Dees stood behind Orpheus, observing his grandson.
While everyone else was paralyzed with fear at the scene before them, only the grandfather and grandson duo remained calm.
"Can you see anything?"
Orpheus turned back to look at Dees and shook his head.
"Nothing at all?"
Orpheus shook his head again and said, "Disappointment."
"Disappointment?"
"Yes." Though he had intentionally provoked the killer over the phone earlier, Orpheus still harbored a glimmer of anticipation.
It was perhaps inappropriate to describe the scene before them using "anticipation" and "disappointment." Indeed, when Orpheus had rushed over with his grandfather, he had been worried about Mrs. Hughes's safety. But the human mind is complicated; one can feel worry, anxiety, and even anger at Old Darcy's death while simultaneously viewing the "artwork" before them from a different perspective. There is no contradiction.
And in front of his grandfather, Orpheus didn't have to hide too much.
"What's disappointing?"
"It's dull, clichéd, and lacks creativity."
"That counts?"
Dees looked again at the "Blocky Old Darcy" display before them.
"That's probably it," Orpheus shrugged. "Ultimately, the setup at the Crown Ballroom was more a product of the environment than the killer's skill. This, on the other hand, reveals his true level."
"Are you really here to appreciate this?" Dees asked.
"No, there should be something more interesting." Orpheus's eyes began to scan the surroundings. "I remember when I talked to the killer on the phone, he was frustrated with the final assembly."
"So?"
"If we look at it from an investigative standpoint, the killer would have tried to force the final piece into place after hanging up."
"So, you're looking for that?"
"Yes."
"I'll help you."
"Thank you, Grandpa."
Orpheus first approached Mrs. Hughes and helped her up.
Mrs. Hughes was very pale; he'd noticed her pallor the first time they met, but now that he was closer, he realized just how white she was.
Some kinds of paleness are superficial, static, dull, and boring. But there are some that are nuanced, dynamic, sensual, and even captivating.
Uncle Mason and Aunt Mary had warned him to be "careful" around Mrs. Hughes. As experienced adults, they knew what she represented.
"Old Darcy…" Mrs. Hughes wept pitifully.
"Madam, you should call the police now."
"Oh… yes." Mrs. Hughes's strong-willed nature quickly reasserted itself as she wiped away her tears and walked to the phone.
As for the three people lying on the ground, Orpheus didn't bother to help them. Instead, he started searching around the crematorium, and Dees also began inspecting the area.
The crematorium wasn't large, but since it housed three cremation furnaces, it couldn't be too cramped either.
Orpheus first noticed the furnace that was still hot and went over to check it out but found nothing unusual.
He then moved to another furnace.
"Hm?"
Orpheus felt a twinge of curiosity. He pulled a lever to open it and exerted some force to slide it out. On the rack lay a person, face down.
The person was dressed in the Hughes Crematorium uniform.
"Ah!"
Mrs. Hughes screamed behind Orpheus, startling him as well.
"There's… there's another one!" Mrs. Hughes was panicking.
"No, it's still the same one." Orpheus bent down, picked up a pair of tongs, and pried at the body's hand.
The hand was pulled out of the sleeve. Then, Orpheus moved to the head, and it too was pulled out of the shirt collar.
The exposed head was only half there, with the back of the skull missing.
The hand was the same, just a half, without bones—like a deboned "pickled chicken foot."
Orpheus turned around and approached the table with the urns, using the tongs to flip over the foot inside one urn.
Previously, the foot had been standing sideways. After flipping it over, Orpheus saw that the foot had been cut in half.
Rising onto his toes, he used the tongs to poke at Old Darcy's head in the uppermost urn. The head turned around, revealing that it was also only half there. The back was hollow, as if someone had sliced a watermelon in half.
So, half of Old Darcy was lying on the cremation rack, while the other half was piled into an assemblage on the table.
The killer had divided Old Darcy into two halves.
"There's something else here." Dees pushed a two-wheeled cart over. Originally meant for transporting ashes and other miscellaneous items, it was now filled with tools like hammers, nails, spools of wire, ropes, and several jars.
"What's inside these jars…" Orpheus curiously poked at one with the tongs, but there were no labels on them.
"Strong adhesive," Dees said.
"Adhesive…"
Orpheus stepped back a few paces, silently returning to the phone.
Dees walked over to stand by his side and asked, "There's half a body on the cremation rack and another half here. What exactly is the killer trying to convey?"
Orpheus pressed his lips together and said to Dees, "Old Darcy is burning Old Darcy."
"Is that the message?"
"The killer enjoys using irony to express his artistic sentiments. Half of Old Darcy lies face down on the rack, while the other half stands with a small hammer, ready to push him into the furnace. Or perhaps, one half is burned away while the other prepares to break its own bones to fill the urn."
Choosing a perspective, what appears to be two incomplete parts can be seen as two complete people."
"Like wax statues," Dees commented.
In wax museums, wax figures are often depicted doing something—farmers plowing, soldiers charging.
"Yes, Grandpa. Your analogy is very accurate. I believe that's the effect the killer wanted to achieve."
"But if that's what he wanted, why is it like this now? Did your call disrupt him?"
"I think he realized he didn't have the skill to execute such intricate work. Splitting and sewing up the body not only requires a lot of work but also a high level of 'tailoring' skill. So he had to settle for this."
No wonder the killer's emotions had been so volatile during their phone call. He had been struggling with the frustration of his creative abilities not matching his ambitions.
"Grandpa, I'm confused about something. At the Crown Ballroom, the killer used *The Song of Souls* to mock the Berry Church. Logically, this time should have some religious elements too. Criticizing authority, mocking religion—these are common themes that elevate an artist's spirit."
"This scene actually does," Dees explained. "According to the teachings of the Abyss God Church, there's a legend that the Abyss God divided himself into two halves:
One half, eternally condemned to hell;
The other half, turned into a sparkling powder, ascended to heaven.
Then, the half in hell and the half in heaven, through their own existence, forcibly connected a space belonging to heaven yet linked to hell, but independent of both, called the… Abyss.
His followers like to call him the Lord of the Abyss."
"The Lord of the Abyss?" Orpheus looked at Dees. "How come I've never heard of this?"
"This church originated in a remote place, and its extreme rituals and teachings have led many governments to ban it. It's not just Rojia City; there's no Abyss Church presence in the entire Ruilan, at least not officially."
...
The police arrived.
Once again, Inspector Duke was leading the team.
When he received the report, his intuition told him this was another piece by the same killer.
All afternoon, this "new artwork" had been gnawing at Duke's mind, along with the calm expression of that young man named Immorales as he spoke those words.
If not for his busy schedule and the Immorales family's influence in Rojia City, Duke would've found an excuse to bring that young man in for a good "chat."
And now, seeing Orpheus already at Hughes Crematorium, Duke clenched his fists and shouted incredulously, "Damn it, do you have a contract with Death? You always get here before the cops!"
"Hello, Inspector Duke," Dees greeted.
"Um, uh, hello, Father Dees," Duke responded, shaking hands with Dees.
The police began their work, and Orpheus, having spoken directly with the killer, was asked to give a detailed statement.
Inspector Duke was present throughout.
"...That's all I know."
"So, we've gone from the Berry Church to the Abyss Church now?" Duke muttered around his pipe, rubbing his forehead. "What worries me now is whether he'll keep killing."
Orpheus calmly replied, "It's inevitable, and it'll happen soon."
"Soon?"
"Because this work failed. The killer is someone who overestimates himself but is actually mediocre. People like that don't reflect on their failures; they become desperate to prove themselves again and again."
In his statement, Orpheus omitted the part where he had taunted the killer on the phone.
"By the way, Inspector, has the identity of the first victim been confirmed?"
Inspector Duke shook his head, "We have a lead, but we're waiting for confirmation from the police in the neighboring city. The victim probably isn't from here.
There's another thing
. You said the killer and the victim should have been close, to have that kind of emotional investment."
"Yes, so I suggest you investigate Darcy's social circle."
Inspector Duke squinted, leaning forward slightly, looking at Orpheus. "So, if we find the first victim's identity, and overlap their social circles, we should be able to narrow down the suspect?"
"In theory, yes."
"Would the killer be that stupid?" Duke asked incredulously.
"He really is that stupid," Orpheus shrugged.
...
"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes," Orpheus said.
She had personally driven him and his grandfather back to Chiswick Street.
"I'm sorry to have troubled you."
"You're welcome," Dees replied.
Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. "Old Darcy was a long-time employee. I never thought this would happen to him. Father Dees, I entrust Old Darcy's funeral to you. I'll cover all the costs."
"Alright."
Forcing a smile, Mrs. Hughes continued, "It'll be hard on Mary. I have only one request: that Old Darcy look whole for the funeral, just… just look whole."
"Alright."
"Thank you. And there's one more thing I'd like you to consider."
"Go ahead."
"I want to sell the crematorium. I'm exhausted. Over the years, I've relied on loyal employees like Old Darcy. Now that he's gone, I can't keep running it alone.
I hope you'll consider buying Hughes Crematorium. Price is negotiable; I won't refuse any offer you make."
She must have absolute trust in his character.
And, even though Old Darcy died in the crematorium, places like this aren't concerned about becoming "haunted" since it's a place for the dead anyway.
"I'll speak to Mason."
"Good. Thank you again, and your grandson as well."
Mrs. Hughes first bowed to Dees, then embraced Orpheus.
He felt a sense of fullness, as if he were sinking into a pile of cream but without feeling overwhelmed.
It was like a farmer lying on his barn's hayloft, utterly content.
Mrs. Hughes got back into her car and drove off.
Orpheus followed Dees into the living room, where Aunt Winnie was sitting on the sofa with a ledger.
"Father, you're back."
"Hmm."
"Where's Uncle? Hasn't he come back yet?" Orpheus asked.
He hadn't seen the family's hearse outside earlier.
"Mason and the team returned at dusk with two 'clients' and a family member."
"Clients" referred to the deceased, while the paying relatives were called "client families."
So, Uncle had secured both deals.
One was the man whose head was cut in half at the table, and the other was the seriously injured man who didn't survive.
"Where is he now?"
"Shopping, with that client's wife." Winnie pointed to her head, indicating the wife of the man whose head had been bisected.
Orpheus remembered Aunt Mary mentioning earlier that the wife had insisted her husband was on a business trip in Vein and couldn't have died in a Hill Street nightclub!
It seemed the wife had now accepted the truth.
Not only accepted it, but had been severely affected mentally.
She lost her husband during the day and was now going on a shopping spree in the evening.
It sounded crazy, but Orpheus could understand.
Still, he curiously asked, "How did Aunt Mary allow it?"
Letting Uncle accompany a newly-widowed woman on a night out?
"Because Mrs. Seymour ordered the B package!"
Aunt Mary's voice came from the stairs as she emerged from the basement, looking invigorated.
Orpheus had seen the "menu" before. The A package was for true wealthy clients, maybe seen once a year if they were lucky. It included the "Golden Coffin" and "Breeze Coffin" he had seen earlier.
The B package was the highest tier of their main business.
It was for regular customers who went all out for their funerals, meaning the profit margin was substantial.
"With a B package, Orpheus, I wouldn't mind lending her Mason for two nights, let alone for a shopping trip."
Orpheus turned his head slightly towards Aunt Mary, who realized the grandfather was sitting on the sofa and immediately covered her mouth in shock.
Dees only shook his head slightly and said, "Old Darcy is dead."
"Who's Old Darcy?" Aunt Mary asked, puzzled, then said, "Oh, the old cremator from Hughes Crematorium. Poor Old Darcy. May God accept his soul."
She then made a prayer gesture, as if making up for her earlier irreverent remarks.
Dees headed upstairs directly.
Orpheus said, "Mrs. Hughes wants to entrust Old Darcy's funeral to us."
Aunt Mary didn't seem excited about securing another deal. Instead, she rolled her eyes. "I hate doing business with friends. There's no profit margin, and sometimes we even have to take a loss."
Orpheus laughed inwardly: *That's a true friend.*
He hesitated, noting that his grandfather hadn't mentioned Mrs. Hughes's intention to sell the crematorium, so he didn't tell Aunt Mary that Old Darcy was now in several pieces.
"Oh, right, Orpheus, while you and Grandpa were out, a gentleman came to visit you. He left when he learned you weren't home, but he left a letter, inviting you over for coffee whenever you're free."
Orpheus took the letter. The name was "Piaget," the psychologist who had cremated his wife at Hughes Crematorium recently.
The letter was simple, expressing regret for missing Orpheus and inviting him over to his home at Rhine Street No. 45, with a phone number included.
If Chiswick Street was in the second ring, then Rhine Street was the first ring, right in the city center, where the city hall was located.
"Okay, Auntie. I'd like to go take a bath first."
"Alright, rest early."
But just then, they heard the sound of a car. Uncle Mason was back with Mrs. Seymour.
Mrs. Seymour looked about thirty and was dressed simply.
Behind her, Uncle Mason was carrying a pile of bags, having bought many shoes, clothes, and bags.
"Mason, why didn't you take Mrs. Seymour home?" Aunt Mary asked.
After shopping, shouldn't they have taken her home first? It was late; why bring her here?
Handling the remains and planning the funeral wasn't for a few days. Most funerals allowed time for sending out invitations and giving friends and family time to attend. The body also needed to be preserved first.
Mrs. Seymour replied quickly, "I heard from Mason that your family offers psychological counseling services, and I need that now."
Uncle Mason, standing behind Mrs. Seymour, raised an eyebrow at Orpheus and mouthed a message to Aunt Mary.
Aunt Mary got the hint and said, "Yes, yes, we do. We'll arrange it for you right away."
...
Counseling requires a private, comfortable space.
But Orpheus didn't have his own office, and Aunt Mary didn't dare ask Dees to vacate his study now, nor would they send Mrs. Seymour to the basement.
In the end, Aunt Mary and Uncle Mason offered their bedroom for Orpheus to conduct the session.
"Please."
"Thank you."
Mrs. Seymour walked in, examining the cozy room, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Orpheus pulled up a chair to face her.
He knew Mrs. Seymour was now in a "rage" phase, not only because of her husband's death but also due to his betrayal.
"Mrs. Seymour, could you tell me about your relationship with Mr. Seymour?"
Orpheus quickly got into his role, and for a moment, he felt a sense of disorientation.
It was as if he had become his former self from his past life.
But the feeling passed quickly.
As Orpheus refocused on Mrs. Seymour, he saw her removing her coat and starting to undress.
"Mrs. Seymour, what are you…"
"You're very handsome, young man."
"Thank you, but you…"
"Have sex with me. Right now, right here."
"Mrs. Seymour, we're having a counseling session."
"I know. After we're done, I'll pay you for the session."
"I'm sorry."
"I'll pay you double."
Mrs. Seymour, now in just her underwear, moved forward and began tugging at Orpheus's clothes.
"Right now, right here, on this bed, let's do it. I'll satisfy you, any way you like. If you've never done it before, I can teach you."
Orpheus didn't resist forcefully.
Instead, he spread his arms wide, letting Mrs. Seymour take off his jacket.
Then, very calmly, he asked, "Any way I like?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then let's go to the basement. I want to do it in front of Mr. Seymour."
In an instant, it was as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her, and Mrs. Seymour's actions froze.
Orpheus changed to a gentler tone and asked, "Is it worth it?"
Mrs. Seymour slowly crouched down, wrapping her arms around herself, and began to cry.
"Why? Why? I gave up my career, my family, to be his loving wife, and he treats me like this? How could he do this to me?"
Orpheus picked up Mrs. Seymour's clothes, draped them over her, and sat down on the floor beside her, saying nothing, just watching her cry.
Crying it out might help.
Mrs. Seymour reached out, clinging to Or
pheus's arm, pressing her face against his shoulder, sobbing and repeatedly asking, "Why? Why?"
And Orpheus knew she didn't need an answer.
...
"How much did you quote?" Aunt Mary whispered at the dining table.
"Two thousand lupis," Uncle Mason replied.
"That's insane, that much?"
"The last one paid twenty thousand," Uncle Mason corrected her. "I looked into it. This one, well, it's worth it."
"Do you think Orpheus can handle it?"
Uncle Mason hesitated and then said, "He probably can. Ever since he woke up from that illness, it's like he's a different person."
"What kind of feeling?"
"Like I should call him Uncle."
"Click."
The door opened, and Orpheus stood there as Mrs. Seymour walked out.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome; it's what I should do."
Mrs. Seymour then bowed to Aunt Mary and Uncle Mason.
"Thank you for taking care of my husband's funeral."
"Our pleasure, our pleasure."
"You're too kind."
"Sorry for the trouble tonight. I'll go home now."
"It's too late to find a taxi. I'll take you home," Uncle Mason offered.
"Thank you. I live at Rhine Street No. 46."
"No problem, it's not far," Uncle Mason said.
Hearing the address, Orpheus, who had been smiling politely, asked, "Mrs. Seymour, do you know Mr. Piaget?"
Piaget had left his address as No. 45, meaning he was Mrs. Seymour's neighbor.
"Mr. Piaget? Of course, I know him. He's my neighbor and had a great relationship with my husband. They often went fishing together.
His wife, Linda, was wonderful, too. Her cooking was amazing, and we often went to their house for dinner."
"Oh, I see." Orpheus noted Mrs. Seymour's smile when she mentioned Piaget's wife.
There was something odd about that smile, and she should have added, "But sadly, his wife passed away last week." But she didn't.
Then Mrs. Seymour added, "This morning, Linda brought me some apple pie. It was delicious. I even saved half for my husband in the fridge. Unfortunately, he'll never get to eat it."