Chapter 44: Chapter 44
An instinct stirred within him. He summoned his points of light, his gaze fixing on the magnificent purple one.
He whispered its name, and just as he had tried to do every day, he focused his scattered spirit into the point of light.
The next moment, something different happened. The purple point of light before him flared like a sun, radiating an intense brilliance. A straight purple line appeared at Jenkins's feet, stretching into the darkness ahead.
He wasn't sure if it was an illusion, but in that instant, the menacing presence tracking him seemed to vanish, and the falling raindrops and howling wind seemed to pause for a heartbeat.
Without a moment's hesitation, Jenkins followed the purple line and ran down the street.
He braved the rain, cutting through filthy alleys, scrambling over crumbling low walls, and was even forced to wade through a street piled high with reeking, rotting garbage while being chased by feral cats.
Jenkins was completely lost. He followed the line at his feet unconsciously, pushing forward. He lost all track of time until, finally, the purple line slipped into a streetside shop.
Panting heavily, Jenkins came to a halt. He shook his head in a daze and, standing under the eaves, he summoned the candle steeped in his spirit. He held it high, its light cutting through the darkness to illuminate the shop's sign:
"I ran all over Nolan City, and this is where I end up?"
Jenkins stood there, stunned, but with no better option, he pushed open the shop door.
The familiar sound of the bell echoed through the darkness, but in the empty shop, it was eerie and unsettling. Antique vases and the grandfather clock along the wall cast long, dancing shadows in the candlelight, creating a sinister, unnerving atmosphere.
The purple line hadn't disappeared; it stretched straight to the staircase leading to the second floor.
Jenkins ignored it for the moment. Guided by the flickering candlelight, he trembled as he approached the rocking chair where Papa Oliver usually sat during the day.
"At least it's not the worst-case scenario."
Jenkins reassured himself.
He continued to follow the purple line to the second floor, hesitated for a few seconds, and then pushed open the door to Papa Oliver's bedroom.
The blanket was neatly folded on the bed. Because the window hadn't been shut tightly, one side of the sheet was soaked through.
Jenkins set the candle on the desk and watched as the line he'd been following plunged straight into the wooden floor.
He crouched down, shivering violently, and began to feel around on the floorboards. Guided by the purple line, he quickly pried up a loose board. Inside was a rusty iron box containing scattered bullets and a pistol, a stack of letters, and the familiar ring of keys Papa Oliver always carried, held together by a piece of black wire.
"Goddess bless me. I hope Papa Oliver forgives me!" Read full story at novel·fire·net
Jenkins deftly made the sign of the Legacy Sage over his chest. Then, with his uninjured left hand, he picked up the topmost sheet of paper indicated by the purple line.
The magnificent color representing destiny vanished instantly. Jenkins stared blankly for a moment and found he couldn't reactivate the ability. He unfolded the letter in his hand:
Papa Oliver, The stout woman who came to your shop yesterday morning to sell the badge has been identified. Her details and the report Billy gave me are attached. Black Velte, the poor art student you asked me to investigate last week, shows no abnormalities, but I still haven't figured out how he got that ring.
P.S. The ring's origin has been traced. Its owner was a guard of Baron Morton, who went missing three weeks ago. He was last seen at the Flaming Bar at eleven o'clock at night.
P.P.S. Payment received.
Yours faithfully, Fat Jack
"What does this mean?"
Jenkins had expected to find some wondrous ritual to reverse his predicament, or perhaps the letter itself would be a powerful weapon, strong enough to destroy that demigod.
But it was just a letter.
From its contents, it seemed that with the Church short-staffed, Papa Oliver was using his own contacts to investigate customers selling extraordinary items. The stout woman mentioned must be the landlady who sold her tenant's belongings, but he already knew that. What was the point?
"No, the woman probably isn't the key."
Jenkins's eyes fell on the mention of the "poor student" from the art academy.
"I've seen him twice. The first time, he was a nervous wreck, here to sell something. The second time was when Mr. Brolin was helping me find an illustrator."
Jenkins muttered to himself, his brow furrowed and his breathing growing heavy.
"The ring's original owner disappeared three weeks ago at night, which means Velte must have found it by accident."
"No, if it were that simple, my ability wouldn't have led me here. So, let's assume the guard's death holds a huge secret."
"No... night, three weeks ago... there can't be many secrets. The only thing that comes to mind is that octopus. Let's assume the octopus killed the guard."
"But that doesn't make sense. The octopus is only real to those who see it. Anyone it kills wouldn't leave behind a body or any belongings. Otherwise, the city would be in an uproar over a string of murders, not serial disappearances."
"Therefore, Black Velte must have been present when the octopus killed the guard."
The words tumbled out of Jenkins's mouth, faster and faster.
"That's not right either. If I remember correctly, Mr. Brolin mentioned he believes in a Righteous God, the Unlit Moon. So if he saw something like that, shouldn't he have gone straight to the police or the Church? Could he have kept quiet about the octopus just to pocket a dead man's ring?"
"That doesn't add up either. If he'd seen the octopus, how could he not have gone mad? At the very least, he shouldn't be acting so normal."
Only one conclusion remained. A crazed expression spread across Jenkins's face.
"That octopus... is controlled by Black Velte?"
Panting, he put the letter back, took the pistol from the hidden compartment, and tucked it into his waistband. Then, holding the candle, he left the room.
"If this is true, why did my ability lead me to this knowledge? Do I really stand a chance against someone who can control a creature like that?"
He roared in a low, crazed voice. He stood on the stairs, looking down at the first floor where only his muddy footprints marked the wooden planks.
He shook his head like a soaked stray dog trying to fling off the rain—or sweat—that trickled down his cheeks. He let the candle dissolve back into his spirit, locked the shop door, and turned to run toward the police station three blocks away.
But as he ran, he stopped again in the rain, turning to look back at the door of a streetside apartment building he had just passed. The number 431B was written on it.
"431B Queen's Avenue, left-hand room in the attic. Address any letters to Mrs. John. That's the mailing address Black Velte gave me the other day."