone, stop, and stand for a while."

"Um, huh?" Cullen's eyes widened. "So, Grandfather, the owner of that tombstone just now was...?"

"The Smiths. Wasn't it written on the headstone?" Dis countered.

So, it wasn't even a cenotaph. Any notion of a deceptive pseudonym was merely his own vivid imagination. Buried beneath that grave was truly a pair of strangers named Smith!

"Are you surprised?" Dis asked.

Cullen pursed his lips and said, "A little, but it is understandable. If grief resides in one's heart, even a photograph, a flower, or a shaft of sunlight can serve as a vessel for remembrance.

Grandfather went to the trouble of finding a cemetery and selecting a headstone; the sense of form is already quite complete."

"A sense of form, a sense of ritual," Dis murmured, chewing on the words. "Yes, quite right."

"Then next..." Cullen asked, "shall we choose another headstone?"

Dis shook his head and said:

"The rain is picking up. Let us go home. Too much form is not good either."

Cullen and Dis walked out of the cemetery. Fortunately, the driver who had brought them earlier seemed to be suffering from a bout of athlete's foot and was idling there... scratching his toes.

But hailing a cab on a rainy day was inconvenient anyway, so Cullen opened the rear door for Dis. Once Dis climbed in, Cullen ran to the other side, opened the door, and sat down beside him.

"13 Mink Street."

"Right away, gentlemen."

...

Back home, they stood at the front door.

Dis reached out, placed his hand on Cullen's shoulder, patted it, and said:

"Go on inside."

This scene had occurred once before, only then, Dis had been fraught with murderous intent; now, he was entirely filled with benevolence.

However, the very moment Dis pushed the door open...

Cullen suddenly froze in his tracks.

Something struck him. No, that wasn't right!

The images of that day resurfaced in Cullen's mind. He was holding the golden retriever, and Dis was standing beside him;

Then, Dis had reached out, rested a hand on his shoulder, and asked him a question: What lies ahead?

At the time, he had taken it for granted that it was a test from Dis, believing that only by giving the answer "home" could he touch the tender spot in Dis's heart and preserve his own life;

But that was because the matter of Mr. Hoffs had occurred first, creating a preconceived notion in his mind.

In truth, Dis had never intended to kill him from the very beginning.

Therefore...

The scene in Cullen's mind began to shift, the perspective stretching and pulling backward.

Ahead,

From left to right, and likewise from front to back,

There was the golden retriever, leashed and crouching at the far left and foremost position,

Himself, standing behind the golden retriever, gripping the leash,

And Dis, standing diagonally behind him, hand resting upon his shoulder;

...

"Cullen."

"Grand... father..."

"Cullen, where is this place?"

"Home!!!"

When he had cried out that answer in a raspy voice,

Within the memory,

Dis, whose hand rested on his shoulder, was actually making a protective gesture, shielding him beneath his own frame. At the same time, Dis had turned his head to look behind them, his gaze sharp with murderous intent.

That killing intent had not been directed at him,

But rather at the blurry dark shadow that had been standing behind them at that moment, perhaps even across the street!