When it came to "equality for all," the Immerlis Family's hearse took the principle to its absolute limit:
Whether its passengers were alive or dead, riding in it was an ordeal.
Ron was long used to it. He rested his head against a corner of the compartment and sat with his legs folded beneath him, feet turned outward.
The pose looked decidedly incongruous on a fat, burly man, but it kept him as steady as possible. He had even started snoring, catching up on sleep.
Kallen, by contrast, was having a rough time. He had to keep bracing his hands against the floor to maintain his balance. The roads within the city had been tolerable, but once they headed out toward the suburbs, the conditions deteriorated considerably, and the jolting became miserable.
Amid the relentless bumps, Jeff and Mr. Mossan had shamelessly fallen into each other's arms. Their pose made them look like lovers lying in bed, pouring out their hearts.
Unable to bear the sight, Kallen tried more than once to pull the "pair" apart. But there was only so much room in the vehicle. No sooner had he separated them than the jolting sent them seeking each other out again, until they were back in an embrace.
Had any relatives accompanied them, this could never have happened. At the very least, they would only have endured some limited shaking inside their coffins.
But Jeff had no family and had gotten himself onto a Welfare Form, while Mr. Mossan, though not on a Welfare Form, was being treated much the same.
Kallen had no standing to criticize his family's "work ethic." Even if he had made lunch today, he was still, in reality, a freeloader in this household.
At last,
Uncle Mason turned the wheel left, and the hearse entered a courtyard resembling that of a small factory. A sign hung by the entrance-Hughes Crematorium.
"Hey, Ron, wake up!" Uncle Mason shouted, rapping on the window.
"Oh, oh, we're here." Ron wiped away his drool, then stretched.
Kallen helped lower the stretcher cart first, then worked with Ron to carry Jeff and Mr. Mossan down one after the other. Uncle Mason held the cart steady to keep it from rolling.
Just then, a middle-aged woman in gray work clothes approached, carrying paper and a pen.
"Oh my, what a handsome young man."
The woman's gaze settled on Kallen first.
"Hello, Mrs. Hughes!" Ron greeted her enthusiastically.
Was this the Mrs. Hughes Paul had mentioned, the one who preferred Ron?
Yet despite Ron's enthusiasm, Mrs. Hughes merely made a sound of acknowledgment out of the corner of her mouth, then turned most of her attention back to Kallen.
In truth, Mrs. Hughes was quite attractive. Even in her work clothes, her full figure was evident, and her skin was very fair.
Still, when Mrs. Hughes pinched his cheek, Kallen awkwardly reached up and removed her hand.
After all, although he could get used to this body's good looks, he was not comfortable actually being teased like a little boy.
But Mrs. Hughes immediately turned her hand over and caught Kallen's, brushing her fingertips back and forth across his palm. The flirtation was unmistakable.
In her eyes, Kallen saw the same hunger middle-aged and elderly men displayed when admiring a young girl's figure.
"This is Kallen, my brother's son." Uncle Mason offered her a cigarette.
"Oh?" Mrs. Hughes looked surprised. "Your nephew?"
Mrs. Hughes took the cigarette and let Mason light it for her, then continued, "I haven't seen him before."
"One of our workers had something to deal with at home, and I got a little hurt," Uncle Mason explained.
"Hurt?"
"I took a tumble."
"Climbing through whose wife's window?"
"Don't joke like that. Anyway, you're not busy today, are you?"
"There's one family ahead of you. The cremation's underway. It'll only be a little wait."
"Only one furnace running?"
"I'd like to run a few more, but you'd have to bring me that many bodies to burn. You think heating a furnace costs nothing?"
"All right, all right. We'll wheel our 'guests' inside first."
"Fine, I'll go in and get things ready. See you shortly, handsome." Mrs. Hughes winked at Kallen, then turned and headed inside ahead of them.
Ron pushed Mr. Mossan by himself, while Mason helped Kallen push Jeff's stretcher cart.
"Mrs. Hughes is a very friendly woman," Mason told Kallen, lowering his voice a little.
"Yes, she is." Kallen nodded.
"Her husband died young. She runs this crematorium now. She's never remarried, but she's had plenty of lovers."
"Uncle, you don't need to tell me all this."
"Hey, I have to warn you. I was your age once, too." Mason tapped the stretcher cart's metal plate, making it clang. "Boys your age could poke a hole through an iron plate."
"..." Kallen.
"You're getting older. Find yourself a respectable girlfriend someday," Mason added.
"All right, Uncle. I understand."
Kallen knew Mason was not deliberately trying to bad-mouth Mrs. Hughes. He simply did not want his young nephew to lose control and let her steal his soul.
As they went farther inside, Kallen distinctly smelled something greasy.
Just cloying... neither fragrant nor sweet, a little like a bedroom that had gone moldy during the rainy season.
The furnishings inside were visibly worn, however. This must have been a crematorium with quite a few years behind it.
"Years ago, this place was practically going under. Another big crematorium nearly bought it out."
"What happened next?" Kallen asked.
"Then it turned out that, to save money, that big crematorium only ran its furnaces at night. So they were giving today's bereaved families someone else's ashes from the day before yesterday."
Kallen's eyes widened at this. They could actually do that?
"Wouldn't that mean..."
"Exactly. You brought your loved one in to be cremated, then went home holding a stranger's ashes. The funniest part is, they actually kept it up for years."
"That's awful."
"After it came out, someone stoned the crematorium's owner to death one night. The police never found the killer. There were simply too many suspects with a motive."
Kallen nodded. "He really did deserve to die."
Putting himself in their shoes, if he had brought a loved one here for cremation while grieving their loss, only to take home some unknown stranger's ashes-and perhaps even honor that urn for years-Kallen felt he, too, would have wanted to kill someone.
"After that big crematorium went bankrupt, Mrs. Hughes's place managed to stay in business. But things are getting hard again now. Other cities have had large funeral-service chains for years.
"They can link up everything, from the hospitals to funeral homes like ours, then the crematoriums, including all the transportation in between.
"They've opened a branch in Rojia City, too. Winnie got a call from them a while ago. They said they wanted to buy us out."
"Grandpa won't agree," Kallen said.
"Of course Father won't agree, and neither will I! Do you know how they do things? They transport the bodies in bulk, manage them in bulk, then hold group memorials and cremate or bury them in bulk.
"Like wholesale vegetables at the market.
"Those capitalists ought to be strung up from lampposts!
"All they see is money. They know nothing about caring for the deceased, nothing about respecting their remains!"
At those words,
Kallen could not help picturing Jeff and Mr. Mossan being jolted around in the hearse earlier, almost kissing.
Uncle,
How do you have the nerve to say the word "respect"?
"We're doing all right. They've been trying to cut us off from our suppliers, but thanks to your grandfather, our business has stayed decent." Uncle Mason's voice grew considerably more subdued. "But things here are getting difficult for Mrs. Hughes again."
Just then, Ron, who was pushing Mr. Mossan ahead of them, turned and called out:
"Aha! That's why I support the Yage Party. They're the only ones willing to punch those damned capitalists back where they belong!"
As he spoke, Ron swung his fist.
Kallen had read about the Yage Party in the newspaper a few days earlier. It was a left-wing party that had emerged in Rojia City and gained considerable momentum in recent years.
However,
The moment he heard the name "Yage Party,"
Uncle Mason shouted:
"Are you crazy? Put those lunatics in power, and they'll only turn the lives we have now into a complete mess!"
Ron shrugged, apparently not inclined to argue with his boss, and continued pushing the stretcher cart.
Watching Uncle Mason's neck flush with anger, Kallen could understand him quite well. His uncle was demonstrating precisely what the weakness of the petty bourgeoisie meant.
That was not mockery. Perhaps it sounded like mockery, but ultimately, their different stations in life placed them on different sides.
After passing through a fairly short corridor, Kallen and the others finally pushed the stretcher carts into the "cremation room."
There were three cremation furnaces inside, but only one was running.
Through the glass window, Kallen saw a man with disheveled hair and an unshaven face sitting on the floor.
And at that moment,
The furnace that had been running stopped, too.
A gray-haired but sprightly-looking worker opened the door and called to the man:
"Sir, please come and collect your wife."
Then the old worker spotted Mason. A smile spread across his face, and he waved in greeting:
"Hi, Mason."
"Old Darcy!"
Uncle Mason went over and offered Old Darcy a cigarette.
"How many today?" Old Darcy asked as he lit it.
Mason held up two fingers.
"Oh, God have mercy on you." Old Darcy laughed at his misfortune.
Of course he knew just how much of a loss cremation meant for the Immerlis Family.
They would not actually lose money, but a burial would have brought in more profit. Once that potential profit was gone, it became a "loss."
"Sir, please come and collect your wife," Old Darcy urged again, exhaling a smoke ring.
The man lifted his head blankly, then stood in silence. But when he saw the cremation furnace through the glass, he pressed his back against the wall again, seemingly resisting everything before him.
Indeed,
Who could immediately accept that the beloved person who had shared their bed was now a pile of ashes?
Kallen heard Uncle Mason quietly ask Old Darcy, "What's wrong?"
Old Darcy took a drag on his cigarette and shook his head slightly, his face full of contempt, before replying in a low voice:
"No tip, and he wouldn't buy one of our urns either. Hah."
If a customer tipped or purchased the establishment's "merchandise,"
They would naturally enjoy certain special treatment.
For instance, if you were frightened or uncomfortable, Old Darcy, the cremation worker, would help put the ashes into an urn and hand it to you.
Of course, some people wanted to gather their loved one's ashes themselves. In that case, Old Darcy would carefully break up the bones for them so they could fit them into the container.
Whether the man had no money or genuinely knew nothing of these practices was unclear. His eyes held nothing but bewilderment.
Looking at his foolish expression, Old Darcy said disdainfully, "A psychology professor, and he doesn't even understand this."
Hmm?
That occupation caught Kallen's attention.
What a coincidence. A fellow professional.
Kallen stepped forward of his own accord, looked at the man, and said softly:
"You should go and collect your wife now."
"I... I..." The man's hands were trembling.
It was clear that he was fighting an intense internal struggle.
In truth, if you had shared a loving life with someone, then after their death, their body or ashes would not inspire the sort of terror you felt watching a horror film. Instead, they would feel... quite familiar.
But some people's emotional and psychological responses were unusual. In his previous life, for example, Kallen had treated a patient who deeply loved his wife. When she gave birth, he chose to enter the delivery room to stay with her-a very loving gesture. But... afterward, he was left with severe psychological trauma. Ultimately, he had no choice but to divorce his wife, and later his condition grew so serious that even the sight of women or children made him tremble with fear.
"Are you afraid of your own wife?" Old Darcy urged. "Hurry up. Other people are waiting."
"I... I'm not..." Struggle and self-reproach appeared on the man's face. Clearly, Old Darcy's remark about being afraid of his own wife had filled this husband with deep guilt and self-blame.
Mental responses, too, could be divided into the "physiological" and the "psychological." The "psychological" was actually easier to overcome, but the "physiological" was genuinely difficult to deal with.
"I'm not... not afraid of her... it's... it's that I..."
Kallen sighed,
Reached out,
And patted the man on the shoulder.
All right, then.
As a favor to a fellow professional.
Kallen turned and walked up to Mason:
"Uncle, we're in a hurry to get home, too. Why don't I help him gather the ashes?"
Hearing this, Old Darcy felt a little displeased and remarked flatly:
"Your nephew is very kind."
There was no praise in his tone.
Mason shrugged. "Old Darcy, I'm in a hurry to get home, too. If I'm late, Mary will blame me again."
"All right, all right."
Old Darcy gave in.
"Wheel one of your bodies up first. I'll go gather them."
Ron wheeled Mr. Mossan inside. Kallen hesitated, but still helped Ron lift Mr. Mossan onto the cremation furnace's loading platform.
Although Mr. Mossan had "manifested" last night,
Expressing his obsession with not being cremated,
Kallen had no way to help him. Even if the previous "Kallen" had left him six thousand Lu Coins, enough to buy a coffin at cost, what about the expense of a burial plot?
Most importantly... what grounds or authority did he have to make the family give an ordinary customer special treatment?
Grandpa was still alive.
Even if Grandpa were gone, his uncle was still here.
It was not yet his turn to run this family... well, nor was it his turn to ruin it.
After finishing, Kallen walked over to Old Darcy and watched him rake through the ashes with an iron hook.
Old Darcy turned to glance at Kallen standing behind him,
and asked,
"First time here?"
"Yes."
"Never seen this before?"
"No."
"A proper young master, then," Old Darcy teased.
A male member of the Immerlis Family, seeing cremated remains for the first time.
Kallen pointed at the pile of bones on the floor. "Aren't they supposed to be ashes?"
He put extra emphasis on the word "ashes."
In his mind, cremation should have left white ashes, something like flour.
But what he saw was a pile of bone fragments. There were ashes, but most of it was bone, and the pieces were quite large.
Old Darcy looked puzzled. "This is what they look like."
"Oh, I see."
Kallen understood now. The films and television shows from his previous life had deceived him.
Just then, seeing Old Darcy drop his spent cigarette butt onto the floor, Kallen felt in his pocket, took out the pack Paul had given him, and offered Old Darcy a cigarette.
Old Darcy accepted it,
his expression softening considerably,
but he still remembered to warn him,
"This isn't how you go about being a good person."
"Heh." Kallen understood what he meant and could only explain, "He once came to our school and gave us an open lecture. That makes him my teacher, in a way."
Hearing that explanation,
Old Darcy smacked his lips around the filter.
"Oh, is that so?"
Then,
Old Darcy put a glove on his left hand, picked up a small iron hammer with his right, and crouched down.
He began hammering the larger bones, breaking them into smaller pieces.
"Does everyone take the ashes away like this?" Kallen asked curiously.
Old Darcy gave a dry chuckle. "Most people only take some of them."
"Oh." Kallen added, "Um..."
"Can't you see I'm doing it? For your uncle's sake." Old Darcy shrugged and continued hammering the bones. "And your grandfather's."
The large pieces of bone were broken up one by one.
Old Darcy stopped and pointed at a counter diagonally ahead, where a row of urns in various styles stood.
"Bring one over."
"Oh, all right."
Kallen walked over and glanced at them, discovering that even the cheapest urn cost 1,000 Lu Coins.
Half a month's wages for an ordinary worker.
Of course, there were more expensive ones. Kallen spotted an exquisite, stately urn priced at 50,000 Lu Coins.
However, it had accumulated quite a layer of dust. Clearly, it was a veteran display piece.
After all, apart from religious reasons, many people chose cremation because it was cheaper than burial. That 50,000-Lu-Coin urn was destined to be a hard sell.
Kallen picked up the 1,000-Lu-Coin urn and brought it to Old Darcy.
"Um, I'll have my uncle pay you for it."
Old Darcy chuckled, waved a hand, and said generously, "No need."
"I couldn't possibly. It costs 1,000 Lu Coins."
"Costs fifty to make. Even cheaper wholesale."
"..." Kallen was speechless.
Fuck.
What a rip-off.
A real fucking rip-off.
Old Darcy asked, somewhat puzzled, "Did you never help with the family business?"
"I... no."
The previous "Kallen" genuinely had no memories of this.
"No wonder, then. Your family's coffins and clothes are priced much the same way."
"Are they?"
Kallen gave a slightly embarrassed smile.
Heh. Turns out my family's just as ruthless.
Old Darcy began placing the remains in the urn, choosing which bones went at the bottom, along the sides, and then in the middle according to their size and shape...
Everything was neatly layered and arranged.
It made Kallen feel as though he were watching... a dish being plated before serving.
Finally,
with practically nothing left behind,
Old Darcy placed almost all the cremated remains inside the urn.
The hard skull, which was difficult to burn away, went in last, at the top in the center.
Then,
with a snap,
Old Darcy closed the urn.
"Take it to him."
"All right. Thank you."
"Heh."
Kallen bent down
and picked up the urn.
It was hard to imagine that, not long ago, she might still have been a living person. Even before entering the cremation furnace, she had still been whole.
Now,
she was inside the box in his hands.
Kallen walked out. When he reached the man, the man instinctively stretched out both hands, then hesitated timidly.
"She... she..."
"I've led your wife out by the hand. I hope you don't mind. Now I'm placing her hand in yours."
At those words,
the man's expression immediately relaxed considerably,
and his voice grew a little steadier.
"No... you're a gentleman."
At last, he reached out and took his wife's urn, cradling it in his arms.
"My Linda... is she really gone?"
Kallen replied, "In the physical sense, yes."
"Then..." The man raised his head, hope appearing in his eyes.
"But in the world of the mind, she's still alive. She lives on in your mind.
As long as you think of her, she's there."
"Yes, yes." The man nodded repeatedly. "As long as I think of her, she's there. She's still by my side. No, she's even closer to me now. My Linda."
A smile appeared on his face, not a twisted smile, but a warm, gentle, sunny one.
"Linda believed in the Berry Church. According to its teachings, her body had to be cremated. Do you know? Bringing her to the Crematorium Society felt more like torture to me.
Thank you. After Linda left, all my friends told me to let go and accept her passing. You're the first person to tell me she's still here. Thank you. I'm truly grateful."
"You're welcome."
Holding the urn, the man turned and left.
Kallen quietly leaned against the corridor wall and slowly drew out a cigarette.
Just then, Mason came over and asked, sounding a little angry,
"When did you learn to smoke? Who taught you?"
Kallen replied, "Aunt Mary."
Kallen wasn't lying. The first cigarette he had smoked since waking up in this world had been given to him by Aunt Mary.
"Uh... all right."
Uncle Mason immediately changed his tone and the subject.
"Kallen, I know you're kind, but you can't help everyone. If kindness becomes a habit, you'll discover that there really are far too many people in this world who need help."
"Uncle, I just..." Kallen wanted to explain, but had no idea how to explain that the man was a "fellow professional." He could only nod. "Yes, Uncle. I know I can't help that many people."
"No, it isn't about whether you can help them. It's that when you discover more and more people need your help, yet you're powerless to do anything, you'll suffer."
Kallen paused, then nodded. "You're right."
Mason was pleased with Kallen's attitude. He shrugged and said, "Besides, being a good person often doesn't bring a good reward."
No sooner had he finished speaking
than the man who had left with the urn jogged back, stopped in front of Kallen, and bowed to him again.
The bow caught Kallen off guard, and he instinctively bowed back.
"I'm so sorry, so sorry. I forgot I haven't paid for the urn."
The man took out an old-fashioned wallet that was rather worn and clearly several years old.
Of course, those descriptions were meaningless and inadequate,
because the crucial thing about the wallet was its... thickness.
It was thick. More precisely, it was bulging!
So stuffed that it wouldn't even close!
The hundred-Lu-Coin notes bore the portrait of Emperor Rotlan from Ruilan Country's history.
And at that moment,
Emperor Rotlan was packed in so tightly that he looked ready to spring out!
So it wasn't that the man couldn't afford cremation, a tip, or an urn. He simply... hadn't thought of any of it. He lacked the everyday experience of paying for convenience.
"I already paid the cremation fee. How much is the urn?" the man asked. "Sorry, I nearly forgot and walked away holding Linda's hand."
"Fif... ahem... one thousand Lu Coins."
Kallen had almost quoted the fifty-Lu-Coin cost price.
But then he remembered that Old Darcy had helped and carefully gathered the remains. The thousand Lu Coins should go toward paying for the urn.
He had no intention of pocketing the difference.
After all, in his previous life, he hadn't lacked small sums of money. In this life, he didn't have to worry about food or drink for now, either. The previous "Kallen" had even saved him 6,000 Lu Coins in private funds.
"All right."
The man took all the money out of his wallet, put the empty wallet away, and placed the thick wad of notes into Kallen's hands.
That thickness,
that weight-
Uncle Mason stared from beside him.
Well,
Kallen, who had been unmoved by small sums just moments ago, was now staring a little too.
That enormous wad contained at least twenty thousand Lu Coins, if not more!
Swallowing instinctively, Kallen said, "You've given me... too much."
"Not at all. This is your psychological counseling fee. The psychological support you gave me was worth this price. No, you gave Linda back to me. This little money can't even begin to repay the tremendous help you've given me!
But I only had time to make a quick withdrawal from the bank before coming here. If I'd known, I should have withdrawn more..."
"No, no, no. This is enough, more than enough," Kallen hurriedly reassured him.
"I... I didn't bring a business card. My name is Piaget, Piaget Adams. Where's my card, my card... do you have one? I'd like to contact you in the future so we can talk."
"I don't..."
"He does, he does."
Uncle Mason immediately took out one of his own business cards and handed it over. Printed on it was "Inmerles Deceased Care Company."
Piaget held the card and smiled. "I'll visit you at this address in the future. Thank you again."
With that,
Piaget bowed to Kallen once more.
Holding the thick wad of banknotes, Kallen immediately returned the bow.
Then,
Piaget left again, "holding" his wife's hand.
Kallen counted out a thousand Lu Coins to give Old Darcy later.
He offered the rest to Mason.
Mason merely smiled, pushed the money back, and said,
"Keep it for yourself."
"Don't I have to hand it over to the family?" Kallen asked.
It was a lot of money, certainly, but his life was worth more.
If he handed this income over to the family:
Hey,
Dis,
see this?
I can cook, and I can make money too!
So please don't kill me!
"He said it was your... what was it? Oh, consultation fee. That means it's yours. Just put it away somewhere safe. Or I can take you to the bank tomorrow, open an account for you, and deposit it."
"Thank you, Uncle."
"No need to thank me, no need." Mason draped an arm over Kallen's shoulders and asked, "What you just said to that... Piaget, was it? I heard all of it. Some of it went over my head, but I could tell you really helped him work through things.
"How come I never knew you could talk people through their troubles?"
The old "Kallen" had been autistic. How could he possibly have talked people through their troubles?
"I read about it in books and learned a few things."
"Oh, I see. When we get home, I'll discuss it with your aunt. We could add another service to our business, just like what you did today. Psychological counseling, or psychotherapy.
"You know, people who've lost loved ones are in terrible pain. They need someone to help them through it."
Oh.
Kallen understood what Mason meant.
In fact, in the world of his previous life, higher-end funeral homes all had psychological counselors to help the bereaved and provide counseling.
"Could you do that?" Mason continued. "I mean, you don't have to force yourself."
"Yes, no problem."
Kallen answered without hesitation, out of confidence in his professional skills.
"That's wonderful. You know, every time I see those grieving families, my heart aches..." Mason pressed a hand to his chest.
"You're so kind, Uncle..."
"Because I know people aren't rational when they're in that state. They're more willing to spend money than usual, but I don't have enough services to charge them for. Every time I think about it, my heart aches."
"..." Kallen was speechless.
"Are you really giving Old Darcy a thousand Lu Coins?" Mason asked.
"Yes." Kallen nodded.
"All right, I'll give it to him." Mason took the thousand Lu Coins inside to find Old Darcy.
Behind the glass wall,
Old Darcy used an iron hook to slash open Mr. Mossan's belly,
then pushed him into the crematorium furnace.
Kallen saw Mason approach Old Darcy. Old Darcy looked surprised at first, then smiled. He even turned around, took off his hat, and bowed to Kallen through the glass wall.
Just then,
Ron wandered out as well and lit a cigarette to relax.
"Ron."
"Yes? Do you need something, Young Master Kallen?"
Kallen took out five hundred Lu Coins and handed them to Ron.
"This money..." Ron looked puzzled.
"That gentleman gave it to me just now. Everyone here gets a share."
"Really? Thank you, Young Master. Thank you!"
Ron happily pocketed the money. He had no wife and spent his entire paycheck every month. In fact, whenever he got paid, he still had to settle the debts he'd run up the month before. This extra five hundred Lu Coins was enough for him to enjoy two nights at the Little Tavern.
Kallen asked,
"By the way, Ron, did a government office call you to collect Jeff's body?"
Completely unsuspecting, Ron answered directly,
"No. That morning, we were supposed to pick up Mr. Mossan from the Flowery Bay Sanatorium, but when we passed Mink Street... was it No. 125 or No. 130? Anyway, we found Jeff frozen to death beside a trash can on the street out front.
"We had to bring Jeff back first, then go pick up Mr. Mossan. Mr. Mason applied for the Welfare Form afterward."
Just as I thought!
Kallen immediately recalled what Uncle Mason had said as they drove past that row house, No. 128:
"But she ran into a bit of trouble at home the day before yesterday. She asked me for help, so I took care of it... She and her husband are looking for a new house and getting ready to move..."
So,
Uncle had helped his first love's household
dispose of a body!
Wait.
Kallen suddenly realized something.
He had "seen" certain images from both Mr. Mossan's and Jeff's bodies.
Mr. Mossan's had been an obsessive refusal to be cremated. Aunt Mary had confirmed that this was true: because of his religious beliefs, Mr. Mossan had been strongly opposed to cremation.
And if what I saw from Mr. Mossan was real,
then wouldn't that woman I saw from Jeff, the one with only a pair of legs and a face, also be... real?
The scene he had glimpsed on the second floor as they passed that house immediately surfaced in Kallen's mind: those legs and those red high heels!
So,
in the home of Uncle's first love,
there was a... monster living there right now!
Before you continue