Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

South Australia, Redgum Vale

Since the age of eleven, Jay had known how difficult it was to dig a grave. Back then, picking at his parents' backyard with a garden trowel, he had tried to hide the consequences of his own crime and ego. A gray cat, bathed in its own blood, lay beside him, and Jay—feeling neither compassion nor pity—simply watched as the ground and dirt covered the lifeless body. At twenty-four, when he sacrificed his parents, Jay knew the grave would have to be larger. That bitch of a sister deserved the deepest one—she went ten feet underground. By the time Jay was nearly five centuries old, he knew exactly what he was doing.

The spade's handle struck the cold earth, cutting down to the very sand—the lifeless, shifting substance that blanketed the entire region around Blackmoor Hollow. Memories were still fresh of how this place was built, of how soil was hauled in to cover the desert. Blackmoor Hollow was indeed an oasis in the middle of a wasteland, and Jay knew well that this attracted attention. However, it served another purpose—he could always rely on the dark soil and lifeless sand to hide his secrets.

Jay slowly tossed the earth over his shoulder, striking again with the spade and leaning his weight into the frail handle. Frederick kept his equipment in top shape, but the signs of age could never be truly hidden. A bright full moon shone directly overhead. In the backyard, five feet from the estate gates, it was cool, dark, and utterly deserted. Jay was digging the grave beneath a young sequoia, guiding the shovel carefully, wary of severing the century-old roots. The tall tree cast a shadow—in the moonlight, its branches shifted, taking on the appearance of reaching tentacles, and the needles rustled somewhere in the distance as if whispering curses. Jay only hissed back at them. The silver of the moonlight slid across his skin, glistening on his protruding jawline, bulging veins, and sharp fangs. As he leisurely tossed the sand and earth aside, Jay felt everything within him fill with life.

Jungwon, however, was deprived of this life. His body, lifelessly limp and frozen like a rag doll, lay a foot from where Jay stood. Turning around to toss another handful of soil, Jay met his distant, dead gaze and felt a twinge of regret that the world would never realize just how clever Jungwon actually was. "They simply didn't see your potential," Jay told himself, removing the chains from the ceiling rings with pedantic care and allowing Jungwon's lifeless young body to sprawl at his feet. When a crimson pool of blood stained the impeccably beige floor, something in Jay’s consciousness shifted. Sinking to his knees, staring into the frozen gaze of those brown eyes, Jay smiled to himself, wiped the remnants of scarlet blood from his lips, and, leaning slowly over the dead man, left a light kiss on his forehead. This momentary weakness caused a tremor within him—something that hadn't happened in many years—and Jay, immediately terrified of ever feeling compassion, pulled away and finished what he had started.

"You served well, Jungwon," he whispered into the dead man's ear, folding the limp hands over his chest and winding them tightly with a rattling chain. "You performed your job flawlessly," Jay whispered to himself while binding the feet.

Hoisting Jungwon like a rag doll, Jay slung the body over his shoulder. The house was steeped in darkness despite the bright moon, and, hidden by the impenetrable night, Jay slipped out of his quarters, knowing he would encounter no one. As he descended, the chains still binding Jungwon rattled and whistled, clashing against the banisters and counting the steps. Jay walked at a leisurely pace, as if testing to see if the servants heard. He knew: Bianca used to sleep too lightly (habits likely left over from the days she raised her son alone), Ruby and Lulu would be in a deep, drunken slumber, and Aaden and Frederick were greater cowards than they appeared, keeping a vow of silence even when their own senses pointed them toward the truth. In that moment, Jay realized that Jungwon was vastly different from them all: his fear was primal, and Jay knew what that could buy.

Now, he had to take that to the grave.

Recalling fragments of the night, Jay smiled to himself—that same ironic smile for which Jungwon had hated him, just as his bitch sister couldn't stand it. Jungwon's cloying blood still lingered on the tip of his tongue; Jay savored the fact that he remembered and could preserve these memories until the very end.

The end, however, was not near for him—if it existed at all.

He climbed out of the pit. Earth from the uneven edge fell unpleasantly onto his face, getting caught under his shirt fabric and rustling as Jay stood and straightened himself, peering ahead.

The upturned earth resembled a wormhole; the brown sand covering everything further away mixed with the decaying matter feeding the sequoia’s roots. The hole gaped like a mouth, ready to swallow everything it touched, and Jay, realizing this, finally stopped. He drove the shovel into the ground beside him with force—there, the earth was virgin and untouched, save for the crescent wound of the spade Jay had just left. He stood at the edge, staring into the darkness of the wormhole-grave, estimating if it was deep enough. The pit went down a good six feet, and Jay wondered if Jungwon deserved more.

Of course he deserved it, he thought then, adding: he deserved everything he could get, but six feet is enough to ensure he won't be dug up, especially since the estate's sequoia was sacred, and touching it was strictly forbidden to the gardener or anyone else. The Dixon sisters wouldn't go digging in the dusty soil covering the sand, and the chauffeur would only notice the sequoia if Jay turned it into a place of prayer (and the chances of such virtue from the master of the house were zero). Jay knew there was no better place for a burial, and Jungwon—if he could still feel anything—ought to feel gratitude for such magnanimity.

Wiping the smile from his face, Jay glanced over his shoulder. In the light of the full moon, beneath the trunk of the mighty sequoia, Jungwon's body seemed quite miniature. For a split second, he thought he heard the chains rattle, and then Jay felt a flash of disappointment. A scavenger crow, hopping playfully on its thin legs and ruffling its dark wings, was shamelessly pecking at Jungwon's eye.

"Shoo."

Feeling annoyed that the bird was marring the body, Jay pulled the shovel from the ground and swung it near the crow’s beak. The bird let out an indignant cry and, with a rustle of wings, flew off like a dark smudge, landing on the stone pavement of the path with a scratching of claws.

"What has he done to you?" Jay murmured, leaning over the lifeless body. He traced Jungwon's face with his palm; the skin was already quite cold, and the empty socket had sent a bruise trailing down the pale, almost transparent cheek.

Angered, Jay threw an indignant look toward the crow. The bird still stood its ground and only opened its beak in response, emitting a half-groan in its defense. Displeased by the interference, Jay clicked his tongue, frightened the scavenger, and, seeing it had no intention of flying away, abandoned the effort. He returned to what he had to finish.

Jay grabbed Jungwon’s body by the legs. He stood up, planted his feet firmly, and with the same ease with which he had brought Jungwon down from the second floor, he dragged him to the edge of the open grave. Taking Jungwon in his arms, Jay looked at him one last time, unable to shake the thought that he resembled a rag doll, and with a sigh of relief, he tossed the body. Jungwon landed in the grave with the dull thud of an impact and the snap of several bones. Jay didn't look to see what pose the body had taken—imagination provided the picture, and he was satisfied with it.

Jay gripped the shovel again. He raised his head to the sky, looking at the slowly fading moon that seemed to wink at him, and the sequoia needles, shifting again in the wind, whispered for him to hurry and finish. "Dawn is near," they said; "you should finish now," his subconscious added.

Having no more doubts, devoid of compassion and only remembering how pleasant this night had been, Jay plunged the spade into the earth, scooping up a healthy mound. As he dropped it into the wormhole of the pit, imagining it falling on the lifeless face, filling the empty eye socket, and spilling over the chains, he spoke into the void:

"I hope we meet again in hell, Jungwon."

When it was all over, the crow remained exactly where it had been, watching with unwavering interest. It hopped along the path, sometimes approaching Jay, then suddenly darting back as if playing a game whose rules Jay didn't know. It stared at Jay with its dark eye, chirped something incoherent, and moved closer, curiously inspecting the leveled earth—there, among the roots, now rested Jungwon's body, broken under the weight of the soil. On the outside, everything looked exactly as it had before: dark, dusty earth, scattered here and there with bark and fallen needles.

"Haven't you had enough yet?" Jay asked, staring back at the crow. Morning slowly tinted the sky: first the pallor faded, the moon was lost in the transparent sky, and the glint of a pink sun flickered somewhere in the distance.

The bird's dark feathers shimmered in the light morning gloom, its dark eyes glistening. It opened its beak as if truly trying to speak with Jay, and he saw blood still glistening on it. Carrion. That was how Jungwon had become—simple carrion.

Jay found the thought simultaneously foul and amusing and couldn't quite say how he felt about it. Jay felt neither despair nor compassion, knew no other feelings—that was the price of his immortality. It had long ago disfigured his soul.

"Get out of here." He picked up the shovel, threatening the bird again with the sharp blade. For a second, it seemed to him the bird looked offended; its curiosity vanished, and as soon as Jay swung again, the crow took flight on dark wings and disappeared with a rustle of feathers.

Jay was left alone with what he had done. He had buried Jungwon shortly before dawn, and the coolness of the morning mingled with the serenity of his heart.

He returned everything to its place. He left the shovel in the shed, where everything resembled a regulated chaos—a place where Frederick, attentive only to plants, not tools, wouldn't notice a few moved items. And if he did, he would assume it had always been that way, his old age once again causing him to forget exactly when he had rearranged things. Jay returned to his quarters with the first rays of the morning sun, feeling everything in Blackmoor Hollow slowly begin to come to life. He quickly ascended to his rooms, pulled the heavy door shut tight behind him, and took one last breath of the scent of drying blood.

Before cleaning everything up, Jay almost succumbed to a primal instinct. He knelt before the drying puddle of Jungwon's blood, dipped his fingers in it, and, watching the crimson glint play on his skin, put both fingers into his mouth. His tongue licked up the remnants of the uncoagulated liquid; it melted on his taste buds, returning the sensations that had left him only an hour ago, causing him to feel the pleasant sweetness of euphoria once more. Jungwon's blood held memories—his animal fear and constant trepidation—not literally, of course, but Jay remembered it all nonetheless.

He had enjoyed himself thoroughly with Jungwon, savoring it in a way he hadn't with Bianca. Bianca simply wanted to die, while Jungwon... he hated this life, but wanted to fight to the last. Commendable, Jay thought then, wiping the remaining blood from the floor with a rag, just as he intended to wipe Jungwon from the memory of anyone who might have known of him.

Changing his dirty clothes for silk pajamas and throwing a long, thick robe with ornate embroidery—once a gift from his mother—over his shoulders, Jay knew well what he would do next. He went to sleep with the dawning sun, still feeling how his hair had absorbed the scent of the earth and how dust settled on his face. Jay was confident he had a well-crafted plan and realized no one would ask about Jungwon again. That was how it was as he blissfully closed his eyes, surrendering to light visions-memories. But by morning, true chaos had broken out in Blackmoor Hollow.

This chaos was a sequential continuation not only of everything that happened that night, but of everything from a month and a half ago. Jay was jolted from his bed by a commotion and noise coming from somewhere to the side, as if intentionally piercing into the house through the cracks in the closed windows. He felt the light vacuum of sleep disorienting him. The previously unshakable external calm of the estate (the internal was never a subject of conversation) was brutally torn apart by outside interference. Jay felt a sting of annoyance hit him right in the gut, and with these feelings, he was finally ripped from sleep.

Still lying in bed, covered by the heavy quilt, Jay stared straight ahead without blinking. His hands, locked together, lay like a heavy weight on his chest, and somewhere beneath his fingers, his heart still beat with a monotone rhythm. He wanted to turn sharply and scan the room to see if anyone was present in his quarters, violating the sacred rules of this house, but he couldn't take the risk. Clenching his jaws tight, he listened, finding no proof for his fears.

Jay rose sharply from the bed and, his slippers scuffing against the floor, pressed himself to the large window that offered a view of the fountain and the driveway around it. He realized his peace had not been violated, which meant there was no further need to pretend to be sightless once again. Hiding behind the thick curtain, Jay looked down. A turmoil was growing at the main entrance of Blackmoor Hollow, and Jay realized well that it boded no good.

What had so brutally torn him from the bliss of sleep turned out to be nothing other than the wail of a police siren. Jay had known it the moment he rose from bed, and he found confirmation the instant he looked down. A low-slung Holden Kingswood, contrasting sharply with its excessively boxy frame, branded with the sterile "South Australia State Police" and patrol number "197," stood across the driveway, inevitably obstructing the path and blocking it. The light bar on the car's roof flashed red and blue; the siren shrieked.

Aaden, who hadn't even had time to change after his morning prayer, was hurrying toward the representative of the law; he stumbled, twisting his ankles and jumping down the stairs quite clumsily, reaching his hands out as if he wanted to sink them into all their throats. Even from two stories up, Jay could see how out of breath he was, how his eyes darted, and how genuine terror was written in them—and across his face: twisting his wide mouth, drawing his dark brows together at the bridge of his nose. The Somali was saying something frantically, trying to grasp what the hell was happening at Blackmoor Hollow, while the officer only slowly climbed out of his car, adjusted the belt on his hips, and, settling his glasses on the bridge of his nose, surveyed the chauffeur with an evaluative gaze before silencing the verbal diarrhea with a gesture, allowing himself to get a word in.

None of this was particularly strange. What broke the organized order was the woman in civilian clothes. Her thin figure trembled in the morning chill; she was dressed only in a shapeless long skirt with a small floral print, and high socks framed her shins and feet hidden in low boots. She tucked her chin into the neck of a drab sweater, its bright color long ago washed out into a murky marsh-green. Everything in her gestures, her gaze, and the way her thin mouth opened and closed betrayed her nervousness and agitation. She was shouting at Aaden, darting from side to side, until the police officer, basking in his inflated ego, reined her in, making her wait. But she couldn't find a place for herself. Like a fury, she paced back and forth, shifting from foot to foot, ready to snap and bolt into the estate.

"Who is she?" Jay thought, hiding behind the thick curtain as soon as he suspected the policeman might look up. He wanted answers, but they were far from him, hiding, in reality, right on the surface. Deep in Jay's soul, the certainty flickered that he could find the answers if he allowed himself to remain a silent (and for once in a long time, not blind) observer, but the chance did not present itself.

Freezing in place, he listened as footsteps clicked at the far end of the corridor, somewhere near Jungwon’s attic. For a split second, Jay imagined it was Jungwon himself—his quick, hurried step. Then he allowed himself to remember the lifeless body, the lips frozen slightly apart, and the empty eye socket—Jungwon was dead.

Jay distinguished the steps a moment later. The low heel of small shoes clicked against the floor. One pair of legs, a fast pace, but not erratic. One of the Dixon sisters... Ruby... Lulu, which one?

Jay quickly asked himself questions, not entirely sure what he would do next. Should he fall back onto the bed and pretend he didn't know? Should he remain standing at the window? Jay found the right answer the moment he began to ask. He stayed where he was, only jerking the curtains open with a sharp pull, exposing more of the window as if he had done it for the first time that morning. One of the Dixon sisters knocked briskly and frantically with her small fist on the door three times, waited for an answer, and knocked again when Jay didn't give one. Looking around, checking if anything else gave him away, Jay found no flaw and immediately asked the girl into his room, while simultaneously returning his eyes to that now-habitual, unmoving stare.

The girl threw the door open, pulling the heavy structure toward her with an effort, and slipped into the room, huffing and panting. For a second, Jay thought of turning to her to see who had come, but he didn't. He stared with his glassy gaze out the window, hoping the people outside saw his interest now, rather than earlier. The girl couldn't seem to find the courage to speak, and Jay realized he had to do it himself. He said:

"What is happening out there, Lulu?" He did not tear his gaze from the window and only heard the girl open and close her mouth, searching for words.

"It's Ruby, sir," she said cautiously, having found no better way to put it.

Of course, he had made a mistake. And of course, he had done it on purpose! Everyone in this estate still had to believe in his blindness, and the blind, as Jay knew, were not always impeccably accurate.

"Ruby," he called her by her correct name. "What is actually happening out there?" In his voice, there was no hesitation, no reproach or offense—Jay had to act as though he were in complete ignorance; besides, those like him had long ago lost their feelings.

"It's difficult to explain, sir." Jay wasn't looking in her direction, but he knew for certain that Ruby was wringing her fingers. Had she picked up the habit from Jungwon? Her previously somewhat coarse and blunt tone had changed sharply after what happened—Bianca’s death had broken her no less than it had knocked her sister off her feet.

"Try, Ruby," he said, stepping away from the window. "I heard a siren. Is the police at Blackmoor Hollow?"

"Yes. Someone was sent from Oak Valley. Aaden ran to find out what it's all about, and I..." she hesitated, but immediately regained her composure and finished: "And I hurried to you; I thought you should speak with them."

"Quite right. Let us go down to them."

Jay turned to Ruby, simultaneously pulling his robe tight at the waist, and saw how the girl’s doll-like eyes widened. Her mouth opened—she was clearly surprised by such decisiveness from her master—and then closed with a click of her teeth. Without tearing his gaze from a point somewhere behind Ruby’s right ear, Jay saw the girl look him over; what else he saw was the gears turning in her head. A question was frozen on her lips: "You're going down like this?"—but she immediately conceded to Jay’s resolve when he silently extended his hand to her in an attempt to find support.

"Ruby, please lead me downstairs, if it wouldn't be a trouble."

"Yes, master."

Ruby jumped immediately, as if she had been struck by lightning. She ran to Jay, the clicking of her low heels sharp, and grabbed his cold hand with her warm one. She took hold of Jay exactly as Jungwon used to do: tucking his hand onto her bent forearm and leading him in the right direction—she had certainly learned from Jungwon, certainly thought this was the proper way. Jay smirked at his own thoughts. All of them, of course, did not know yet, and for the future, Jay already had a plan prepared to explain the caregiver's disappearance. It was just that his plan didn't much account for the police and a strange woman ready to tear and claw.

They walked down the stairs. Jay stepped forward incautiously, making his gait a bit angular, as he always did when pretending to be blind in this house. He looked straight ahead, but from under thick eyelashes, he glanced at Ruby walking beside him (her face was unpleasantly close to his). She nervously bit her lips, squeezed her free hand into a fist tighter than usual, and constantly looked around. Bewilderment was written all over her face, and Jay could feel it through his skin.

"May I ask, sir?" she suddenly spoke up.

"Ask, since you've already started," he permitted emotionlessly.

"I haven't seen Jungwon since last night; I couldn't wake him. I thought it would be right if he accompanied you. You see, he always..."

"...did so," Jay completed Ruby’s trailing sentence, and the girl agreed:

"Yes, he did."

"Yesterday evening he asked for a day off," Jay replied shortly, without giving his words unnecessary thought. He had been thinking about this since last night, while he was slowly burying the lifeless body.

The girl found the manners within her not to comment further on the answer she received. Ruby hummed to herself, and Jay cast a quick glance at her, confirming that she believed him. And Ruby did believe him. Everything was working in his favor; he had no reason to doubt. All that remained was to deal with the police.

On the ground floor, Lulu was running around in a flurry. She stopped at the very foot of the stairs and looked at her sister with pleading eyes. "Not now," Ruby whispered back with just her lips, and Lulu, always far too sensitive, immediately brought her hand to her mouth and bit the tender skin on her fingers—a restless habit of the younger one. Ruby waved her free hand in the air, and Lulu immediately took a few steps aside. Reaching the ground floor and approaching the open entrance leading to the garden, Jay could finally hear Aaden's voice—just as frantic as he had imagined:

"...I am not the estate manager; that position is currently vacant here."

"The hell if we need your job openings," the woman expressed, raising her voice. Jay didn't know if she was doing it on purpose or if she always spoke that way, but he knew for certain: the fury possessed by her was ready to tear and claw.

"Then I need to speak with the owner of the estate. Is he here?" The policeman, as it turned out, possessed an expressively low voice, and his arrogance practically dripped between the lines.

A cheap performance of masculinity, Jay thought, evaluating the representative of the law once again. Ruby led him to the doors; he thought he should dismiss the girl to join her sister (there was no need for extra listeners), but he didn't, deciding the right time would be once the maid helped him down the stairs.

"I am sure someone has already been sent for him," Aaden was explaining meanwhile. "Please, wait a second, and we will clarify everything."

"And I can't wait," the woman continued insistently. "Where is this master of yours? Or did he decide to stay hidden now that trouble has arrived?"

"I was taught to accept challenges with dignity, should they occur, rather than hiding in a shell," Jay rasped in an even tone, feeling the angular cobblestones beneath his feet. Outside, it was just as cool as it had been during the night. "You are dismissed," he said to Ruby in a voice quieter than before, and the girl obeyed immediately.

"Ma-a-aster," Aaden drawled somewhat desperately and immediately moved to his side, standing next to him.

"Are you the owner of this estate?" the policeman said, still pompously.

"Jay Park, at your service," he extended a hand somewhere into space (though he saw exactly where), expecting the representative of the law to shake it.

"Constable Hodgson." He briefly showed his credentials before extending his hand in return.

Duncan Hodgson, Jay thought, quickly reading the name on the badge. Everyone in Oak Valley knew that Duncan Hodgson was the local nitwit—a man who knew a great deal about power and very little about how to use it properly. The formula was simple: Hodgson Jr. would make a mistake—get behind the wheel with a 0.9 blood alcohol level and hit someone, get hooked on drugs and sell weed, break into houses—and Hodgson Sr. would clean up whatever mess was left behind. It was an established fact that Senior Sergeant Bernard Hodgson was respected in the small town of Oak Valley (which could not be said for his offspring), and as soon as the old man took charge of the situation, everyone turned a blind eye to the escapades of the selfish brat, chalking it up to the boy growing up without a mother and refusing to follow his father's example. The police academy, as Bernard thought, was supposed to straighten out the rowdy teenager, but things turned out as they did, and Duncan Hodgson—who had achieved the rank of constable only with his father's help—now felt the weight of the law in his hands. This stroked his ego nicely, making him believe the whole world should fall at his feet and kiss his polished boots.

Jay knew exactly what a scoundrel Duncan Hodgson was, but it seemed the hysterical woman, who was not at all sparing with her offensive remarks, did not understand this at all. Jay tried to ask himself who she was and what she was doing at Blackmoor Hollow, but he still couldn't find the answers.

The solution to this simple puzzle, however, presented itself when she spoke:

"Where is Jungwon? Where the hell did you put my nephew?"

Jungwon...

Jungwon!

Jay wondered if he had misheard. Since last night, that name had haunted him frequently, but Yang Jungwon was definitely dead. Jay tried to recall if Jungwon had ever spoken of relatives and realized that there had been only one moment of revelation when a still-living Jungwon had mentioned an aunt. A sister of his brother, he thought. So that was it.

While the puzzle slowly assembled itself in Jay's head, the woman was unstoppable. She lunged from behind Hodgson Jr.’s back and immediately reached her thin hands for the collar of Jay’s robe. Fortunately, Aaden hadn't entirely lost his reaction speed and stepped in immediately, taking the brunt of it. Frustrated by her own failure, the woman let out a disgruntled growl and stamped her foot; Hodgson immediately pulled her back by the arm, muttering something along the lines of "please, no physical violence," though Jay knew well how much Duncan enjoyed a bit of physical violence himself.

"Just look at him!" The woman pointed her fingers in various directions; Hodgson had to hold her in place. "He won't even dare look you in the eye, Constable Hodgson! They’re all definitely hiding something. Where is my nephew?"

"Lord, please, stop!" Aaden pleaded, and the woman finally reacted to his sob. "The master is blind. He would look at you, I assure you, if he could."

The woman immediately faltered. She froze in place, and her legs nearly gave way. She realized her own blunder, and it made her feel so wretched she nearly collapsed on the spot. Her eyes widened, and her lips trembled. "How do you mean, blind?" The thought seemed to freeze in her lungs and write itself across her face. Checkmate, Jay thought then, smiling inwardly.

"You must be Sunhee, right? Jungwon spoke of you." He looked to the side, somewhere at the constable's badge, as he addressed her. He had to convince everyone he was blind, after all.

"He spoke of me?" Her voice immediately wavered. The thought of her nephew likely terrified her.

"Your nephew was hired as a caregiver for the estate. In view of my infirmity, I require a person by my side. Did he not tell you about this?"

"He didn't say..." she said, and then uncertainly: "Or perhaps he did." She looked completely bewildered.

She remained silent for a minute, desperately trying to strain her memory, but it seemed to Jay that she was struggling. Emotions played across her face; she was confused, embarrassed, and in utter horror of her own ignorance. In her own defense, Sunhee eventually said:

"None of that matters—caregiver or not. Jungwon has been missing since the moment he started working here, and this place," she circled her finger toward the estate, "is the last place I know he was supposed to be. So answer me, Jay Park, where is my nephew? Where is Jungwon?"

She was almost screaming—so great was her agitation, so driven was she by fear. Veins bulged on Sunhee’s neck, and the skin around her mouth was pulled so tight it seemed it might tear at any second.

Hodgson finally found a use for himself. Extending an arm to restrain Sunhee, he turned to her and said disinterestedly:

"Please, calm down. Let's resolve this without shouting and fighting."

"Yes, let's," Aaden echoed.

"Is Yang Jungwon in the estate now?"

"How should I put this?" Jay thought somewhat spitefully. They were standing barely five meters from where Jay had buried Jungwon during the night, and for some reason, given the circumstances, the constable's specific phrasing made Jay have to stifle a smile.

He was caught off guard, but only for a second. The police, Constable Hodgson, Sunhee—none of this was part of his plan.

And then he remembered: the plan!

Of course, he already had a plan prepared. Regardless of the circumstances, he had to at least try to stick to it. Jay then spoke, adopting a thoughtful and confused expression:

"It is difficult for me to answer you."

"Difficult?" Sunhee repeated with a sob.

"What do you mean by that?" Hodgson clarified, stopping the woman. Aaden also looked at him in surprise.

"Yesterday evening, Jungwon asked me for a day off, which I magnanimously granted him."

"A day off? And for what reason?"

"It was a brief explanation." Jay cast a quick glance toward the woman, who had finally gone still some distance away. "But it seemed to be something regarding his aunt's health. Jungwon asked for a day off to head to Oakley at dawn and then visit his aunt, as he was worried about her condition."

"So, he isn't here?"

Deduction itself, Jay judged, wondering which it was: whether the service had actually fixed Duncan's brains, or if he just wanted so badly to prove himself to his father.

"He was supposed to leave at dawn, but as you can see, the car is still here."

As soon as Jay finished speaking, all three of them turned around. The brand-new Ford stood in the same spot as always; however, even Aaden, the chauffeur, began to doubt whether he had actually left the car at the estate entrance. The answer was simple—he had, and Jungwon hadn't taken it—he couldn't take it now. Jay had to quickly figure out what to do about this whole situation. He hadn't counted on the police; he hadn't counted on the psychotic Sunhee when he formed his plan to make everyone forget about Jungwon. Everything was exactly as he had said: he was supposed to tell the servants that Jungwon had left in a hurry, robbed him, and wouldn't be coming back—a simple ruse, but it should have worked. Now, Jay found himself on the verge of everything falling apart. He knew it would cost him nothing to kill the sloppy Duncan, and he could take care of Jungwon's aunt as well, but the difference between a psychopath, a serial killer, and Jay was that he required a deep connection with the victim; murder was an inconvenient consequence of his essence and what he had actually become after trading the souls of his parents. Immortality always had a price.

The answer came quickly. While everyone studied the washed Ford, Jay hunched over and coughed. He was standing before the police in his pajamas and robe, and this, in his opinion, ought to elicit sympathy even from someone like Hodgson Jr.

Jay didn't lose by betting everything on "zero." At his display of slight weakness, they all immediately turned and looked at him, while he looked past their shoulders. He greedily sucked in oxygen before saying resonantly:

"I beg your pardon; I ought to go and make myself presentable. I believe we can speak upon my return."

"That's fair," the constable judged. "Please, put on something warmer," he played at a cheap display of concern. It was a pity for him that Jay could not be bought with such things.

Contrary to his thoughts, he smiled gratefully and nodded. Before withdrawing and signaling to Aaden that he could manage on his own or ask the Dixon sisters for help once inside the house, he whispered into the Somali's ear:

"Don't you dare invite the constable into the house. No matter what he tries to spin about his jurisdiction, I will not allow him to wander through the estate."

"Of course, master," Aaden replied noncommittally.

Jay stepped back, feeling the piercing gazes of Sunhee and Hodgson Jr. upon him. He immediately slipped his hand into the deep pocket of his embroidered robe and felt the folded white cane. A stupid, primitive device he had to carry constantly just to convince those around him of his infirmity—a pathetic sight, but it worked well to his advantage. Tapping the tip against the steps, Jay ascended into the estate and promptly vanished behind the doors of Blackmoor Hollow.

Ruby helped him up to his quarters, and when she asked if she should assist him in changing, she flushed a deeper red than ever before. Jay reassured her, dismissing her immediately and saying he could manage on his own. Flustered, Ruby walked out briskly, and Jay counted down eighty seconds before quickly stripping the robe from his shoulders and tossing it aside. He darted to the door, pressed himself against the handle, and opened it silently, cautiously peeking out. The corridor was empty, which pleased him.

He left his room instantly. According to his calculations, he had exactly sixty seconds before his plan collapsed and a massacre would become necessary in the early hours at Blackmoor Hollow. Jay hurried into the attic of the north tower and, for a momen,t immersed himself in the atmosphere where Jungwon had lived. The room was in disarray—the kind of chaos one could hardly call "regulated." A duffel bag lay in the center of the room—slightly frayed and certainly not new—and clothes were laid out across the bed.

Jungwon had definitely been preparing to flee; there was no longer any doubt. What a pity his clever head had thought of it too late.

Jay snatched the clothes from the bed and shed his pajamas. He dressed quickly, grabbed Jungwon’s bag, and for a fleeting moment thought of how beautiful Jungwon had been in his misery last night as he slowly lost his life. Jay snapped his fingers, freezing in front of the mirror, and as the air shuddered, his reflection jerked. Now he was Jungwon. Now, everyone would see him as Jungwon.

He had performed this trick many times. He had done it when he lured Jungwon to the job. Turning into his sister was loathsome: not because he had to wear heels and endure lecherous stares, but because it was the skin of that bitch who had never given him a moment's peace. Turning into Jungwon, however, was pleasant. Here and now, trying on his appearance, Jay felt majestic.

He slipped out of the attic, immediately assuming an agitated look. Jay ruffled his hair as if he had only just rolled out of bed and ran down the stairs with the bag slung over his shoulder. His footsteps struck the stairs loudly; Jay (whom everyone now saw as Jungwon) looked terribly frightened and in a rush. He glanced around, darting from corner to corner, whispering to himself that he was late.

"What an idiot, what an idiot," he muttered under his breath. Jungwon’s voice sounded strange now, bringing back memories.

He caught Lulu’s startled gaze; Frederick, standing nearby, grumbled something. Jay stopped as if he hadn't seen them before, his eyes darting.

"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" Jay spoke with Jungwon’s voice and looked like Jungwon—they had to believe it. And they did.

"Jungwon... there..." Lulu couldn't find the right words. Her speech faltered; she didn't know how to convey the information. Frederick found a gentler way:

"I think you’d better go out there and see for yourself."

"What is it? I have to hurry, I'm terribly late," Jay said quickly, mimicking haste. In his mind, a Jungwon who had overslept would behave exactly like this.

Slowing his pace and pulling a look of utter bewilderment onto his face, Jay slowly stepped out onto the porch. Stopping there, he noticed Sunhee telling something to Hodgson Jr., waving her arms animatedly, clutching now at her hair, now at the fabric over her chest as if grabbing her heart. Her face was painted with frustration.

Aaden was the first to notice him. Every possible emotion was vividly etched on the Somali’s face: from relief to anger and back again. He let out a groan and drawled:

"Jungwo-o-on, finally."

"Jungwon?" Sunhee froze. She heard it but couldn't believe it—her nerves were playing a cruel joke on her.

"Auntie?" Jay said, projecting total shock. Jungwon’s voice sounded strained; in his feigned surprise, he dropped the bag, which hit the floor with a thud and rolled down the steps. "Auntie? Why are you here?"

Jay lunged forward, running past the bag and reaching out his arms. The woman rushed toward him, extending her thin palms, and gripped him as soon as they were close. Tears were frozen in her eyes, her lower lip trembling. So this is where Jungwon got it from, Jay thought.

"Where have you been all this time?" Sunhee’s voice changed instantly.

Grief and confusion were replaced by anger. She balled her thin fingers into a small fist and struck Jay lightly on the chest. Sunhee didn't want to beat her nephew—just to teach him a lesson.

"Here, the whole time. But why are you here?"

"Why am I here?" She gasped for air through her emotions, tears of relief streaming from her eyes. "You vanished for a month and a half! What else was I supposed to do but look for you?"

"You gave us all quite a scare, buddy." Duncan Hodgson approached him, stopping beside Sunhee, and extended his hand as he introduced himself. "Constable Hodgson, Oak Valley Police Station."

"Did it really go that far?" Jay looked at Sunhee again, seeing Jungwon's reflection in the depths of her dark eyes. He had always been good at mimicry.

"No other way."

"I was planning to come see you."

"As you can see, my health is just fine," Sunhee waved him off. "And it will stay that way if you stop making me worry. I had to leave the children with a sitter just to get here. We were all so worried!"

Sunhee could not contain her emotions and burst into tears again. Jay opened his arms to her and, feeling his shoulder dampen unpleasantly, only offered a warm:

"There, now. It might not look like it at first glance, but Blackmoor Hollow is a good place." Of course, Jay was embellishing; of course, Jay was lying. He had to go to any lengths to protect himself.

They stood like that for a few minutes, speaking not another word. Sunhee found her inner strength and quelled her tears. When she pulled away from Jay, her gaze had softened, and her features followed suit. She looked him directly in the eye as she asked:

"Are you truly happy here, Jungwon? Is it the truth?"

"Everything is fine, Auntie," he said, adding in a lower voice: "It pays well here."

Sunhee wanted to say something in response—she clearly did, her mouth already open as she drew a full breath of oxygen—but she couldn't, and only clicked her teeth loudly. Hodgson intervened, interrupting the family reunion, and declared with a blunt egocentrism:

"It’s good that you are alright, young man. Your aunt has suffered quite a bit because of you. Be more mindful in the future."

"Yes," Jungwon drawled guiltily, looking the constable right in the eye. "I will be careful from now on."

"And call home at least once a week," Sunhee interrupted.

"I’ll try." He gave her a condescending smile, remembering that although there was a telephone in the estate, no one ever used it. Sunhee didn't need to know that; Jay figured the woman would have the common sense not to show up with the police every month—that would cause unnecessary problems.

"We’ll get you home." Hodgson took Sunhee by the elbow, making it all too clear that his precious time had been significantly wasted on such a trifle. "But before that, it would be grand to speak with the master of the house once more. Jay Park, right? He's taking an awfully long time to change."

Jay hoped his body wouldn't betray him. For a split second, he turned to stone. His subconscious scrambled for answers—there had to be a loophole somewhere—and then, where he failed, he was saved by the very ethics Duncan Hodgson had never been taught:

"Have at least a little patience. He is blind; what wouldn't take you five minutes takes him half an hour."

He managed to rebuff Hodgson, immediately bruising his bloated ego. Jay smirked inwardly, knowing that a scoundrel like this deserved to be reminded of his place. Duncan’s face immediately twisted with frustration, and anger flared in his tightly clenched jaws. The constable balled his fists, and Aaden, noticing the trouble, immediately stepped toward (what he thought was) Jungwon. Jay refrained from saying anything more—the effect was already sufficient.

Duncan Hodgson cleared his throat noisily before he could calm himself. Whether it was a mantra he recited in his head or something else, it certainly worked. Surveying the unwavering Jungwon, Duncan clicked his tongue and, a second later, was walking toward his battered Holden Kingswood, throwing over his shoulder:

"Hurry up and finish; I need to be back at the station by noon. And tell the master of the estate that I'll be stopping by again, and he should be prepared to receive guests then."

"Certainly," Aaden replied immediately and emotionlessly.

Sunhee froze before Jay once more. She took his hands and squeezed them tightly in hers. The woman looked into his eyes and asked with trembling hope:

"You won't come? Let’s go back to Oakley together."

"Auntie," he addressed her, stroking her dry, slightly wrinkled hands, "I only wanted to go and check on you. As I see now, you are perfectly fine. So I should stay. I'll earn a bit more money, and then... then we'll finally start living."

"Are you sure?" she asked, hoping for a refusal. Jay persuaded her:

"Positive. You go on, and don't worry. I'll be fine."

"I will never be fine again," Jay added to himself. Still remaining Jungwon for the others, he did not voice it.

Sunhee said nothing more—she simply couldn't. She allowed Jay to walk her to the police car and wait until Constable Hodgson started the engine. Jay closed the door of the old car with a hollow thud, and the woman immediately rolled down the window. Before the car pulled away, she reached out her hand to Jay and mouthed the words "take care of yourself," forcing Jay to mouth back, "you too." Then the car turned sharply and rolled down the driveway toward the very gates—to the spot where the real Jungwon was buried.

The chaos and turmoil that had begun in the morning finally dissolved.

Jay was just about to savor the thought that it was all over, that he had finally dealt with the consequences, when the other inhabitants slowly began to emerge from the house. Lulu hopped down the steps; Ruby sharply told her not to be so reckless; Frederick chose not to descend, sparing his knees, and stood still in the doorway.

Jay let his gaze sweep over them one by one, watching as they surrounded him. Aaden, Ruby, Lulu, Frederick, and Aaden again. Jay laughed under his breath—the chuckle escaped his chest muffled and embarrassed, just as he intended. Then he spoke:

"Forgive me for all of this." His eyebrows immediately knit together in a pained expression. Jay wanted them all to see how wounded his feelings were.

"Jungwon," Lulu chirped, "your aunt is something else. She nearly tore Aaden to pieces." She was exhilarated.

"Indeed," the Somali agreed, feeling slighted as he adjusted his jacket.

"You really made us all worry about you, Jungwon," Frederick called out from a distance.

"I'm truly very sorry," Jay spoke while rubbing his palms together. Playing Jungwon turned out not to be so difficult: the boy was a simple set of survival instincts and constant compliance in an attempt to get by in this world.

"If you're not going anywhere," Ruby came up beside him and placed her heavy hand on his shoulder, "then you should get back to your duties. Go check on the master; he likely needs help."

Of course, Jay thought, he does. He needed help right here and now, and fortunately, Jay knew exactly what he was worth. He smiled at Ruby—Jungwon always did so with a particular intensity—and nodded sharply.

Jay knew what he would do next and could already picture it. He picked up Jungwon's duffel bag and, as he entered the estate, tossed a short "I'll check on him" toward the servants, already knowing that upon his return, he would inform one of the Dixon sisters that the master was in no mood to leave his chambers, and Aaden would call it another "dark day at Blackmoor Hollow."

The plan seemed flawless.

The cracks only began to show as the sun went down. In contrast to the brilliant night and the frantic morning, the evening felt dull and faceless in its emotions. Unable to change his appearance yet, Jay paced from one side of the estate to the other, locking himself in the north tower attic and sifting through Jungwon's things. Everything had been ready for flight: the saved money, the packed clothes, and even several forks from the silver service stolen from the table. And yet, Jay was right: greed had been Jungwon's undoing, just as impossible dreams of a better life had been. He remembered him when he closed his eyes; the image was vivid: a crow pecking at flesh, a face covered in earth. He remembered Jungwon when he looked in the mirror, too. Jay ran his palm over his face, feeling nothing but a faint glimmer of memory, just as he had done for the first and last time. Jungwon's blood truly held memory.

Jay regretted that he hadn't taken anything of his as a memento. Jungwon's face, which he had appropriated, wasn't a trophy so much as the price Jungwon had to pay for his fear. Sifting through the belongings while locked in the attic, Jay hadn't intended to take anything, but he couldn't help himself when he saw a worn photograph. In the faded shot, a young Jungwon hid bashfully behind his parents, peeking from behind his father's leg and tightly holding his thin mother's hand. Jungwon definitely had his mother's genes, Jay thought, pulling the photo from its frame without a shred of guilt. He had long been devoid of that.

He liked the sentimental trinket. Jay smirked to himself as he descended the stairs from the north tower and plunged into the blissful darkness. Shadows and outlines spread before his eyes; Blackmoor Hollow gaped its toothless mouth, swallowing everything around it as the impenetrable dark gathered in clumps. The waning moon seeped into the corridors in a pale light, falling in uneven strips, and a crow (perhaps the very same one) tapped its beak against the windowpane. Jay thought then, "Not now, friend," and laughed quietly to himself, diving deeper into the mansion's darkness. He walked with a slow pace, treading silently along the blood-colored strip of the red carpet, and looked the portraits in the eye. They watched him (of course, they did), and Jay bared his teeth at them in return.

Captivated by the darkness, in which he felt truly majestic, Jay did not look around. He walked toward the far room, already knowing what he would do when he reached the semi-circular tower room. He would do, essentially, what he always did: open the casket, place the trophy inside, and give himself an instruction to return to it as soon as a spiritual malaise set in. Though he hadn't had a soul for a long time.

Jay slipped through the ajar doors and flicked the light on in the small room. What the servants were accustomed to calling "the master’s study" held no meaning for Jay himself. He had to convince everyone of his own incurable blindness, which immediately stripped him of the opportunity to work in plain sight. Fortunately for Jay, the only thing that remained was that the servants believed in his "unsociability," as Aaden put it, and Jay continued to feed this thought like throwing wood onto a fire.

Light flooded the room, scattering the darkness. Somewhere in the distance, a floorboard creaked, silence rolled in, and the sound repeated, but Jay didn't even think to pay attention. He was looking at the young Jungwon again, still wondering if his greed had been justified, but he found no answer. He laughed to himself, knowing that greed had long ago ruined him, and he couldn't blame Jungwon at all—for once, they were alike.

The clock struck exactly midnight when he dropped the photograph into the casket, placing it between Bianca's ring and Nathaniel's monocle, remembering how pathetic the latter actually was. Jay closed his eyes, tilting his head back to the ceiling, staring for just a second at how the distant stars glistened, and with a snap, he transformed. He was savoring the bliss of the metamorphosis when the rustle of clothing sounded from the side, and something in Jay’s mind snapped shut.

And then, there was a scream.

At first, he thought it was his memories screaming, but the guttural cry didn't sound like Bianca's heavy sigh, nor did it resemble Nathaniel's shriek or Jungwon's doomed exclamation. He was stopped and immediately paralyzed by realization. Jay didn't hesitate; remaining himself while still in Jungwon’s clothes, he turned around. Dark pupils stared vividly from the darkness of the corridor before the silhouette hurried to vanish.

Trouble is the offspring of carelessness. Jay had always known this well and remembered his bitch-sister's warning as he felt irritation crawl along his spine. There was no doubt that the dark silhouette in the corridor just a second ago had been Aaden; there was no denying that it was he who was trying to run away, his feet thudding loudly on the blood-red carpet and whispering prayers under his breath, not knowing what he had seen. But what had he seen? Jay asked himself this question just in time and immediately found the answer.

Everything.

Aaden—that pious bastard—had seen everything!

He felt anger gather in his body. Jay gave a guttural growl as he bolted from the room. He looked out into the corridor, which stretched as if it were infinite, and immediately noticed Aaden’s stout body doubled over with fear. He was huddled in a corner, his wide mouth pulled tight, and when he tried to run again, staggering from side to side, he tripped and fell face-down. Jay smirked. He reached the Somali faster than the man could have expected, and Aaden, greedily catching his breath, could only manage to pull his legs in.

Too slow, Jay thought, noting to himself a brief: "as always."

"You won't get away," Jay hissed through his teeth, overflowing with rage. In an instant, he felt how utterly fed up he was with it all: the police in the morning, the arrogant face of that bastard Hodgson Jr., and now Aaden, sticking his big nose where it didn't belong, as usual.

Jay grabbed the Somali by the hair, and the man groaned in pain. In just a second, something took hold of him. It wasn't despair, nor was it mere brutality. It was as if something in his mind clicked and immediately provided the right answer: this had to end.

Aaden whispered a prayer, screaming loudly as Jay yanked him by the hair toward him, and Jay understood well: it was only a matter of time before the others heard them. Letting go of the hair and grabbing him by the legs, brutally dragging Aaden behind him, hearing the screech of nails against the parquet as the Somali desperately tried to catch hold of anything, Jay racked his brain. Who would come first? Would it be one of the Dixon sisters? If so, he thought, Lulu would be the first to run—the east tower had always been her domain, and she hadn't dared to abandon it even after Bianca passed away.

Jay’s fingers dug into Aaden’s ankle as he pulled. The man tried to twist away, still screaming, begging for help, but the God he believed in so fervently did not come. Aaden shrieked, and Jay realized he was done with all of it. He stopped for a second, having already dragged the Somali to the semi-circular room of his study, and while the man thought he had a chance to escape, Jay realized exactly how he could take care of that.

He grabbed Aaden’s ankle and did not hesitate for a single second before sharply twisting it to the side. The crunch of bones filled his mind, his eyes rounded, and then Aaden screamed louder than ever before.

Jay didn't stop. He knew one fracture wouldn't hold him for long. When Aaden tried to push him away with his healthy leg, Jay intercepted it, pressed his knee into the joint, and bore down with all his weight. There was a dull pop, like a taut string snapping, and the knee gave way to the side, bending unnaturally.

The scream broke off into a rasp. Now Aaden could no longer move—he only trembled and gasped for air, resembling a fish washed up on the shore: just as pathetic and just as hopeless.

"God, help me!" he cried out, his voice thick with agony.

Jay straightened up, looking down at the Somali huddled in pain. Through the other man's howling, wheezing, and guttural groaning, he listened to what the darkness was whispering. He turned—somewhere in the distance (from the direction of the east tower), a rustling was heard. Jay realized that in just a moment, everything he had built over the last ten years would finally collapse. Despair took hold of him, instantly boiling his blood.

Jerking his head, Jay looked back at Aaden. Taking advantage of Jay's momentary weakness, the man was thinking of crawling away: he clutched at the carpet with trembling hands and tried to pull his strengthless legs under him, but they wouldn't move, and everything below his waist just swung awkwardly from side to side.

"Why is your timing so poor, Aaden?"

Jay asked the question, but even Aaden, consumed by a mixture of fear and pain, knew it was rhetorical. He kept trying to escape, crawling with the resistance of the desperate, pulling his barely movable body along, while tears of pain gathered in the corners of his eyes. With heavy steps, Jay approached him, finding an allegory in this madness: while everyone thought the master was blind, they were all the blind idiots.

Aaden, to his own misfortune, realized this too late and found out at the worst possible time.

Everything has a price, Jay thought then, and laughed to himself; lately, he had indeed been thinking about this often, and it seemed to be crossing the boundaries of sanity. He bent over the Somali and grabbed the thick black hair again as he pondered the adequacy of the price he had to pay, but at that moment, he wasn't considering mercy. Aaden screamed—a new, hollow, and desperate sound—and in an attempt to prolong the moment, Jay pressed his foot down hard on the broken knee. It stared back, awkward and unnatural, pointed off to the side.

"Where is your God when you need Him so much? Where is He?" The irritation was already stronger than Jay, and he felt as though he were turning feral. Aaden’s obsession had always annoyed him.

"Lord, have mercy," he repeated over and over in a tearful, gasping whisper.

"Perhaps He will have mercy on you," Jay said, pressing harder on the mangled legs, and finished between Aaden’s screams: "But I am not Him, Aaden. I cannot let you go."

Drained of the strength to move, Aaden looked into Jay’s eyes, and in a second, Jay saw the realization in them. Aaden was no longer praying. "Call me a fiend," he thought, but the Somali's wide mouth only trembled without uttering a sound. Jay decided it was time to end this.

The thought came to him quickly and became not a realization, but a command. He noticed the bronze bust of his sister (a father’s gift for her eighteenth birthday) standing as an ugly burden in a niche of the east wing, and he acted before he could even process it. He let go of Aaden, giving him a false hope of a possible escape, and through the sobs and wailing, he listened as the tower door opened—Lulu was about to come down the steps from her attic. Jay grabbed the bust with both hands, the bronze surface licking his skin with a chill.

He felt no doubt—his mind told him it was necessary to end it all right here and now. A second later, Jay brought the heavy sculpture down on Aaden’s head. A hollow crack filled the space; a final breath caught somewhere in Aaden’s throat and escaped with a troubled cry where words mingled, and then a dull blow cut everything short.

Before the skull split and scarlet blood flooded the parquet, Aaden cried out, "Virgin Mary!" and that which had given birth to his faith brought it to an end.

Smeared in blood, the sister's bust recoiled and fell nearby, leaving a bloodstain on the carpet. The silence that filled the corridor held for only a second. And then, from the side, a loud gasp was heard, and Jay finally saw her.

Lulu stood to the side—pale, as if molded from wax. With one hand, she gripped the wooden railing of the stairs; with the other, she covered her mouth. How long had she been standing there? How much had she seen? Jay asked himself questions, finding no answer to any of them, while his subconscious prompted: you knew this would happen.

Of course, he knew.

The moment Lulu’s shrill voice screamed "Master! Sir!", rage took possession of Jay. He winced, and something in his mind snapped with a click. It washed over him instantly, like a darkness slowly gaining thickness. He felt the fury rising from within—like a fever that blurs the vision.

Lulu began to shake; her legs gave way, and she squeaked again from the realization. She looked down. The light in the corridor, left by Aaden, illuminated his lifeless, twisted body: his legs were splayed in different directions, and thick blood seeped from the cracked skull, mixing with bits of brain. Aaden no longer had a face—only skin clumsily stretched over broken bones. Lulu saw this and could no longer hold back a wail. She screamed, clutching her blonde hair with her hands, and backed away in disbelief. Jay knew she was convincing herself that this was one of her nightmares. Jay, however, was certain she was right: he would become her nightmare.

By then, anger and irritation had already consumed him, and all Jay desired was to make her shut up, to erase the trace of her scream from the air and put an end to it all. But along with the rage, something else was growing in him: exhaustion. The kind that comes after a storm—hollow, hopeless, with a vacuum beneath the ribs.

And suddenly he realized he no longer felt fear. Not for himself, not for what Lulu would see. Not even for what would happen next. It had already happened—and now all that remained was to finish what had been started.

"It’s not what you think," he said loudly, and immediately asked himself: "Then what is it?"

Lulu did not react—she couldn't. She recoiled, gripping the railing tighter, and her foot slipped from the top step. The girl jerked, and that was what brought her to her senses. Her eyes darted; terror seized her and struck her in the gut. She couldn't draw a breath. Lulu gasped, looking at Jay, while Jay only calculated the distance. Ten steps—exactly ten steps separated them, and Jay was obliged to take advantage of that.

He bolted faster than Lulu could have imagined. Her body was paralyzed by fear, her legs gave way, her lips trembled, and a heart-wrenching shriek poured from her throat. Aaden’s motionless body remained behind Jay’s back. He ran down the corridor, his feet thudding hollowly on the carpet, which didn't swallow the sound at all, and as he approached, he heard Lulu whisper through her fear:

"He can see."

The realization gave her back the ability to move. Jay had already reached his hands toward her, hoping he could silence her once and for all, when the girl’s thin figure recoiled. Lulu slipped from the top step, gripped the wooden railing tightly, and the ghost of her nightgown blurred before Jay’s eyes.

She stomped loudly down the steps, her bare heels beating a hollow rhythm in the emptiness of the stairwell. With her free hand, she covered her mouth, but still—Jay heard her scream. High, shrill, almost childlike—it tore through the silence like a knife. Fear drove her down toward the high doors leading out of the estate. There, where the air seemed like freedom. She saw them—so close, so impossible. And still she ran, stumbling, clutching at the wall with her fingers, as if the stairs themselves were trying to hold her back.

He caught her quickly. Everything was happening too easily—as if someone had pre-calculated her every move. Lulu tripped, let out a cry, and in that same instant, his strong hand grabbed her by the elbow. Lulu’s large eyes on her doll-like face widened; the light from the upper window reflected in them—murky, like water. She writhed, screaming something incoherent, trying to break free, but Jay already felt beneath his fingers the living, trembling body that was still resisting.

He looked straight into her eyes, and now she knew—and so did he. No blindness existed anymore. Only rage, heavy and cold.

The scream caught somewhere in her throat, shifting into a wheeze, and then—into a whisper.

Jay didn’t say a word. The thought came on its own—quiet, devoid of emotion: let it all end here.

He yanked. He moved his hand sharply, waiting until her bare feet reached the edge of the step. Lulu let out a cry—short, as if the air had been ripped from her lungs. Her body plummeted from the stairs and flew downward, softly, almost beautifully—as if she weren’t falling, but gliding over ice.

With a racing heart, feeling the lingering warmth from the contact with her skin, he stared into Lulu’s eyes, bracing his feet more firmly against the wooden plane of the stairs beneath him. She drifted down like a ghost, and for a second, everything blurred before Jay’s eyes. The dull thud of the impact filled his ears and birthed a silence. Lulu fell stone-dead, rolling down several steps until she reached the flat surface and sprawled across the emblem of the raven, which gleamed with its golden gaze.

Jay held his breath, not quite explaining to himself why he did so. The resulting silence seemed blissful to him, but the rage that had driven him to this pounded in his ears like a pulse. Frozen on the stairs, fists clenched tight, he stared ahead. Light from the window poured down the steps like silver, glistening against the white patch of Lulu’s nightgown. Jay counted the seconds—five or seven—giving Lulu exactly that much time to make a mistake. She had to be dead, right? A broken neck or back; she shouldn't be able to move—Jay convinced himself of this.

But Lulu’s rebellious spirit allowed her a second chance. In the thick gloom of the ground floor, Jay noticed the fabric of her gown stir. Lulu took a loud breath—a whistling, grating, groaning sound—and then slowly gathered herself off the floor. From the height of the stairs, Jay, lost in malice and anger, watched as Lulu rose on leaden legs; he heard her moan in pain and saw her immediately clutch her ribs. Then she turned—she looked Jay in the eye and backed away in terror on disobedient feet.

The girl found the strength to run again. Blood from a scratch on her forehead seeped toward her eye, likely tangling in her lashes. She forced her uncooperative legs to push her forward in hopes of escaping. Lulu ran, wheezing and whimpering in pain. Bolting after her before it was too late, Jay realized—the fall hadn't killed Lulu, it had only shattered her ribs, and the shards could pierce her lungs at any moment. Too painful a death, he thought then, but he didn't stop.

When Lulu, staggering and darting from side to side, finally found the strength to open the heavy doors of the estate and slip through the opening into the night, where the darkness curled in clumps, Jay had no plan. He only knew that he had to end it, and a feral frenzy tore through his mind, pushing him forward.

He burst outside, immediately plunged into the cool air, and stopped, looking around. The pale light of the waning moon meagerly illuminated the surroundings, but the lit street lamps around the estate cast light for several meters. Trying to normalize his breathing, Jay immersed himself in the silence of the outside world and looked about. The white patch of Lulu’s nightgown was nowhere to be seen—“Did she strip?” he thought, immediately realizing how stupid that idea was.

He listened, holding his own breath, waiting for a branch to snap, metal to creak, or a raspy growl to sound. However, everything around was silent, and this made Jay feel simultaneously good and sick. He couldn't leave Lulu after everything that had happened—that was what his long life had taught him; that was what despair dictated.

Jay slowly descended toward the fountain, unhurriedly scanning the area, and exhaled sharply when he finally found what he was looking for. A white patch glided somewhere on the periphery and cut through his consciousness. Doubled over in pain, Lulu was running toward Frederick’s conservatory in hopes of finding shelter.

"Got you," Jay whispered to himself.

Lulu ran to the entrance of the conservatory and, before jerking the handle to open the door, looked back sharply. Jay immediately dropped to the ground, falling painfully onto his knees but hiding behind the fountain’s sculpture just in time. He found something undeniably fascinating in letting Lulu believe she could escape. In reality, Jay knew: the victim was driving herself into a trap—Lulu’s mind, distorted by fear and pain, hadn't realized that in the enclosed space of the conservatory, she would be more vulnerable than in the vast expanses of the estate garden. She signed her own death warrant, Jay decided, and waited until the door clicked shut.

He slipped through the darkness, cutting the lights around Blackmoor Hollow, and did what he did best—plunged into his own element of thick, impenetrable dark that stares back at you while you try to peer into it. Jay approached the glass building, which here and now seemed undeniably fragile, and carefully picked the lock with his fingers. The door opened, revealing a long space strewn with unopened flowers—the cloying scent of hydrangea and the acid of animal terror hit his nose immediately. Lulu had driven herself into a corner.

Jay didn’t see her, but as he walked slowly past the plants, he knew that sooner or later, he would find her. The night sparkled with shimmering twilight, and insects chirped somewhere to the side. Jay listened, trying to catch the girl's ragged breathing, but it was as if Lulu knew and stopped breathing every time he tried to pin it down.

"Where are you, Lulu?" Jay asked cautiously.

He no longer counted on staying hidden. The girl certainly had to know he was here and had come for her, but she could no longer get out—Jay had blocked the passage.

"Please come out, and let’s talk," he continued, slowly drawing out the syllables.

Lulu found the strength not to scream, which Jay didn’t appreciate at all. He went deeper into the conservatory, looking around, but saw no trace of the girl. “Did she escape?” he thought, and grew even angrier. This time, the anger was directed at himself.

Jay was already trying to calculate the consequences of his own carelessness: what had started with Aaden witnessing his transformation had taken on an entirely different form, from which Lulu also had to suffer. If only they hadn't wanted to become witnesses... if only it weren't for all this, then maybe...

He didn't have time to figure out what would have happened then, or what would have changed—a rustle sounded from the side. Something crunched underfoot, and Jay hurried to turn around. His eyes met Lulu’s—bright, wide-open, and full of despair. For a second, they stared at each other, motionless, and then fear got the better of the girl. She sharply kicked Jay in the chest. The ground was knocked out from under him, and as he fell, he heard only the frantic rhythm of the girl’s flight.

“Where are you running?” he thought, his body sticking unpleasantly to the concrete floor, which did nothing to soften the blow. Jay growled from the momentary pain, and a new wave of rage spread from his solar plexus, irrevocably consuming him. Sprawled in the narrow space of the conservatory, Jay heard his pulse beat with new speed in his ears as the girl’s footsteps thundered further away.

What would Lulu do when she realized there was no way out? Jay thought about it, though he didn't know the answer, but at that moment, he found the answer to what he would do himself. Before his eyes, in the darkness, a shovel handle glistened in the moonlight. Forgotten and useless, it lay discarded under a shelf it had fallen behind. Jay reached for it, grabbed the iron, and dragged it toward him with a rasp. He stood up, still feeling humiliated by the blunder he had made, and gripped the shovel tighter.

Jay turned and headed after the girl with a slow, heavy gait. The shovel handle scraped against the concrete—a short but unpleasantly shrill sound—until Jay lifted the heavy tool, already knowing what he was going to do.

He saw Lulu exactly where he expected to find her. Cowering in fear, holding her aching ribs with one hand, she darted from side to side, unable to move the heavy shelf that firmly blocked her path. In her despair, she howled and whimpered, knowing it didn't help her at all.

And then she turned. A hollow gasp sounded, immediately interrupted by a cough, and she looked into Jay’s eyes.

There was no regret left in him. Here and now, they were predator and prey, backed into a corner, with no choice but to meet the end. Lulu realized this, too. Jay didn't hesitate, immediately putting an end to this foolish chase. He swung the shovel sharply, and before bringing it down on the side of the girl’s head with a dull thud, he spoke cold-bloodedly:

"Forgive me, Lulu, you brought this on yourself."

Lulu’s neck jerked, and then immediately bent unnaturally from the force applied. The shovel handle grazed the skin; a bit of blood sprayed. The girl's body immediately slumped; she fell back against the overturned shelf she couldn't bypass and collapsed, as if she had never been alive at all. With that blow, Jay had broken her neck.

Jay felt no relief that it was all over. Lulu, lying on the floor, still seemingly clutching her aching ribs, stared directly at him with her frozen gaze, as if trying to understand if there was anything human left in him. Jay had known the answer for a long time—there wasn't. Now, with Lulu’s death, Jay realized he couldn't leave things as they were. To abandon the matter now would mean stopping halfway through, which in his case was entirely impermissible. The chain reaction had already started, and only a miracle could stop it, but Jay had long since stopped believing in miracles (somewhere around his actual twenty-fourth birthday) and knew he had to finish what he had started.

When he returned from the conservatory to the estate, there was no more anger in him. His soul recoiled from the cold-bloodedness of his own calculation, and somewhere in the distance, a flame of regret still flickered. His entire identity, built over years, was falling apart: the servants knew (likely all of them) that his blindness was a lie and a well-acted theater, and this inevitably threatened everything he was. Jay decided before he fully realized it, and confirmed everything for himself, placing an invisible signature when he slipped into the kitchen.

Ruby was there. She stood pressed against the window leading to the garden, where the view captured a piece of the conservatory. She looked at him with a frightened gaze when he entered, and Jay didn't bother thinking of any justification. He picked up a knife—the knives always stood there, but no one ever guessed what for.

Jay remembered how Ruby shrieked—guttural, low, quite different from her sister. The girl tried to run, but it was too late. She met her end right there—in the kitchen—when Jay caught up and sharply plunged the knife into her back. It hit between the vertebrae; Ruby fell, slowly losing consciousness and bleeding out, unable to move.

She was muttering something when he left—Jay didn't listen. Ruby was still alive when he ducked into the pantry and, through two doors, reached the gardener's quarters. At Bianca's insistence, Frederick had been settled on the first floor for the sake of his knees. It was a pity that this decision hadn't saved the old man from a slit throat.

Jay did everything quickly—perhaps the old man wouldn't have even woken up if he had been asleep at that moment. At the last second, Frederick groaned something incoherent, gasped loudly, and went still, not even managing to clutch at his neck. He died quickly—simply bled out.

Stepping out of his room, moving slowly and now aimlessly, Jay examined his hands. Someone’s blood was dried under his nails. Was it Ruby’s, Frederick’s, or perhaps Aaden’s? He no longer wanted to know. All the servants were dead, and without them, Blackmoor Hollow seemed dead as well.

Jay didn’t need to set an ultimatum or decide his next move. The plan assembled itself, like a puzzle, finally clicking into place at the perfect moment. The rage had evaporated, and Jay knew he had to finish everything—and "finishing everything" meant putting an end to everything that had existed up to this point. That was when the right idea came to him.

"Abandoning Blackmoor Hollow is the only solution," he thought, and he was right.

Jay clung to this idea like a cult follower clings to the fixation of their leader. He prepared everything. He knew exactly what he was doing when he returned to the conservatory, picked up Lulu’s lifeless body, and dragged it into the house. Jay knew exactly what he was doing when he tore up the stairs and headed toward the northern part of the estate, ascending to the attic.

Regaining his cold composure, Jay stripped off his clothes and washed the blood from his hands. With a sharp motion, he flung open the half-empty wardrobe and, finding nothing but vacant shelves, gutted Jungwon’s bag. He pulled out the boy's clothes—fortunately, they differed little in build—snapped his fingers, and transformed. Jungwon stared back at him from the mirror once more, stirring old memories. It all began with him, Jay thought, smirking at the cynicism of his own mind.

It had actually begun with his eleven-year-old self burying a cat in the backyard, and Jay knew that well.

Jay took nothing else from Jungwon; his face, voice, and clothes were enough. He gutted a book, extracting all the bills hidden between the pages, and tucked them into his inner pocket.

What happened next resembled an unforgivable horror.

Jay smashed several gas lamps—one after another, in every wing of the house. The viscous, oily scent of gas rapidly filled the air, and soon the fire, like a rabid beast, lunged at the curtains, greedily clawing at the carpet, the books, the portraits, and the faces staring from the walls. The wood crackled as if answering with a scream.

He covered his nose with the sleeve of his checkered shirt, feeling the fabric instantly soak through with smoke, and moved down the stairs. With every step, the floorboards groaned louder, as if the house were complaining, dying along with him. Downstairs, he passed the bodies of the Dixon sisters—charred faces, curled fingers, silent reproaches. Jay did not linger.

In the kitchen, he found matches; the box trembled in his hand. Gas was already hissing from the open valve, and when he struck the first match, the flame roared toward the ceiling. The flash blinded and deafened him. The house took a breath, as if for the first time in years—and immediately groaned in the fire. Flames licked the walls, shattered glass, and brought down ceilings. Jay stood in the middle of the kitchen until the heat scorched his skin, only then taking a step back.

Blackmoor Hollow was burning. The house, forgotten in the very heart of the wilderness, finally fulfilled its destiny—to vanish and erase all traces.

Amidst this madness, Jay found a telephone. He dialed the Redgum Vale emergency services and spoke until the wires burned through:

"Oh gods, please save us," his voice was fast, frantic. Jay felt that this was exactly how Jungwon would speak. "It’s-- It’s hell here."

"What has happened, young man?"

"My... my name is Yang Jungwon. Please, please, send someone to Blackmoor Hollow. There’s a fire. We’re dying."

Jay broke into a flickering, terrified plea for help, but couldn't wait for a response as a wire sparked nearby. He looked up just in time to see the ceiling above him already burning through. Acrid smoke stung his eyes and lungs. Jay knew he had to get out before he buried himself as well.

He slipped out of the estate at the last possible moment. The blast of air behind his back sounded like the roar of a monster—and a second later, the ceiling collapsed, crumpling into the heart of the house. The flames, breaking their chains, surged upward, licking at the attic and the corridors. Everything that had been a home only yesterday was now a confessional where Jay's sins finally found absolution.

Jay walked, stumbling, along the stony path. The hot wind rushed into his lungs as if wanting to sear them from the inside. The stars were hidden by ash. An orange glow reflected in his eyes, turning his pupils into two tiny sparks of hell. When Jay turned around, the house was already folding in on itself—like a person who had lost their bones. Beams snapped one after another; the roof sagged as if bowing to the earth. The smell of burnt wood and flesh hung in the air. Jay dropped to his knees before the estate, the ground trembling beneath him.

His face, smeared with soot, looked foreign—foreign like the name he now carried. His t-shirt was smoldering, his sneakers sinking into the mud. He knew the firefighters arriving from Oak Valley would see in him just a boy who had miraculously survived hell. It would occur to no one that hell itself was standing right before them.

He didn't know how much time he spent watching the fire devour walls, glass, and air. All sound seemed swallowed by the flames until the first wail of sirens reached him—hollow, distant, like the echo of someone’s dream. Then—a crash. A fire engine smashed through the gates.

The red reflections of the emergency lights merged with the glow of the fire, turning the night into a blood-colored convulsion. People flickered like shadows, running, shouting, dragging hoses. No one looked at him. No one asked questions. And he, fully feeling the story he had invented for this moment, screamed back at them, thrashing in the throes of despair and shock.

Jay looked up—and for the first time in a long while, allowed himself a moment of weakness. His eyes reflected the dance of the flames and the flashing lights; the fire and sirens swirled in their mad waltz. Jay simply continued to play his triumphant role. He played it to the last, until a police car pulled up nearby, until someone took him by the arms and said in a deathly calm voice:

"Let’s get you to the station, kid."