Chapter 12: Another Visit

Chapter Twelve
Another Visit

Sis, can we please not rub salt into the wound…

Klein complained inwardly, feeling his head begin to throb again.

The knowledge the original owner had forgotten could not be called too much, but it was certainly not little. The interview was the day after tomorrow. How could he possibly make up for it in time?

Besides, he had been dragged into a strange and terrifying incident. How could he have the state of mind to “review”?

After fobbing Melissa off with a few perfunctory words, Klein made a show of reading. Melissa moved a chair over and sat beside him, doing her homework by the light of the gas lamp.

The atmosphere was quiet and peaceful. Close to eleven o’clock, brother and sister exchanged good nights and each went to bed.

…

Thump!

Thump, thump!

A knock sounded at the door, waking Klein from sleep.

He glanced at the dawn outside the window and sat up, his mind still a little muddled.

“Who is it?”

What time is it already? Why didn’t Melissa wake me?

“Me. Dunn Smith,” a steady male voice answered from beyond the door.

Dunn Smith? I don’t know him…

Klein shook his head, got out of bed, and walked to the door.

When he opened it, he saw the gray-eyed officer from the day before.

“Has something happened?” Klein asked warily.

The gray-eyed officer answered with a grave expression, “We found a carriage driver. He confirmed that on the twenty-seventh, the day Mr. Welch and Miss Naya died, you visited Mr. Welch’s residence. Mr. Welch even paid your fare for you.”

Klein froze for a moment, but he felt none of the panic or guilt of having a lie exposed.

That was because he had not been lying. In fact, the evidence provided by the gray-eyed officer, Dunn Smith, was exactly what he had expected.

On June 27, the original owner had indeed gone to Welch’s residence. That same night, after returning, he had killed himself—exactly like Welch and Naya.

Klein opened his mouth, and a bitter smile surfaced.

“That is not strong enough evidence. It cannot directly prove that I am connected to the deaths of Welch and Naya. To be honest, I also want very much to know what happened, to understand what befell my two poor friends. But—but I truly cannot remember. I have almost completely forgotten what I did on the twenty-seventh. You may not believe this, but it was only through my own notes that I barely guessed I might have gone to Welch’s residence that day.”

“Your mental resilience is good.” The gray-eyed officer, Dunn Smith, nodded without anger and without smiling.

“You should be able to hear my sincerity,” Klein said, looking straight into the other man’s eyes.

Everything I’m saying is true. Of course, only part of the truth!

Dunn Smith did not respond at once. His gaze swept around the room before he slowly said, “Mr. Welch lost a revolver. I believe I should be able to find it here, correct, Mr. Klein?”

So that was it…

Klein finally understood the origin of the revolver. Thoughts leapt through his mind like flashes of lightning, and he made a decision in an instant.

He half-raised both hands and retreated step by step, clearing the way. Then he pointed with his chin toward the bunk bed.

“On the underside of the bed board.”

He did not specifically say it was the lower bunk, because any normal person would not hide something on the underside of the upper bunk’s board, where visitors could see it at a glance.

The gray-eyed officer did not move forward. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

“Nothing else you would like to add?”

Klein answered without hesitation, “Yes.”

“The night before last, I woke up in the middle of the night and found myself lying on the desk. Beside me was the revolver, and there was a bullet in the corner of the room. It looked as though I had gone through a suicide attempt. Perhaps because I had no experience and had never used a pistol before, or perhaps because fear took me at the final moment—in short, the bullet did not achieve the expected effect. My head was still intact, and I lived until now.

“And from that moment onward, I lost some memories, including what I did and what I saw at Welch’s residence on the twenty-seventh. I am not lying. I really do not remember.”

In order to clear his suspicion, and in order to resolve the strange incident clinging to him, Klein said almost everything—except for his transmigration and the “gathering.”

In addition, he polished his wording so that every sentence could withstand scrutiny. For instance, he did not say the bullet had failed to hit his head, only that it had failed to achieve the expected effect and that afterward his head was still intact.

To another person’s ears, the two statements expressed almost the same meaning. In truth, they were completely different.

The gray-eyed officer listened quietly. Then Dunn spoke in a deep, measured voice.

“This accords well with the development I deduced, and with the hidden logic of similar incidents in the past. Of course, I do not know how you survived.”

“As long as you believe me. I do not know how I survived either.” Klein relaxed slightly.

“But…” Dunn threw out the turn.

“But?” Klein’s nerves tightened again.

“It is useless for me to believe you. As you are now, you remain highly suspicious. You must be confirmed by the ‘expert’—confirmed to have truly forgotten what happened, or confirmed not to have directly caused the deaths of Mr. Welch and Miss Naya.”

He coughed once, his expression turning serious.

“Mr. Klein, please cooperate with the investigation and come with us to the police station. If there is indeed no problem with you, this will likely take two or three days.”

“The expert has arrived?” Klein asked blankly.

Didn’t they say two days?

“She arrived earlier than any of us expected.” Dunn turned his body slightly and indicated that Klein should leave.

“I’ll leave a note,” Klein requested.

Benson was still away on business, and Melissa had gone to school. He could only leave a note telling them he was involved in a matter related to Welch, and that they should not worry.

Dunn nodded without much concern.

“You may.”

Klein returned to the desk. As he found paper and began writing, he also started thinking about what would come next.

To tell the truth, he absolutely did not want to meet that expert. After all, he still had a far greater secret hidden within him.

In a place where the seven great churches existed, and with Emperor Roselle—a suspected “predecessor”—having been assassinated, something like “transmigration” would most likely land a person before a tribunal or an arbitration court.

But without a weapon, without fighting skill, without extraordinary powers, how could he possibly be a match for a professional police officer? Besides, several of Dunn’s subordinates were standing outside in the dimness beyond the door.

If they drew their guns and fired a volley, he would be finished.

“Hoo. One step at a time.”

Klein left the note, took his key, and followed Dunn out of the room.

In the dim corridor, four policemen in black uniforms with white checks stood on either side, highly alert.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Klein walked beside Dunn, descending the wooden stairs step by step. Now and then he could hear them creak.

Outside the apartment building waited a four-wheeled, single-horse carriage. On the side of its compartment was the police system’s emblem: two crossed swords supporting a crown. Around them, the street was as lively as it was every morning, crowded and noisy.

“Get in,” Dunn said, indicating that Klein should go first.

Klein had just begun to step forward when a vendor selling oysters suddenly grabbed a customer and accused him of being a thief.

The two men began to wrestle. Their struggle startled the horse, and the area fell into immediate chaos.

A chance!

Klein had no time to think further. He bent suddenly and lunged forward, plunging into the crowd.

Pushing and dodging by turns, he fled madly toward the other end of the street.

Under the present circumstances, to avoid “meeting” the expert, he could only go to the docks outside the city, take a boat down the Tussock River, and escape to the capital, Backlund. With its vast population, it would be easier to hide there.

Of course, he could also jump onto a steam train heading east toward the nearby port of Enmat, take the sea route to Pritz, and then go on to Backlund.

Before long, Klein reached the street corner and turned onto Iron Cross Street, where several carriages for hire waited.

“To the docks outside the city.”

With one hand for support, Klein jumped into one of them.

His plan was very clear: first deliberately mislead the pursuing police. After the carriage had traveled some distance, he would jump straight off.

“All right,” the driver said, lifting the reins.

Clatter, clatter, clatter. The carriage left Iron Cross Street.

Just as Klein was preparing to jump, he suddenly realized that the carriage had turned onto another road—and not the one leading out of the city.

“Where are you going?” Klein froze, the question blurting out of him.

“To Welch’s residence…” the driver answered in a flat voice.

What?

As Klein stared in shock, the driver turned around, revealing deep, cold, gray eyes.

It was none other than Officer Dunn Smith.

“You!”

Klein was seized by terror. The world spun around him, and he suddenly sat bolt upright.

Sat up?

Confused, Klein looked left and right. The red moon shone bright outside the window, and the room was covered in its thin gauze.

He touched his forehead. It was damp and cold, slick with sweat. His back felt the same.

“A nightmare…”

Klein slowly exhaled.

“Good. Good…”

He felt he had been rather clear-headed in the dream, still able to think calmly, which struck him as quite strange.

After settling down a little, Klein picked up the pocket watch and checked the time. It was only a little after two in the morning. He quietly got out of bed, intending to go to the shared washroom to wash his face and, incidentally, relieve the pressure in his lower abdomen.

He opened the door and stepped into the dim corridor. By the faint, difficult-to-discern moonlight, he walked softly toward the shared washroom.

Suddenly, he saw a figure standing before the window at the end of the corridor.

The figure wore a black garment like a windbreaker—shorter than a robe, longer than a formal coat.

The figure half-melded with the darkness, bathed in the cool crimson moonlight.

The figure slowly turned.

Its eyes were deep, gray, and cold.

Dunn Smith!