Bailonz Street 13

“I’ll tell you once you’ve killed me.”

Liam sighed inwardly, realising it was futile to pinpoint Jane Osmond’s location. He hoped she could hold on with her resilient spirit. He dropped his coat onto the ground.

He wished for ample air inside the coffin and hoped to rescue Jane Osmond in time.

Not like at Stranden Manor, where he had been too late.

＊ ＊ ＊

「Oh, the fight’s started.」

El remarked with keen interest.

Watching the surface, I saw a side of Liam Moore I had never seen before. His eyes glinted coldly under the winter sun, a pale violet hue, as he meticulously analysed his opponent.

「Ghouls have very tough skin. Like rubber. That kid should have a way to handle it, though.」

That sword. The glass-like sword flashed in my mind.

Liam Moore deftly dodged Philip Peterson’s attack, wrapping the scarf around his hand as he avoided a kick aimed at his abdomen.

“Did he train with some special forces?”

El chuckled. He stood beside me, but I could only make out his hands beneath the black cloak. Noticing my gaze, El gestured back to the scene.

「Focus.」

“He seems to be doing fine on his own.”

Should I cheer him on?

“Go, team… Our team wins.”

A half-hearted cheer.

But I couldn’t imagine Liam Moore, who had caught even the Star Vampires, struggling against just Philip Peterson. He had dealt with much bigger and more dangerous things before. This should be… a piece of cake, right?

There was no need for concern or anxiety. Liam Moore fought exceptionally well. When the ghoul’s claws tore his shirt sleeve, he merely looked slightly annoyed.

Realising Liam was fighting with such ease, Philip Peterson seemed to grow more desperate. Honestly, he didn’t even look fully focused on the fight. While there was a bit of a strength gap, Liam Moore’s experience was apparent.

Philip Peterson charged with a wild cry, only to trip over something unseen and fall. Liam calmly pressed a knee onto his shoulder and bent down.

“Didn’t the one who made a deal with you mention this?”

“How, how could someone like you—”

“After circling around for about five years, you should know I’m not just an ordinary detective. You’re not a quick learner, it seems.”

Tsk tsk, Liam Moore clicked his tongue lightly. The grass had grown to entangle Philip Peterson’s limbs, restraining his movements even as he struggled.

Finally, that sword appeared in Liam Moore’s hand. The glass-like sword with a bluish tint, reminiscent of the lake we crossed to reach Greenwich. Cold, blue, and transparent.

“No! He didn’t say that! He said to just kill you!”

“Too bad. Let’s not meet again.”

Swish. With that sound, I opened my eyes.

The first thing I saw was the wood grain of the coffin. It wasn’t a high-quality one, it seemed. My back ached from the rough surface, and I could feel the ground under my calves was slightly raised, as if stones hadn’t been properly cleared before burying me. I must have spent the night with blood rushing to my head.

“Wow, it’s a miracle I didn’t die here….”

That’s why El sent me back only after everything was over. I felt a surge of gratitude. Liam’s voice seemed faint.

“Jane!!!”

At least he was in Woolwich. In the cramped coffin, I moved my hands and knocked on the lid.

“Liam! Liam Moore! I’m here!”

“Jane! Where are you!”

Damn. He couldn’t hear me. Considering I was buried a full six feet under. If London’s burial customs hadn’t changed, that was six feet (about 182 centimetres) deep.

What was there? How did they bury people in 19th century London?

My hand brushed against something. A cord? Metal? I didn’t know. Pulling it, I heard a faint bell sound.

“A safety coffin! It’s a safety coffin!”

I remembered reading about coffins connected to bells above ground to alert rescuers if someone buried alive woke up.

I rang the bell fervently. Ding ding ding. Liam Moore’s voice grew closer.

“Jane!”

Oh, thank God, I wasn’t meant to die here.

Just then, a familiar voice called out from a distance. Inspector Jefferson had arrived. Police were hastily fetching shovels to dig. Liam joined in, impatient. The strong men quickly unearthed the coffin.

“There’s a coffin here!”

“Open this damn lid! I’m getting blood rushed to my head!”

“Oh, Miss Jane!”

Was this a comedy? It was both funny and sad. It was amusing, but having been buried alive made laughing seem inappropriate. If laughter echoed from the grave, the digging officers might get spooked.

After about ten more minutes, they pried the coffin lid open. Fresh air rushed in through the small gap.

When the lid was fully opened,

“It’s Miss Jane Osmond! We found her!”

“Is she okay?”

“Yes! She’s in good health!”

I grumbled.

“What are you saying? I’m not okay at all. Try spending a whole night in here. You can’t sleep.”

Rubbing my sore neck, I turned my head and saw Liam, covered in dirt, sitting beside me. I was startled.

“Oh my! Liam! Look at you!”

The most striking thing was the transformation of the man who had been fighting ghouls just moments ago, sharp as a well-honed sword, now completely softened.

Tears began to fall from Liam Moore’s eyes. He was clearly surprised, unable to hold back. I seemed to have a knack for making Liam Moore cry.

Tears fell from his long eyelashes, washing away the dust on his cheeks like a scene from a painting. His hair was a mess, and his clothes were torn and dirty, but he just sat there, crying.

“L-Liam. William Schofield Moore. Why—”

“I wasn’t too late, was I?”

Technically, he wasn’t late, considering a day hadn’t passed. To me, it felt like I had been there for about thirty minutes. Thanks to that dark space. At first, I cursed it, but now I felt a bit grateful.

Reluctantly, I spread my arms. Liam Moore clung to me, his shoulders shaking. The officers peering into the grave quickly turned away. Those inside hurriedly climbed out.

“Why are they all suddenly leaving?”

I heard Jefferson’s flustered voice as they exited en masse, all saying the same thing.

“Step back! Step back! We shouldn’t be here!”

Oh dear. This was serious. I hoped they’d keep quiet. Otherwise, Liam Moore might have to eliminate witnesses by nightfall.

“You weren’t late. I’m fine, see?”

My shoulder was wet. I worried he might collapse from exhaustion after crying so much. I patted his back, smiling.

I was safe, and Philip Peterson was caught. He wouldn’t be disturbing graves anymore.

＊ ＊ ＊

Only after Liam calmed down did we walk out of the graveyard.

We both looked a mess. I wore Officer Leppi’s coat over my shoulders, and Liam wore his dirt-covered coat as we returned to Bailonz Street.

Mary didn’t notice we had been gone. We cleaned up thoroughly, removing all traces of the ordeal, and met Mary in presentable condition.

Over a late breakfast, Mary asked,

“Mr. Moore, did you sleep late last night?”

Liam, sipping his coffee, choked.

“Yes, Miss Mary?”

“Your eyes are red.”

“Must be the drink. Liam, you should abstain for a while.”

Liam blushed. I chewed on my toast, reading my notebook. I didn’t forget to overwrite the new data.

“I’m going to eat this and get more sleep, Mary. I was too tense at the hotel last night to sleep well….”

Mary blinked, puzzled.

Because of some madman.

Liam Moore shrugged, laughing, and I joined him. The case was solved, and I was safe.

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