A little while later, I reached home. I kept my new gun hidden in the drawer, except I couldn't really "hide" it, so it simply stayed there, clearly visible, under a few sheets of paper. I pulled out the letter from underneath. There were things that I had to figure out still, and that letter was one of them. In hindsight, what I did then was incredibly stupid of me, and that was showing the letter to my sister. Thankfully, I had luck on my side, and she simply looked back at me, probably wondering if I had hit my head or something, and asked if I was seeing things.
'You need to rest,' she said, her voice firm as she pushed me back to my room. 'Sleep,' she commanded. Reluctantly, I agreed, tucking myself under the sheets as I let the gentle breeze brush against my face. Truthfully, I was tired. I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep the previous night, and it was catching up to me, but I couldn't let myself be idle either. There was this constant feeling of anxiety that creeped up my body every time I wasn't doing something, and it was that very feeling that prevented me from falling asleep. Nevertheless, I tried, tossing myself around until eventually my body finally couldn't take it anymore, and I dozed away.
'—oul?'
Who was it now, disturbing my peaceful slumber?
'—Gyeoul?'
They called again, this time louder. Perhaps this person was never taught manners growing up, and now their annoying presence invaded the lives of others.
'Gyeoul!'
The voice sounded familiar now. Perhaps it was someone I knew? Even so, something like this should not be tolerated! How dare they disturb my sleep! I shall see to it that they are disciplined thoroughly after I wake up!
'Kim Gyeoul!'
My eyes shot open the very moment I recognised the voice that uttered my name.
She sat right beside me, her face visibly concerned as she caressed my cheeks. 'Gyeoul,' she said, slowly, lifting her hand towards my forehead. 'You don't have a fever…'
'Don't make your wife worry like that,' said another voice I knew too well, even longer than that of my wife. With his beard neatly trimmed and his hair combed to one side, he sat across the table with a fork and a knife in his hands, slicing the piece of meat on the plate as he used the fork to anchor it to place. Next to her sat an old woman, her nose pesky, and her eyes still full of life, even at her age.
I looked around me, at the dull walls that were light green, and at the floor made of white tiles. The table I sat on was small, a rectangle, with two chairs on my side and two chairs opposite of me. It was small, yes, but we never needed anything larger. The food was kept on the kitchen slab, and we would all go and take it from there if we needed more. Yes, I remembered all of that very well.
Does that mean…
'Gyeoul, you haven't touched your food yet,' said my wife.
'Ah!'
Yes, it was truly her. The softness in her voice, the way she tilted her face ever so slightly whenever she was concerned. If she were smiling now, I was sure that it would be the same, gentle curl of her lips that I remembered. But right now, it wasn't there. How very wrong of me to be the reason for that.
'I'm fine,' I said, relieved as I placed my palm on my chest. 'I feel like I just woke up from a nightmare.'
Perhaps that was what it was—a rather vivid nightmare, and nothing more. Laughter reverberated off the walls of the tiny dining room, off the slabs and the kitchen drawers, as the aroma of all the spices filled the air. She was a wonderful cook, my wife, I mean, and in her own words, the secret ingredient was love, and no matter how cliched it might sound, I wholeheartedly believed that. This was food she cooked for me out of love, and I would never take that for granted.
I cut off a piece of meat, biting into it, letting the flavours flow down my tongue. It felt strangely nostalgic, even though I was only in that world for less than a day.
But something was strange. I shrugged it off, or at least, tried to, but that feeling never quite went away, and as I took the last bite, my father, the man who sat right across me, looked me in the eye, and asked: 'Where do you plan to return, my dear son?'
He was looking at me, right in the eye, but for some reason, I couldn't make out his face. I could tell you the features that were supposed to be there—but I couldn't see them.
'What do you mean?' I asked, confused.
My wife turned to me, her expression pained. 'How long must I wait?' she asked as her eyes teared up.
'What do you mean…? I'm right here…'
I reached out my hand, trying to touch her, but she was just out of my reach. I leaned closer, but that somehow didn't make a difference: she would always be just beyond my reach.
'Gyeoul,' said my father. 'We're waiting for you…'
'But I'm here!' I said, my voice louder than before.
My wife smiled at me, but it wasn't the smile that I wanted on her face. No. Her expression was painful and there were tears in her eyes. That was not how a smile should be. Not hers.
Why do you look at me that way?
I'm here.
Right in front of you.
Then why?
Why do you look at me that way?
'WHY?'
I reached out for her, but I kept falling short. I got off my seat, taking a step towards her, yet her silhouette kept moving away from me.
'No! Don't!'
I ran—ran as fast as I could, but I never could reach her. It was as if there was this invisible wall separating me from her, a wall I could not cross no matter how hard I tried. In fact, that wall only kept getting wider as she moved further away.
'NOOOO!'
I screamed as I reached out to her, tripping on my feet and falling into the darkness that I was now surrounded with, and as I drowned in that very darkness—the air leaving my lungs as I felt the pressure of the liquid closing in from the outside, I still reached out for her, but by then, she, along with everything else, had already faded away, devoured by the darkness that was now about to devour me as well.
No.
No.
No.
NO.
NO.
'NOOOO!'
And with a scream I launched up from my bed, my hand still extended forwards as the familiar, wooden ceiling of Zoras' room greeted me. My breathing was uneven, as if I really was drowning there.
A dream, I thought to myself as I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs, before exhaling them out of my mouth. I got off the bed, my face grim, reflecting the crimson hue of Noctrya. It was already night. 'I slept for a while,' I said, taking out the piece of paper that was the letter from my drawer.
Douglas.
The name stood out like a sore thumb. From our interaction in the morning, I concluded that he didn't take any artefacts from me or I took any from him…but what if he was feigning innocence? There was still the off chance that he was the one responsible for the current situation. I did not have any concrete reason to distrust him, anything out of the ordinary that I could point my finger at, and the name in the letter could simply imply that I was talking about him, not that he was involved directly. Perhaps I was about to give him an artefact, and this entire situation happened before I could reach him. Nevertheless, that irrational worry would not let me be at peace if I didn't look into it. And so I decided that I should look into it.
At night, I would visit that artefact shop once again, this time, sneaking in. I laughed at the thought—only a day in, and here I was, already breaking the law. Trespassing was a crime, and if I got caught, it would put a permanent mark on Zoras' reputation and the trust between him and Mr. Douglas. Trespassing wasn't a serious crime, but then again, this was Zoras we were talking about. It did not matter how "serious" I considered a crime to be, for him, a crime was a crime, and it would definitely haunt him for the rest of his life.
As long as Zoras didn't know, it would be fine, at least I thought so, but what if Zoras was awake? It can't be, I concluded, but that was simply me trying to reassure myself. The truth was, I had no idea what had happened to Zoras, nor could I make any guesses: that was how lost and clueless I was about the whole situation.
Whether this would yield anything, I could not tell, but I felt like I had to check the records at least once. That way, I could, at the very least, assure myself.
I couldn't let myself get caught. For the sake of Zoras, I just couldn't. I wasn't Zoras, but I couldn't ruin his life. For me, this might not mean much, but for Zoras, it would. I looked at my palm. It had become a habit of mine—whenever I was contemplating something, or I was lost in thought, I would instinctively look at my hand, sometimes forming a fist and reopening it, slowly, again and again.
I took a deep breath, letting out a sigh. There wasn't much I could really do. I had to figure out what the contents of the letter were, and for that, I had to figure out how exactly Mr. Douglas was involved in the whole incident. Yes, I did not have any other leads, so I could only grasp at straws. This was justified. I was simply trying to figure out what was going on. I couldn't ask Mr. Douglas directly for the records, that would raise suspicion, which is why this was all that I could do.
There would be multiple records, all in different notebooks, but I was interested in only two: first, the lending and accepting of artefacts, and second, the records for artefacts that he was to receive in the future. If I was to give him an artefact, there was a chance that there would be information regarding that in those records.
I'll strike at midnight, I thought, steeling my resolve as I clenched my palm into a fist. 'Midnight, it is.' But before that…
Right, I skipped lunch…and that fact had become pretty obvious thanks to the growling of my stomach. Luckily, I was in my room, so there was no one to hear it.
I headed downstairs, to the kitchen. Lune was sure to have left something cooked for me, considering how late it had gotten.