Bailonz Street 13-Chapter 185: Side Story

Chapter 185. London’s Detective (2)

What do you think? Liam asked with his expression.

Sitting with our heads touching, I read and reread the email on the laptop screen.

Digging up a grave and spreading a curse? Wasn’t that like the ghost stories that circulated in the 19th or early 20th centuries? In the 21st century, various truths had been revealed about it being media manipulation chasing sensational content… A memory flashed by of catching glimpses of it on TV programs my dad watched on Sunday mornings.

“What are the chances this is really a curse?”

When I asked, Liam smiled gently.

“It won’t be too late to judge after we observe it ourselves. You and I have some expertise in supernatural matters. But… yes, how about we make a bet about the case before we leave?”

“A bet? Like what?”

“Whether it’s a curse or not.”

“…Hmm. I’ll say it is a curse. It might be good to consider the worst possibility.”

Liam seemed more surprised than expected at such an answer from me, a realist. He opened his eyes wide and said to me:

“Then I’ll bet there’s some other reason, not a curse.”

“Now we need to find evidence one piece at a time.”

Yes, Liam replied, winking with a smile.

Eventually, we packed a few days’ worth of luggage and boarded a train. Originally we’d planned to drive, but since it was nearly a two-hour journey to eastern England and unfamiliar territory for Liam, we decided not to risk it. Of course, it would be troublesome if we missed the last train, but we weren’t worried since we could easily find accommodation if needed.

When we emailed Mr. O’Brien that we’d caught the current train and planned to take a taxi from Darsham, a quick reply arrived. He would come with a car to meet us when we arrived.

* * *

When we got off the train, we were greeted by the unfamiliar station scene along with winter’s ambiance.

Long platforms stretched on both sides of the railway tracks. On one side was a wall, and on the other stood a brick building that appeared to be the station house. Both the building and the platform walls showed signs of age with dark stains, whether from oil or coal dust. A timetable posted on the wall showed only one more train after ours. They seemed to close early. ɽ𝙖₦ÔＢΕṡ

Darsham station gave an overall very quiet and desolate impression. Besides us, there were no other passengers on the platform. It seemed few people traveled here at this hour. No station staff were visible. Perhaps it was unmanned.

Liam looked around and pointed to one side.

“I can see the parking lot over there.”

Following his index, we could see several cars parked in the lot. A small red beetle-like car, a gray six-seater van, and finally a white American SUV.

Which one would be our client’s vehicle? As I was wondering, the driver’s door of the six-seater van opened and a woman who appeared to be in her mid-to-late thirties jumped out.

She was a tall woman with striking features—brown skin and distinctive eyebrows. She wore mud-stained, worn jeans, a gray turtleneck shirt, and a dark winter field jacket with fur trim. The jacket was about half a size too large for her frame, and judging by the stitching and design, it appeared to be men’s clothing.

She seemed to have attempted a neat image by braiding her dark, curly hair together, an effort enhanced by the glasses perched on her nose. Behind those glasses, her sparkling eyes held fatigue, worry, and relief at our arrival. This person who gave off a strong scholarly impression was our client, Ms. O’Brien.

“Mr. Osmond?”

O’Brien called from afar. With the rough wind blowing, it was almost a shout.

I had to struggle to gather my windblown hair in one hand. Liam nodded broadly. Normally he would have raised a hand in greeting, but he was currently carrying my share of luggage as well. We walked down a bit, following the sign marked “Exit” to leave the platform.

There was a crossing beneath the open platform. We crossed the tracks during a gap between trains and approached Ms. O’Brien.

O’Brien took the duffle bag and carrier from Liam’s hands and loaded our luggage into the van’s trunk. She didn’t even blink at the weight of luggage for two people.

“You must be tired from the long journey! I heard two of you were coming. It’s even better seeing you in person!”

O’Brien extended her hand to me and Liam in turn. We quickly shook hands. Even in that brief handshake, her vivacity and strong vitality were palpable.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. O’Brien. This is my wife Jane, and please call me Liam.”

“I’m Nicole O’Brien. Call me Nicole. The wind’s particularly strong today. Let’s continue talking as we drive. Good thing I left the heater on.”

Liam hurriedly ushered me into the back seat of the car before taking the passenger seat himself.

Though it was a six-seater van, the very back row was folded down, presumably to make more trunk space. Various equipment that looked like excavation gear was in the car. As I warmed up in the cozy air, I murmured:

“It’s not snowing here.”

O’Brien sighed.

“Never does. Last time was what, 2010? That’s what they say. Good grief. I was hoping for a white Christmas, but that wish isn’t happening. The weather forecast says not to expect snow for another twenty years. We’ve had rain showers for days lately.”

“What’s the weather usually like here?”

“Well. Mild. That’s how all of southeast England is, really. London or here, it’s all the same. Except it gets quite windy near the coast. Somehow it feels colder inside the house. The heating bill this month will be astronomical.”

O’Brien sighed dramatically. She added comments about needing to keep the fireplace lit to prevent books in the study from getting damp, and how radiators weren’t enough.

The diesel engine made rattling noises. I don’t know much about cars so I thought it was starting normally, but O’Brien muttered:

“Oh dear. Need to check the belt. This old clunker.”

The car slowly started moving.

New novel 𝓬hapters are published on freёwebnoѵel.com.

The village where O’Brien stayed was another thirty minutes away. Though the road was paved gray, it showed clear signs of age with cracks here and there. Street lamps appeared very occasionally along the roadside where green grass grew thickly.

The sky I viewed through the window was hazily overcast. Driving past roads lined with unidentifiable trees, we occasionally spotted isolated brick houses.

“The houses along this road are quite far from their neighbors.”

O’Brien explained.

“So when the power goes out, there’s nowhere to ask for help. That’s why people keep generators in their basements. It’s hard to live here without a car. Especially at this time of year. The last train out of here is at seven in the evening. Ah, you two, look to the right.”

Following her words, I lifted my head. If we weren’t here for such an ominous case, O’Brien would make an excellent tour guide. To the right, far away along the extensive coastline, there were cliffs. Thick grass grew on top of the cliffs, which were entirely surrounded by brown fencing with two lines of wire mesh. Occasionally we could see small buildings like farm sheds.

“There used to be sheep there. In this village, we raise sheep by letting them graze…”

“And they all died?”

O’Brien sighed again. Just talking about this seemed to bring on waves of sadness. Brushing back her slightly curly hair wearily, she replied:

“…Died horribly. All of them, with their bellies split and heads cut off.”