Discovery

That was even more impossible. I loved him?

I didn't believe that myself. I had told myself countless times just now that I had done it so he wouldn't kill me, that I had done it to soothe him.

But if you asked me to say it again, I probably couldn't, even with a gun to my head.

Just now, I had even thought I could accept it! Accept what? An anglerfish or a hippopotamus?

I felt like I was going insane. My head was numb, and so were my legs.

I even felt a little... something I couldn't describe. I almost wanted to laugh. What was I doing now? Helping a super serial killer who had murdered nine people in a row cover his tracks so he could kill more people later.

My earlier plan had succeeded. I had completed my second step. I had won him over completely and become his anchor at Crystal Lake. But why? I had achieved my goal at least a dozen years ago: get rid of that thing, then go on living my own life.

This was the most absurd thing I could accept in this world. The last one.

After a long internal debate, I finally settled on a reason I could barely accept: perhaps I was afraid those things would come back. After all, that feeling really was too...

Jason woke when the first ray of sunlight fell on his face the next morning. He felt as though he had had a very long dream. He had dreamed of the scent of flour on his mother's apron, of his mother gently kissing his cheek, of his mother standing between him and the children who bullied him.

Fortunately, he also realized that his mother was dead. He understood death better than anyone. Death meant leaving. Death meant never seeing each other again. He would never eat his mother's apple pie again, never smell her scent again, but... someone had said he would protect him the way his mother had...

The beautiful, pale lake-blue eyes in his memories gradually overlapped with a pair of black eyes that were just as gentle. He looked up. It was Luo Ya's face, one he felt just as attached to.

"Jason, are you awake? Have a bath and go upstairs to change. Shall I make you breakfast? Would you like apple pie?" I gently stroked his head.

This wasn't a dream.

No, it was a dream.

Jason covered his face and staggered to his feet. He still didn't want him to see his face. He knew how ugly it was, how disgusting, but yesterday, he had kissed his cheek and even said he loved him.

He ran upstairs to his room, found another mask, and covered his head.

As for me, I tried to stand up-and couldn't get up at all. It was deeply uncomfortable, too. My legs felt as though they weren't mine. I stretched them both out, and by the time Jason came downstairs again wearing his mask, I still hadn't managed to stand.

After breakfast, Jason and I went to the cabin, found Mrs. Pamela's head, and boarded a small boat. Then, very carefully, we laid the head in Mrs. Pamela's final resting place. We took him out to the center of Crystal Lake in the boat, then sank him.

May you rest in peace, Mrs. Pamela.

Whether I meant it or not, I really would be taking care of this big lug... for a long time.

Indeed, the days that followed went on much as before.

Today's breakfast was thick-cut brioche with caramelized banana slices, drizzled with caramel and sprinkled with chopped almonds and powdered sugar. A cheese platter of sliced figs with Brie, chopped walnuts, and a drizzle of honey, served with whole-wheat crackers, and freshly squeezed fruit and vegetable juice.

I used cooking to cultivate myself. There was nothing embarrassing about that. I enjoyed the sense of accomplishment, and watching someone polish everything off gave me that same sense of accomplishment.

But aside from that, all that remained for me was endless work. Frankly, work itself taxed both the brain and one's life. I had realized the importance of money long ago, so I was incredibly... well, I wouldn't call it enjoyment. At any rate, I didn't dislike the feeling. Everything I owned now was a medal I had won in battle. The sound of those numbers jumping upward was sweeter than most sounds.

Busy? This was the pleasure of taking control of my life. But it was only temporary. Energy sounded like a solid industry, but one government policy could bring it all crashing down someday. Finance sounded prestigious, but something you couldn't see or touch was fine to dabble in. Actually making a living from it felt the least secure.

What could truly lead an era? Technology. How many generations of energy had there already been? But technology only kept advancing. Even a generational change was merely an even more revolutionary update.

PC hardware and semiconductors, along with software and the internet-people in the future would be able to access the world's knowledge without leaving home. How fantastical. But I had a feeling this would be the great technological revolution that would transform the next century.

I was here, unable to leave or run a company, so I would invest instead. In that respect, I cast a wide net to catch as many fish as possible.

There was one other difference from before. As I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, taking call after call, I could see an enormous figure reflected in the glass, huddled in my little armchair. A couple of days ago, he had wandered a little farther afield, seemingly checking out his new territory, and reached an estate I had newly purchased.

The family had arrived for their vacation less than half a day before I bought the house. Apparently, some of them hadn't even taken their luggage, though they had certainly received appropriate compensation, several times over. After all, if they made a fuss, my losses would be greater.

Then he had dug up this mask from somewhere: a hockey mask with two red triangular markings. It wasn't shoddy, but it wasn't good, either. I had already ordered a custom-made replacement for him. As for this one, it was small and mostly pure white, which somehow gave it an inhuman quality, an eerie strangeness that made the skin crawl.

Still, it was all right once I got used to looking at it. I turned back toward the glass and continued my calls. The weather could change at a moment's notice now, and if it rained, the signal could disappear just like that. I needed to finish everything while I could, then preferably contact someone in telecommunications and see whether there were any plans to install fiber-optic cables here in the future.

Time hurried past like that. Jason and I seemed to have been forgotten, both looking just as we had when we first met. Going by our normal ages, I should have been in my fifties that year, and Jason in his forties.

Apart from the people who regularly delivered supplies, no one had set foot on this land for twelve full years. I hadn't used an electric fence. With no people entering the forest, the wildlife had flourished instead, so I adopted a more efficient method: surveillance patrols, with a fine of 200 for anyone caught.

I was also very rich now, ridiculously rich, and I would only grow richer in the future. Every one of the industries I had invested in was booming. My incidental investment in telecommunications had brought an unexpected windfall, too.

Since I no longer needed to work so hard, I might as well study something else. A person couldn't just sit idle. What interested me most now was that Necronomicon, the book that had connected Jason and me.

There were three copies of that book in total, but I currently knew about only one. Its last appearance had been in Mrs. Pamela's hands. Even that cult had possessed nothing more than a "photocopy." Afterward, the book had vanished without a trace.

So I guessed that the book should still have been in Mrs. Pamela's possession, which meant it was still somewhere around Crystal Lake.

That was why we were now at the cabin where Jason and his mother had lived while she was alive. Jason seemed to have been tending to the place now and then. This simple wooden cabin actually hadn't collapsed even after all this time.

I motioned for Jason to put me down from his arm. I really had been walking on my own at first. I had even brought a walking stick specifically for rough terrain.

I had been to this cabin before, though I hadn't looked very closely. There were two simple rooms, three if you insisted on counting the bathroom, full of cobwebs, dust, and rags. Aside from a few pieces of battered furniture, practically everything was visible at a glance.

Then I started rummaging around, but all I found were a spider on a roof beam, a toad in the bathroom, and a many-legged bug in a corner. All three gave me a fright before Jason stabbed them to death.

The toad didn't die. It had been squatting in the bathroom toilet, and the space was too cramped. I took a step back, tripped Jason, and we both took a solid tumble. The toad seized the chance to escape.

We spent most of the day there, and our biggest haul was scares, dust, and cobwebs.

I couldn't help grumbling, "There are only so many places here. If it isn't here, what, is there some secret room or cellar?"

Jason nodded.

Wait. Jason nodded.

This was his home. I should have just asked him earlier. After a brief bout of frustration, I had Jason take me there.

Jason found a board beneath a layer of dust and pulled it up, revealing a pitch-black cellar below. I switched on my flashlight and shone it around down there. The space wasn't large, and the beam could just barely reach a table. As for what was on the table, we would have to go down to find out.

Jason jumped straight down, then helped me down as well.

The rest was plain to see: a table and a chair, both rotted beyond recognition.

I immediately spotted a book on the table, one that inspired revulsion and severe psychological discomfort at first glance.

The book's cover was made from the hide of something unknown. Even covered in dust, it still had a visibly greasy texture. Moreover, that hide had been fashioned into a twisted, screaming, hideous, wrinkled human face, as though it had suffered some horrific torture.

I recalled the information I had collected. The book's pages were made from human skin mixed with demon flesh and blood. I took another step back in disgust. Even without a photograph, I had identified it as the Necronomicon almost at a glance.

Wearing gloves, I endured my nausea and briefly flipped through a few pages. They were mostly filled with obscure writing accompanied by pictures of demons and monsters. The more I looked, the stronger that sense of discomfort and absurdity became.