Intrusion

After dinner, we sat together on the sofa as usual. He watched television while I read the previous day's newspaper. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, I felt my body tilting.

I turned to look and found that he had pressed a hollow into the sofa to my left and was still inching toward me. Since I wasn't feeling particularly well today anyway, I simply rested my head on his lap for a nap. Go ahead, cling all you want.

Jason looked at the head resting on his lap, so soft and beautiful. Its slight weight seemed to travel down through his legs and settle in his heart, as though a great wad of cotton filled it, soft yet heavy.

But then something suddenly occurred to him, and he frowned. His discomfort and fury reached their peak. Why were there still pests coming to disturb his peaceful days? His method for dealing with anyone who trespassed into Crystal Lake was simple and efficient: intrusion-elimination.

The next day, I noticed that Jason's patrols had grown noticeably longer. After breakfast, before he left, he even made a jumbled series of gestures. I barely managed to understand: he wouldn't be coming back for lunch.

Had someone else with a death wish broken in? First, I checked the entrance at the main gate. The surveillance footage did indeed show that no outsiders had come or gone. Crystal Lake, the nearby forest, and a large stretch of the surrounding area had all been enclosed with wire fencing over three meters high. No one should have been able to get in.

A bad feeling suddenly came over me. I immediately contacted people to investigate, making sure to remind them to keep their distance.

Two hours later, I received word. A group had indeed arrived, staying near the forest, right beside the only road into the mountains. It was a dilapidated house that had been abandoned for a long time. I'd wanted to buy it, but I simply couldn't find Paul's family, who had left decades ago, so I'd shelved the matter for the time being. I hadn't expected them to suddenly return and even open a counselor training camp. Strictly speaking, it wasn't within Jason's territory, but... to avoid complications, I still intended to give them a warning.

I wasn't planning to send my people to negotiate. There weren't many left who could both get things done and keep their mouths shut. I couldn't have Jason chopping them all up.

I put on my assistive device, pressed the accelerator, and drove straight over.

I intended to speak to him face-to-face, so I drove right up to the house. Several tables out front were packed with people. They looked like a bunch of young people around twenty, and they were staring at me with all sorts of expressions.

A freckled boy looked so astonished that his jaw seemed about to drop. He murmured,

"Jeff, pinch me. Tell me I'm not dreaming."

"You're not dreaming. That's a black classic Range Rover."

Scott Cheney craned his neck and shouted, "Look! That's a fucking Range Rover! Is this for real?!"

Terry McCarthy's eyes went wide as saucers. "That badge on the front! And those body lines-that's a proper British car. A hundred times better than Paul's shitty Ford!"

Sandra Dier covered her mouth in surprise, her voice trembling. "Oh my God... how much does that thing cost?"

"The spare change alone could buy every junker in our camp," Vickie Perry said pointedly.

But once someone got out of the car, the looks in their eyes changed slightly.

They had imagined there might be a handsome white guy inside, or even an old man, but none of them had expected a fairly good-looking Asian. That wasn't welcome among them, and someone even started whistling.

The commotion outside clearly caught the attention of the two people inside, who were either arguing or flirting over their assistant Annie being late-it was hard to say which.

Out of courtesy, I introduced myself first. "Hello, I'm Royal Witt. I live in the forest nearby."

"Oh, hello. I'm Paul, Paul Holt, the director of this training center. This is Ginny, Ginny Field. He's currently a college student studying psychology, and he's also my assistant."

The young man before them was beautiful, the sort of beauty that fit their fantasies of the East: slender, handsome, and refined, with a melancholy, gentle air that made people turn to look. He was very attractive.

Paul clearly felt a fair amount of enthusiasm toward me, his wealthy and mysterious neighbor, at first, and shook my hand warmly.

I explained why I had come. "You're certainly young and accomplished, Mr. Holt. I came to give you a warning. You must have noticed the new fencing and signs nearby on your way here?"

Paul and Ginny exchanged a look, not understanding my intentions, but nodded anyway.

"Y-yes. What about them?"

"I'm guessing you've only recently returned, Mr. Holt?" I coughed twice and continued, "My health isn't very good, and my doctor wants me to rest, so I bought the land around here, planning to live alone for a while. Then I discovered there were a few too many wild animals here. Bears... wolves..."

Noticing a slight change in his expression, I added, "You have quite a few kids here. Teenagers, you know. Please tell them to be careful and stay out of the woods over there. It's quite dangerous."

Paul wasn't someone who couldn't tell right from wrong, but he clearly didn't consider this a particularly big deal. He simply said, "Thank you, sir. I'll tell the kids to be careful."

"Not merely careful, Mr. Holt." A hint of warning entered my voice. "I bought that land. It isn't a good piece of property, and its value can't drop any further. I believe you understand what I mean. This is private property. I don't allow anyone else to enter, especially around Crystal Lake. Do you understand?"

"Thank you both for understanding. I'll be leaving now."

My mixture of persuasion and pressure left the two of them stunned.

"Uh... all right, sir. We'll be careful." Ginny had keenly sensed that something was off about the young man before him, but couldn't say what. Apart from a slightly caustic disposition, this gentleman's speech and manners were simply impeccable.

Seeing Ginny staring at my retreating back, Paul stretched out a hand and waved it in front of him.

"Hey! Hey! Ginny! I'm over here!"

"Of course I know. But don't you think he's a little..."

"A polite, rich bastard, you mean? Hmph!"

That faint sense that something was wrong vanished with Paul's interruption. After Ginny and Paul finished adjusting the car, Paul did indeed write down the matter of wild animals in the woods in his notebook.

Then he continued discussing safety precautions here with the other trainees.

"This place is starting to feel like Burger King. Where was I?"

"You were just saying we need to do a good job."

Paul gave the curly-haired young man beside him an approving look. "Yes, Ted. That's right."

"All right, a few points about safety."

"First, thanks to that kind gentleman for the warning... I was going to bring this up later, but you all heard him. That's private property, so stay out of those woods... and watch out for our friends in the forest."

"Among other things, there are bears in this area. Contrary to what we usually hear, bears are dangerous, so don't fight them over food, and change your clothes often. The smell of food clings to clothing. If you're female, don't wear perfume, and pay attention to hygiene during your period..."

By the time I got home, dusk was falling. It was already dinnertime, but Jason still hadn't returned. He had brought Mrs. Pamela out, though, and placed her on the sofa. I could vaguely guess what he meant. Was he having Mrs. Pamela keep an eye on me? Make sure I didn't wander off, or something...

I intended to talk to Jason, too. Teenagers-a whole group of teenagers-were a huge headache in every respect, weren't they?

Jason made it back before dinner, covered in leaves, tiny twigs, and the seeds of some kind of sticky plant.

I urged him upstairs to change before coming down to eat.

Carefully slow-roasted ribeye steaks, medium-well, with black pepper sauce. The vegetables were creamy bacon baked potatoes and broccoli au gratin. There was apple pie to sweeten him up, of course.

We sat on the sofa as usual, and I softened my voice. "Jason, can we talk?"

Jason turned to look at me, as though asking what I wanted to tell him.

I pointed in a certain direction outside the door.

"Those people..."

Jason visibly grew agitated.

"Jason, Jason, listen to me. Hear me out, all right?"

Jason finally sat down, but he was still in a very bad state.

"Jason, I know you went to watch them last night. Didn't you?"

Qisen didn't answer, only stared steadily at me.

"I want you to leave them alone, all right?"

No. Absolutely not. His emotions grew turbulent again, and he made several gestures at me. Everything, including his demeanor and expression, conveyed refusal.

"I know they're trouble, noisy and annoying, but... if they don't come over here, if they just stay there, we'll leave them alone, all right?"

Jason still disagreed. He sat ramrod straight, and even seated there, he resembled a small mountain.

I made my voice softer and quieter still. "I'm very worried about you, Jason. When you're away, I'm scared, too. Stay here and keep me company, all right?"

I pressed against him, wrapped both arms around his neck, and gave him an intimate hug. My cheek rested against the rough burlap sack as I continued.

"Let's just live our own lives, all right? You, me, and Aunt Pamela. Peacefully and quietly. All right?"

Jason placed his broad, steady hands on my waist.

I understood. He had agreed.

This wasn't easy. I'd thought he would most likely refuse. I hadn't expected Jason to agree so readily. Yes, that was right. I was testing his limits.

But someone still let all my painstaking efforts go to waste. It wasn't Jason, at any rate.

After breakfast the next day, Jason ran off with a pickaxe.

I had a slightly ominous feeling, but what could I do? I'd given the warnings I needed to give and had the talks I needed to have. Interfering too much with someone else's fate was wrong.

And that night was indeed anything but peaceful. Jason began slaughtering people that evening, blood and screams composing the night's lament. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I could even smell a faint trace of blood on the gently drifting evening breeze.