Bailonz Street 13

Chapter 192. The Prey (4)

Ms. O’Brien said her room would be the safest.

I checked it just to be sure – there was only one entrance, no back door. The room had a large hardwood dresser that came up to an adult’s shoulders. Being solid wood rather than plywood, it was incredibly heavy. Even if the killer came to this house, we could barricade the door with it and hold out. Creating a voluntary locked room, but that seemed safe enough.

We moved to Ms. O’Brien’s room. I meticulously checked the closet and under the bed for good measure, verifying several times that the space was secure. Only after such thorough inspection did I feel comfortable enough to close the door.

We still had some time before sunrise. I forced myself to stay alert, ignoring my body’s protests about lack of sleep. Sleep wasn’t an option. Ms. O’Brien had brought drinks to last us until daybreak. When I opened my can, the carbonation escaped with a hiss, coating my tongue with artificial sweetness.

Under different circumstances, this might have felt like a pajama party. But knowing we had to survive a potential attack made my neck prickle with tension. We sat awkwardly side by side on the bed, minds blank as the air grew warmer. What were we supposed to do now? I’d never had to barricade myself like this before.

“You two are married, right?”

Ms. O’Brien suddenly asked.

“Yes, we are.”

“How did you meet?”

I didn’t have the energy to recount the long history of memories with Liam. So I just said we met while traveling and fell in love at first sight. It was half true. Gaming could be considered a kind of travel, after all.

“He seems hard to get close to. William is, how should I put it…”

“Unique?”

“He seems insane.”

I choked a bit on my carbonated water, leaving my throat stinging.

“…He kind of is, isn’t he?”

When I didn’t deny it, Ms. O’Brien looked even more confused. Her expression alone made clear what she wanted to ask – what on earth made you marry Liam Moore? I just laughed softly and hugged a pillow.

Just as the peaceful atmosphere was beginning to ease our tension, there came a sudden thudding sound from downstairs. Like someone knocking on the door.

“…Shh.”

I pressed a finger to my lips and lowered my voice. Then carefully, I pushed against the dresser with my shoulder.

My phone, set to silent, remained quiet. No calls from Liam. Which meant whoever was knocking downstairs wasn’t him.

Could it be the police? I wished there was a window. If there had been one, we could have immediately spotted any police lights outside. But if it were the police, they would have clearly identified themselves like before, shouting “Police! Anyone home!” The pounding grew more intense.

I instinctively knew this visitor who made no announcement was an intruder. And this uninvited guest would certainly not be friendly to those of us remaining at the crime scene.

Ms. O’Brien helped me push the dresser. Though we’d locked the door, we felt no less anxious. Only after the dresser completely blocked the door did we step back to catch our breath. The tension was overwhelming. My body went cold, hands and feet breaking out in clammy sweat.

That’s when we heard footsteps downstairs.

“They’re in the house,” Ms. O’Brien whispered.

Did they use a crowbar or lockpick to get in? We’d secured everything properly – how did they get in, and from where?

The footsteps drew closer. Heavy footfalls. The stairs creaked under their weight. And that clinking sound we’d heard in the hostel corridor. What was that noise? I couldn’t place it.

The footsteps circled the second floor for a while. Then came the squeaking of doors opening and closing, as if checking each room one by one.

Ms. O’Brien and I prepared for the possibility of the door being broken down. I gripped a fireplace poker while Ms. O’Brien unplugged the bedside lamp and clutched it. First time I’d seen someone ready to beat someone with a lamp stand.

Finally, they reached our door. The intruder tried the handle several times. The ominous clicking of the handle turning sent chills down my spine.

Would the locked door hold? Thankfully, the dresser’s weight proved sturdy. No matter how much they slammed against the door or twisted the handle in their frenzy, they wouldn’t be able to open it.

The standoff lasted about thirty minutes before the intruder seemed to leave.

Of course, we didn’t let our guard down immediately. Not after our experience at the hostel, where the intruder had stayed put, waiting for someone to emerge.

It was around seven when Liam called. I answered in a hushed voice, almost whispering.

“Liam.”

“Jane, are you alright?”

“Someone broke into the house.”

I heard him draw in a sharp breath. The sound of a car door slamming came through the phone.

“I’m outside. Don’t worry. The police are with me.”

“The door… what happened to it?”

“It’s open. The lock wasn’t broken. Seeing the scratch marks at the entrance, they must have used something like a lockpick. We’ll search the house first – wait in the room. I’ll let you know when it’s clear.”

I felt relieved anyway. Even though we were on different floors, just being in the same space as Liam put me at ease.

Ms. O’Brien, who had finally started dozing after being tense all night, woke at the sound of my call and asked, “Is Mr. Osmond here?”

It still felt strange hearing my former surname from someone else’s lips. I managed a smile and nodded.

“Thank goodness…”

“He said he’ll let us know once he confirms that horrible person is gone from the house.”

I could hear Liam bustling about, checking various parts of the house. In my mind, I could picture him searching the rooms like a video playback. It was obvious. He’d be thoroughly checking under desks, beds, closets, wall cabinets… anywhere a person could hide. After all, who do you think taught me how to inspect rooms?

Fortunately, Liam seemed to give the all-clear. He came to our door and called out.

“Jane?”

“Yeah, I’m here! But wait a minute. The dresser’s blocking the door.”

After we struggled to move the dresser away, we opened the door to find Liam looking at me with rough features. His coat and shoulders were already damp with rain. His hair too. These British people, always walking around without umbrellas. Don’t know what they’ll do if they start losing hair like that. Liam pulled me into a tight embrace, rubbing his cold, damp cheek against mine. I didn’t even think to complain as I patted his back.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Of course I am. You know me. I’m used to getting caught up in incidents by now.”

“Let me explain what I’ve learned. Let’s go downstairs.”

When Ms. O’Brien and I went down, we found the previous police officers sprawled on the sofa with exhausted faces. They must be tired too, having not slept.

Ms. O’Brien offered to bring some warm tea. I added fresh logs to the fireplace where small flames still flickered. Meanwhile, Liam was pacing in front of the bookshelf. Lost in thought, I could see him stroking his chin. At times like this, it’s better to give him space to think.

“Frequently read book. Frequently read book.”

Liam kept muttering before pulling out a well-worn book at eye level. It seemed to be the victim’s most-read book. Just then, Ms. O’Brien, who had brought several teacups, widened her eyes at the book in Liam’s hands.

“That’s…”

“Do you know this book?”

It was a plant guide. The author was Benedict Miller.

“It must be Bradley’s father. He was a scholar too, though not in archaeology.”

Liam made a “hmm” sound and quickly flipped through the pages. The spine naturally opened to the most-viewed page somewhere in the middle, where a photo was tucked. Liam sat down and showed me the photo he’d retrieved.

It was a family photo with a young child. The house served as the backdrop, and while I couldn’t tell exactly when it was taken, the faded quality spoke to the passage of time.

Ms. O’Brien, who had been looking at the photo with her head bowed, spoke up.

“…This child looks just like Bradley.”