Orpheus's heart suddenly skipped a beat.
Then,
There was a brief silence.
Oddly enough, the other party didn't hang up either;
"You've interrupted my artistic creation..."
This sentence kept repeating in Orpheus's mind, including the tone and intonation.
Orpheus didn't think he had dialed the wrong number,
Nor did he think it was a prank call,
And he certainly wasn't naive enough to believe that the person on the other end was just an artist doing some kind of traditional art at the crematorium.
Sometimes, intuition can be very important because it can save you a lot of unnecessary groundwork and take you straight to the heart of the matter.
Although reason told him that this was too bizarre and utterly absurd,
Orpheus still, after a brief moment of silence,
Pinched his throat with his right hand,
And spoke:
"Do you need some valuable artistic advice?"
"Huh?"
The other party made a sound of surprise, seemingly not expecting the person on the other end to respond in such a manner. Then, he laughed.
Orpheus heard the laughter over the phone, a male voice, slightly sinister and sharp. Orpheus continued:
"Or is it that you actually have no confidence in your art?"
"You're interesting. It's a pity though; if you had called a little earlier, I would have been willing to hear your thoughts, but unfortunately, not this time."
"Why?"
As Orpheus asked this question, he closed his eyes, knowing it was an answer that didn't even need to be asked.
And on the other end of the phone, the response was just as he had anticipated:
"Because this piece is already finished, only a few final touches remain, which is troubling me. Can you understand that kind of frustration?"
Orpheus replied, "When I was a kid learning to draw, my teacher would point out that a certain corner of my painting was too empty and needed something added, even if what I added didn't relate directly to the rest of the piece and was just for the sake of adding something. And that's exactly what was the most frustrating."
"Yes, yes, exactly, that's the frustration I'm feeling right now."
"That's actually a sign of incompetence," Orpheus said. "That's why I didn't grow up to be a painter. An artist who can't even plan their composition and needs to fill in gaps at the last minute—what kind of painter is that? What kind of artist? How can they even talk about art?"
After Orpheus finished speaking, the breathing on the other end of the line became rapid.
A psychologist knows how to soothe emotions, to avoid triggering their patients. Conversely, they also know how to find and exploit someone's pain points.
Orpheus continued:
"You think you're an artist? No, you're not. You're just an arrogant and narcissistic fool. Don't insult the word 'art.'"
There was a grinding sound coming from the other end of the line.
Clearly,
Orpheus's words had hit a nerve.
Orpheus, holding the receiver, felt somewhat helpless because he couldn't do anything right now, not even call the police, because you have to hang up first to make another call.
At the same time, he couldn't go to the basement to find Aunt Mary, nor could he go upstairs to find his grandfather, because the phone cord wasn't long enough.
If he shouted out loud, the person on the phone would definitely hear it.
The person on the other end spoke again, "I'm very disappointed in you. At the beginning of our conversation, I even thought you might be someone sent by God who shared my aesthetic, but alas, you're not.
You're too young,
So your understanding of art is too shallow because art has no levels."
Orpheus calmly replied:
"But art does have skill."
"Bang!"
The person on the other end slammed the phone down with great force.
Orpheus also put down the phone,
And frowned in confusion:
"He said…"
Orpheus released his grip from his throat, feeling some pain from holding it for too long, and had to gently rub the area while coughing softly a few times:
"I'm too young?"
His last words reverted to his usual tone from the previous low pitch.
…
"Knock… Knock…"
"Come in."
The study door opened, and Dis looked up from behind his desk at Orpheus standing in the doorway.
"Grandfather."
"What's the matter?"
"There seems to be an incident at the Hughes Crematorium."
"How do you know?"
"Because I just called there, and the person who answered sounded like the killer, the psycho from the Crown Ballroom."
Grandfather put down his pen,
And asked:
"Did you call the police?"
Orpheus shook his head.
"You should report it," Grandfather suggested.
Orpheus hadn't intended to call the police, because the person on the other end had clearly stated that his work was already complete.
Which meant that if there was a victim, they were already dead.
Calling the police would just be for them to collect the body?
Orpheus thought it pointless unless the killer happened to break his leg while leaving the scene, and a police car just happened to pass by.
"Are you worried it might be a prank?" Grandfather asked. "Don't worry, even if it's a false report, it's just a fine."
Orpheus shook his head again.
"Then, what do you want to do?"
"I want to go to the Hughes Crematorium now and have a look."
To see his new work;
Dis picked up his teacup, took a sip, and nodded slightly:
"You can go; I approve."
Orpheus still stood in the doorway, not moving.
"Hmm?" Dis put down his teacup, "What's wrong?"
Orpheus licked his lips,
And spoke plainly:
"I'm scared to go alone."
"Hehehe." Dis suddenly laughed, "When you were little and didn't dare to go to the bathroom at night, you said the same thing to me."
Suddenly,
Dis fell silent,
And his face showed a hint of sadness.
...
"What's wrong, my little Orpheus?"
"Grandfather, it's dark, the bathroom, I need to pee, I'm scared to go alone."
"Then Grandpa will stand here in the hallway and wait for you. How about that? You go inside."
"Grandpa, come with me, come with me."
…
The taxi drove from Chiswick Street all the way to the Hughes Crematorium in the suburbs, a trip that took over twice the time it took for Orpheus to return home from the Crown Ballroom.
At the entrance of the Hughes Crematorium,
The taxi driver turned around and looked at Dis, who was sitting in the back seat, and smiled:
"Hello, that'll be 45 loubi."
Dis handed over a 50-loubi bill, and the driver gave back 5 loubi, which Dis accepted.
Then,
The grandfather and grandson got out of the car.
Watching the taxi leave, Orpheus silently cursed to himself:
"Damn it."
The crematorium's gates were tightly shut, and a battered motorcycle was parked out front. There was a quilt tied onto the motorcycle's seat, and a man and a woman stood beside it, looking anxious.
The bundled quilt likely contained a body brought here for cremation.
Yet, a "Closed" sign hung at the crematorium entrance.
"Excuse me, are you from the crematorium?" the woman stepped forward and asked.
Orpheus shook his head and replied, "No."
Upon hearing this, the man angrily kicked a stone away and cursed:
"We made an appointment yesterday, so why are they closed today? This is outrageous, outrageous!"
"Why don't we try another place?" the woman suggested.
"There's no time. It's almost dark. If we go to another crematorium now, they'll be closed too."
"Has this place not been open all day?" Orpheus asked.
"We've been waiting here since one o'clock," the man fumed.
Orpheus noticed the quilt on the motorcycle, and a corner of it revealed some white hair, likely that of an elderly person from the family.
Those who could afford services from the Immerlyth family weren't ordinary people, mostly middle-class. Even Mr. Morson's children, who had been criticized by Aunt Mary for being stingy, had still spent thousands of loubi in the end, despite cutting many services.
For low-income families, a few thousand loubi is no small amount.
And the welfare fund was reserved for those without relatives. Even if you couldn't afford funeral expenses, as long as you had family, you couldn't enjoy the "welfare fund" like Lazarus, because you weren't pitiful enough.
So, when someone from the lower class in Roja City passed away, their family would often bring them directly to the crematorium for cremation.
Uncle Mason once said that clients whom the Immerlyth family considered "poor" were actually premium customers in the eyes of the crematorium.
At this moment, an old red "Caiman" sedan drove up and stopped at the entrance.
When the car door opened,
Orpheus was surprised to see Mrs. Hughes herself stepping out, wearing a blue dress topped with a brown down jacket.
Mrs. Hughes, still "alive," smiled immediately upon seeing Orpheus, but her expression quickly turned formal when she noticed Dis standing beside him.
"Huh, why is the door locked?"
Mrs. Hughes stepped forward, pulled out a spare key from her bag, and opened the lock.
"Why are you just arriving now!" the man stepped forward to question.
Mrs. Hughes glanced at him and then at the motorcycle before answering:
"I had no idea
. There were only two scheduled appointments today, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, and I'm guessing you're the afternoon one. So, I gave myself and another employee the day off, leaving just one old staff member to hold down the fort.
If it hadn't been for the cement plant owner who drove by and saw guests waiting at my door, I wouldn't have come at all.
Strange, though. Did old Darcy skip work today?"
"I don't know what's going on at your crematorium, but I've been standing here with my mother since…"
"You can file a complaint with the government or go to the police. I've explained everything to you. You have the right to complain, but please keep your distance from me. This is a place for burning bodies; believe it or not, I could throw you into the furnace too!"
Faced with Mrs. Hughes's sudden aggression, the man was frightened and dared not speak further.
For a woman to run a crematorium alone for so many years, she certainly had to be tough, otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to keep the business going.
"Mr. Dis, what brings you here today…"
"My grandson wanted to see you," Dis replied.
Mrs. Hughes blinked. She wanted to make a flirtatious comment to the handsome young man from the Immerlyth family, but couldn't. Dis's presence was too imposing, which explained why Mary always hinted at her respect for her father-in-law at their ladies' gatherings.
Once the door was open, Mrs. Hughes led the way inside. The man picked up the bundled quilt with his wife's help, and they followed her in.
"Do we need to go inside?" Dis asked.
"Yes," Orpheus replied, "If Mrs. Hughes isn't the artwork, then it must be someone else."
Orpheus still trusted his judgment, and the locked crematorium door was one of the unusual signs.
The three groups,
Mrs. Hughes continued calling for "Old Darcy" as she led the way,
The couple carrying the old person's body followed,
And behind them were Orpheus and Dis.
Finally,
They all arrived in front of the crematorium's glass wall.
The door to the cremation chamber was open, and the room was empty.
"Please cremate my mother first," the man said.
"I have to find my worker first!" Mrs. Hughes snapped, clearly angry because she noticed that the furnace was hot, meaning a great deal of waste, "Old Darcy, Old Darcy!"
Orpheus, however, focused on the table in front of him, specifically the urns on it.
The last time he had been here, the urns were neatly arranged with price tags. Now, they were stacked like building blocks, not in a triangular shape, but in an upright rectangle.
Moreover, all these urns were placed sideways, meaning their lids faced outward, not upward.
Orpheus walked forward,
His eyes fixed on the leftmost urn at the bottom corner. He reached out, grabbed the lid, and opened it.
"Ahhhh!!!!"
The woman screamed.
"Ah!"
The man dropped the quilt, and his mother's body rolled out.
"Oh my God!" Mrs. Hughes covered her mouth.
Dis silently stepped closer.
Inside the urn Orpheus had just opened was… a foot, a bloody foot.
And between the toes was a price tag, marked at 1,500 loubi.
Orpheus opened another urn above it, revealing a knee.
It felt like opening blind boxes,
But with less uncertainty.
Orpheus reached up to the topmost urn, pulled off its lid,
Inside the topmost urn,
Was a head,
Old Darcy's head,
And in his mouth was a price tag, 10,000 loubi.
Old Darcy had been dismembered,
Each part placed into different urns and then, like building blocks, he had been "reassembled."
At that moment,
Orpheus's eyes fell on the desk diagonally ahead, where a phone was placed.
Walking over to the phone,
Orpheus picked up the receiver,
And turning back to the urn table,
He realized that from this position, he was standing directly in front of the "reassembled" Old Darcy!
This spot,
Was the best viewing position.
In Orpheus's mind,
A black shadow seemed to appear,
Standing there with his hands clasped in front, admiring the structure he had just assembled.
Then, the phone next to him rang.
He frowned slightly, not answering.
Soon, the phone rang a second time, and this time, he picked up the receiver:
"You've interrupted my artistic creation..."