"Hello, we've arrived. That'll be 45 Rubis."
"Hmm…what?"
"45 Rubis."
"Oh, okay."
Orpheus certainly wouldn't carry his entire savings with him, but he always kept a few hundred Rubis in his pockets. He handed over a 50-Rubi note, and the driver took it with a smile, saying, "Thank you for your generosity."
"Hmm?"
Orpheus could only nod and accept the fact that his 5 Rubis would be considered a tip he wouldn't get back. As he got out, the taxi drove away.
That taxi ride sure was expensive. Fifty Rubis could cover a day's worth of expenses for a family of four, including breakfast, lunch, and dinner with decent nutrition. The distance from Crown Ballroom to Chiswick Street wasn't even that far.
At that moment, Orpheus was reminded of his college days when he would anxiously watch the red numbers on the meter climb from the base fare with every passing moment.
The Immorales family hearse wasn't parked by the curb, indicating that his uncle hadn't returned yet.
"Sigh…"
Looking at the building he called "home," Orpheus felt a mix of emotions.
"Police station, report, accident, not an other-demon…"
The keywords from that woman in the gray dress kept echoing in Orpheus's mind.
The ballroom had just experienced an accident, and two people who could be contacted by the police had shown up, indicating that they held some official status. And in the end, it was linked to "other-demons."
This world seemed normal, at least based on newspapers and books, but the truth was far from it.
People instinctively seek benefits and avoid harm. Before the taxi stopped, Orpheus was only focused on leaving this house to live a normal life. Of course, this life would be one that he would strive to make more prosperous and comfortable. But now he realized that beneath this seemingly normal world lay a hidden undercurrent.
His grandfather had always been weighing the decision of whether to kill him, but up until now, the old man's actions had only been to "confine" him. As long as he didn't try to escape from Rojia City, he wouldn't cross the line.
The outside world, on the other hand, seemed like a witch-hunting ground.
"You can't possibly not be an other-demon! How can you not be an other-demon!"
Mr. Hoffen's screams from the hospital bed still echoed in his ears.
His left hand clenched again. Though Orpheus wasn't clear on what exactly an other-demon was, his own identity as someone who had "taken over another's body" had always eroded his confidence from the start.
He knew clearly that he wasn't the original.
So, was it still worth leaving?
Compared to the dangerous unknowns outside, his grandfather's image suddenly seemed...much kinder.
The best time to kill him had been in those first few days after he woke up. Though his grandfather had hesitated, it seemed that the passage of time had brought an uneasy peace between them. Orpheus wasn't a troublesome kid throwing tantrums or glaring at everyone as if they owed him a fortune. Instead, he was obedient, well-behaved, and considerate.
As his grandfather's anger and killing intent diminished with time, it seemed that staying at home would become increasingly safe for him.
At that moment, Orpheus saw Dees's figure approaching from the west, dressed in his priestly attire.
Orpheus watched him without blinking until Dees's face showed some confusion. He stopped in front of Orpheus.
"Grandfather, you're back."
"Hmm."
Orpheus opened the door, entering the house alongside his grandfather.
"Father, you're back."
"Hmm."
Aunt Mary glanced at Orpheus and said, "Your uncle called from the hospital earlier. He asked me to check if you had returned. He said that there were other funeral cars at the scene, and to prevent losing the order, he didn't wait for you and went straight to the hospital.
I'll give him a good scolding when he gets back. That street just had an accident, and someone died. It must have been chaotic. How could he leave you there alone?"
Usually, Aunt Mary was sharp-tongued but soft-hearted toward Orpheus. In front of his grandfather, she didn't even dare to speak sharply.
"Auntie, I'm an adult now. How could an adult not know the way home? No matter where I am, I can always find my way back by following the scent of home."
Dees sat down on the sofa and asked, "What happened?"
Aunt Mary gently patted Orpheus's shoulder and then went upstairs to the kitchen to prepare refreshments.
Orpheus sat on the sofa opposite his grandfather and told him everything about the Crown Ballroom incident.
When he got to the part about discovering the body hidden under the stage, Aunt Mary, who had just placed the refreshments on the table, covered her mouth to suppress a scream. It wasn't that she was trying to act demure in front of her father-in-law.
She had become an excellent mortician over time, but that didn't mean her courage had suddenly grown. She wasn't afraid of the dead because she had come to see them as just another kind of "customer." Once she was familiar with them, the fear of corpses naturally disappeared. It was like how a snake breeder wouldn't fear their snakes.
But a psychotic serial killer? Who could guarantee they wouldn't strike again? There was no assurance she wouldn't end up as the next "customer" herself.
After describing the details of the body, Orpheus shared his conversation and analysis with Inspector Duke.
Originally, he intended to keep this part to himself, as he wanted to develop some personal connections discreetly. But after meeting that pair of men and women who had gotten out of the taxi, Orpheus changed his mind.
"Grandfather, you see, your grandson not only can cook, do psychological counseling, but he can also help the police solve cases."
"Oh my, Orpheus, did you really think of all that?" Aunt Mary exclaimed, looking impressed and somewhat mystified. "How did you do it?"
"Simply put, it's about perspective." Orpheus tried to simplify the complex issue, not just for Aunt Mary but also for his grandfather.
After all, Dees wouldn't ask him like Aunt Mary: *Oh my, how did you do it, my dear grandson?*
"Put yourself in the murderer's shoes and deduce their motives based on the clues and details they left behind… their psychological reasons."
Dees took a sip of tea and commented blandly, "So you can easily assume the perspective of a murderer?"
"…" Orpheus.
That could easily be misconstrued as guilt by association.
Orpheus quickly explained, "Grandfather, Aunt Mary, it's like this: Generally, the more someone sees themselves as an artist, the more predictable their thoughts become. They're easier to relate to.
Some people think they're unique, like enjoying solitude and disliking social interactions. But over ninety percent of people don't enjoy socializing. Most of the remaining ten percent who are good at it would still choose to be alone if given a choice.
For example, people who are overly sensitive, melancholic, and feel a need to record their emotions believe they have a natural storytelling gift. But most people in their thirties who feel unaccomplished, regardless of gender, think of themselves as born writers.
The more someone craves attention and believes they're special, the more they're just like everyone else.
Once they break free of the human confines and start killing for pleasure, they're no longer human but beasts. And how many beasts are genuinely clever?"
Orpheus explained a lot in one breath and then took a big gulp of tea.
Dees seemed thoughtful. "That's an interesting theory."
"So, the intelligent villains in the movies and books I've seen are all lies?" Aunt Mary asked.
"There are exceptions to everything, Auntie. But literary works often exaggerate for dramatic effect and conflict." Orpheus half-stood to refill his grandfather's tea and continued, "A true wise man knows to restrain their desire to kill."
Aunt Mary patted her chest, "Yes, yes, definitely! Good people have the most smart individuals!"
The house phone rang, and Aunt Mary went to answer it.
"Yes, yes, I see. Okay."
She hung up and tried to suppress her joy, but the genuine happiness was hard to hide completely, making her expression a bit stiff.
"Father, Mason just called from the hospital again. The critically injured patient died during surgery. His family has agreed to let us handle the funeral. Mason will bring the body back this evening."
"So late?" Dees asked.
"They're still waiting for another deceased's family member to arrive—the one whose head was half-shaved off. When the hospital contacted his wife, she was adamant that her husband was still on a business trip to Vain."
Mason wanted to stay at the hospital and try to secure that order as well.
People's minds go numb when they first lose a loved one, and they tend to go along with whatever comes up first. They often just want to give the deceased a decent funeral and a good resting place as quickly as possible. So, whichever funeral home gets in touch first usually lands the job.
Dees nodded, "Good. Prepare for their arrival."
"Yes, Father."
Aunt Mary went down to the basement to start making preparations.
Orpheus saw that Dees was still sitting on the sofa, and after hesitating for a moment, he didn
't dare leave.
"Aren't you afraid?" Dees asked. "Seeing those kinds of scenes?"
"Not really." Orpheus replied, "I've gotten used to it over the past few days."
"You seem to have something else to say."
"No, Grandpa. What wouldn't I say to you?"
"Oh."
Dees stood up, "I'll be in my study."
"Okay, Grandpa."
Orpheus watched his grandfather head upstairs and disappear from view before sitting back down on the sofa.
In fact, he had wanted to ask Dees about the other-demons, as well as the pair who got out of the taxi.
But then he thought better of it. Some things, even if they seem crystal clear, still serve an important function.
Orpheus was worried that if he straightforwardly asked, his grandfather would patiently explain the concept of other-demons, introduce him to the hidden side of the world unknown to ordinary people, and analyze which organization the pair belonged to, what responsibilities they had, and what authority they possessed.
And after the explanation, his grandfather might stand up and say with a sigh:
"Now that we've spoken openly, I won't lie to myself anymore. Other-demon, die."
Orpheus was good at gauging people's feelings. He wasn't about to tear down the barrier his grandfather had against killing him just to satisfy his curiosity. It was far more dangerous than chatting with Mr. Moss in the basement last time.
There's a big difference between taking risks and actively courting death.
"Meow…"
Orpheus looked down to see Puer lying on the edge of the sofa.
For the past few days, Puer seemed lethargic, like it was ill.
Orpheus reached out and picked it up. Puer didn't resist or display its usual haughty attitude. Instead, it seemed resigned to its fate.
Orpheus had always thought this cat had a very expressive face.
"Whimper…"
In the corner of the living room, the golden retriever lay with its chin on the floor tiles, looking enviously at Orpheus.
Mr. Hoffen hadn't been discharged yet, so the dog was still staying at the Immorales residence. The adults and children in the house weren't particularly enthusiastic about pets. They didn't dislike them but also didn't go out of their way to pet them. It was only Orpheus who took the time each day to walk it around the neighborhood.
Orpheus waved at the golden retriever, and it immediately got up, happily trotting over with its tongue out, placing its head under Orpheus's hand.
A cat on his lap, a dog leaning against him, and the lingering scent of tea on the table. He sat in his family's spacious mansion.
Orpheus suddenly thought this kind of life wasn't so bad.
Though he had no power to change the reality around him, reality was kind enough to at least allow him to choose a comfortable sleeping position.
Power…
Orpheus sat up suddenly, causing Puer to look at him with puzzled eyes, while the golden retriever nudged his hand again, seeking more pats.
Lazarus's dream, Mr. Moss's crying—could he have the ability to make that victim under the stage react as well?
If he could say something, would the killer be identified directly?
There's a saying that forensic scientists can make the dead "speak."
But if a victim could actually talk, it would be every murderer's nightmare!
However…
Orpheus looked at his left hand again. He had lost count of how many times he had stared at that scar today.
Setting aside the fact that he still didn't fully understand this "ability," even if he did have it and could control it, would he use it to help the police solve the case?
"Police station, report, accident, not an other-demon…"
That would be insane.
"Orpheus."
"Auntie?"
Aunt Mary came up from the basement holding a box, which she handed to Orpheus. Her eyes kept darting to the stairs.
"What's this?"
Orpheus opened the box and saw a watch. It was a Monroe, not quite a luxury brand but not cheap either. This one would be around two thousand Rubis.
It was the kind of watch popular among white-collar workers.
"Thank you, Auntie."
Orpheus assumed it was a gift from her, but Aunt Mary shook her head, saying, "It's not from me. Mrs. Hughes had someone deliver it to you personally."
Mrs. Hughes? The boss's wife at the crematorium.
Aunt Mary lowered her voice again, "Even though Mrs. Hughes and I get along well…"
Orpheus noticed this before; Mrs. Hughes's teasing of Mason was probably her way of warning her friend's husband.
"…but I have to warn you, Mrs. Hughes has a bit of a…loose reputation. It's best not to get too close to her, okay?"
Like his uncle, Aunt Mary worried that young Orpheus might be swayed by Mrs. Hughes's charms. What might be a way to alleviate her loneliness for her could be a painful experience for a young man.
At fifteen, Orpheus was at an age full of vitality and curiosity. How many boys could resist the temptation of a seductive older woman?
Aunt Mary was willing to speak ill of her friend for her nephew's sake.
Since Orpheus had returned home with his grandfather, she hadn't dared take the watch out before.
"I understand, Auntie."
Mrs. Hughes thought he was an easy mark.
"Should I return the watch?"
"No need. Just keep it. I'll handle the return gift and say it's from me and her, just a gift between friends. But you should call her to say thank you. It's only polite."
"Okay, Auntie."
"There's a number in the directory."
"Got it."
Orpheus picked up the phone and flipped through the directory. Due to their business connections, the Hughes Crematorium's number was near the front, making it easy to find.
He dialed the number. After a while, there was still no answer.
Maybe they were busy?
Orpheus hung up and tried again.
"Click…"
This time, it was quickly answered.
Orpheus deliberately adopted a serious, businesslike tone. "Hello, is this Hughes Crematorium?"
There was noise on the other end, but no one spoke.
Orpheus asked again, "Hello?"
"You've interrupted my artistic creation…"