Bailonz Street 13

I think Jefferson understood why I threatened the officer, but the rest was problematic. What should I say next?

Liam Moore is missing? He disappeared, leaving only a pool of blood, and we have no idea where he is or why his life was threatened?

These words lingered on my tongue, unspoken. If I said them, there would be no turning back.

“Inspector.”

I forced a smile. Actually, I wasn’t sure what expression I had. Jefferson looked worried, as if he saw something unsettling on my face.

“Shall I make you some tea upstairs?”

“No.”

I cut him off instantly.

“There’s no time. We can’t risk contaminating the crime scene.”

The mention of the crime scene made Jefferson lower his voice, his instincts as an experienced officer kicking in.

“Do you need assistance?”

“Discreet and cautious people.”

I had to do it. Jane, you have to say it.

“Liam… there’s only blood. At 13 Bailonz Street….”

I explained, breathless and fragmented.

“… My God.”

Inspector Jefferson groaned, rubbing his forehead repeatedly. He must have recalled a similar case.

“It’s the same perpetrator as the previous cases. The methods are nearly identical. Even homes aren’t safe…”

“I understand. Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon. Clarke!”

Even before I finished speaking, Jefferson was already summoning his team.

He gently patted my shoulder. His fatherly concern almost made me relax the tension I’d been holding. Jefferson spoke softly.

“It’ll be okay. Liam is a strong young man. He won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I hope so….”

A weak voice slipped out.

Inspector Brixon, noticing the urgency in Jefferson’s and my expressions, approached without asking questions. Instead, he cautiously asked,

“If it’s alright… may I accompany you?”

“Please do, Inspector.”

“Thank you.”

Several carriages pulled up in front of Scotland Yard just then. We boarded one, and Jefferson gave the destination to the driver before we set off.

I think I was anxious the whole ride. The gray London sky felt ominous, as if mocking me. It made me angry, seeing it loom above as if it were sneering at our plight.

Tap tap tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I suddenly realized I was tapping the armrest with my fingers and clenched them quietly. Jefferson and Brixon exchanged uneasy glances. Brixon, fidgeting, watched my reactions, but I didn’t know what expression to put on.

We had vaguely suspected that Liam’s club might be targeted, but we never imagined he would be in real danger. Liam, who had captured monsters, how could a human harm him? We believed he would be fine. In hindsight, it was a naïve judgment.

A pool of blood at 13 Bailonz Street greeted us, and I wanted to collapse.

Could this be a dream? A hallucination caused by my anxiety? But no matter how many times I blinked, reality remained unchanged.

The officers murmured condolences, their voices buzzing like cicadas. Is it summer now? Though it was winter, I felt suffocated as if standing too long under the sun. The ground seemed to sway beneath me.

The officers gathered evidence. Most items were ordinary household objects, but I couldn’t stop them from taking the torn curtains and blood-soaked documents (a list of missing persons).

“They’ll leave the rest. They’re Liam’s belongings.”

Jefferson approached, his voice mechanical.

“Thank you, Inspector.”

At least Mary stood by me, helping me stay on my feet. Poor Mary, after watching the officers, finally broke down in tears. Someone handed her a handkerchief, and she blew her nose loudly.

“I never imagined something like this could happen to Mr. Moore….”

“He’ll be alright, Mary. Don’t cry too much.”

“I don’t… sniff… want to cry… sniff…”

If Mary saw me break down, she wouldn’t be able to handle it. So, I chose to lift my chin and maintain a blank expression. It felt like someone had poured plaster over my face, probably Liam Moore.

Then I heard a voice calling me.

“Miss Osmond.”

It was Henry Brixon. He held out something wrapped in a handkerchief.

“Have you seen this before?”

It was… a dried black flower.

“A flower…?”

The lifeless, dry flower was even stained with blood, crumbling into powder with the slightest movement. Was this blackness blood, or was the flower originally this color?

“From its appearance, it seems it’s been preserved for quite a while. Has Liam Moore ever received such a flower?”

When could this have been delivered? I couldn’t recall.

The packages we received often contained malicious intent, so both Liam and I had to verify their safety before taking them in.

Some packages had hidden triggers to explode upon opening, dead animals, or letters threatening imprisonment. Poisoning the packaging or inside was almost considered benign.

We were implicitly cautious: never open anything carelessly, never let anything in easily.

To my clear memory, Liam Moore had never received a flower. I had never checked such an item. If he had received it, it must have been when I wasn’t around.

I murmured faintly,

“No. It’s the first time I’ve seen it.”

“It was found in the middle of the blood pool. It looks like a signature left by a serial killer….”

“What kind of flower is it?” I asked.

Brixon, studying the flower, murmured,

“It looks like a dahlia. No… it is a dahlia. But it blooms during summer…”

＊ ＊ ＊

After the officers left, I stared at Liam Moore’s empty room.

Could he be dead?

I inadvertently muttered this thought out loud, then quickly covered my mouth. No, don’t think that way. Assume he’s alive… I had to find any trace of him.

But what could I find? The room was empty.

They took the curtains. His books, flasks, and chemicals were spared only because I fiercely opposed their removal. However, they took items directly related to the case. Anything stained with blood was confiscated. The room felt hollow. Liam Moore’s belongings were gone, making it seem emptier.

The blood on the floor was also gone. Being a home, we couldn’t leave bloodstains for long. If it soaked into the floor, it would rot. Though it was winter, come summer? That was unbearable. So, Mary and I spent hours scrubbing Liam Moore’s blood from the floor. We might need to replace the boards.

George (the landlady’s son) peeked in to help but retreated at Mary’s sobbing.

Mary had been crying ever since I returned from Scotland Yard. Her loud crying seemed to absorb my sadness.

She wept, blaming herself, saying if she had checked upstairs, he would have been safe. But I knew, if the kidnapper was capable of this, Mary would have met the same fate. Liam Moore might have fought back, but Mary would have been helpless.

At least one of my dear ones was safe. I consoled myself with that thought.

There was a commotion outside. I had an idea of what it was. With the police in and out, it was clear something had happened to the two eccentrics living here.

People often gossiped outside our window.

“Did you see her face?”

“How did she look?”

“She seemed unaffected. The person she lived with disappeared.”

“Creepy.”

Some even said, “It’s because they were poking around, that’s why they got into this.”

I wanted to yell out the window but didn’t. I didn’t want to seem pathetic or hysterical.

Why did this happen to us?

For disrupting criminal organizations? For catching murderers? For handing over someone who threatened to poison the water supply to Scotland Yard? We just did what we had to do!

I let out a small, bitter laugh and sat on Liam’s bed, staring at the darkening sky for a long time.

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