The Bizarre Detective Agency Chapter 62

Polis Aristocratic Academy. The director's office.

Rain pattered softly against the windowpanes, the steady rhythm only deepening the quiet within the room. At the desk sat a middle-aged, gray-haired man in a suit. The quill in his hand trembled slightly as he traced words across a sheet of parchment.

Knock, knock.

A rap sounded at the door. Without raising his head, the man uttered in a low voice, "Come in."

The door swung open noiselessly, and a figure in a white dress glided into the office.

For a moment, there was only silence. The man in the suit finally lifted his head. A pale girl stood silently before his desk. He frowned.

"Are you a student at the Academy? What brings you to my office?"

"Why was I expelled?" the girl asked softly.

Another expelled student? The man's frown deepened, and he replied in a clipped, official tone:

"Why was I expelled?"

Two bloody tears traced paths down her cheeks.

"You..." The man shot to his feet in terror. His gaze fell to the hem of her dress, where he saw several crimson stains, like scattered rose petals, and his pupils constricted. Suddenly, an invisible hand seemed to seize his throat, lifting him clear off the floor.

His toes barely scraped the floor as he managed to choke out, "You... Michelle...?"

The man's face began to turn a deep purple from the lack of oxygen. A memory surfaced, and he forced out the words:

"You're Michelle, aren't you... I remember now. I'm Director Plis... We received a flood of complaints from the parents..."

Director Plis's neck vertebrae gave a sickening crack.

"Because they considered you... a blight... and... believed you were harming the school's reputation..."

The invisible grip suddenly released him, and Plis collapsed back into his chair.

"Cough... cough... But... I don't believe that now..." Director Plis clutched at his throat and used the chair to haul himself to his feet. "Are you saying you were framed? If that's true, I'll look into it. But I beg you... don't harm the innocent."

Dead silence hung in the air for several seconds. Then, Michelle's form began to dissolve into nothing.

Director Plis stared into the empty space for a long moment before silently picking up the telephone and dialing a number.

"Do you remember Michelle? What exactly happened with her... the suicide? Didn't I tell you to smooth things over...? Fine. Have the professor in charge of her class come see me. I need to ask him a few questions. And also, send someone to get my son."

The strange aura that had enveloped the office vanished without a trace.

...

"A shame, of course... But 'gloating' feels a bit strong. She was just an unfortunate girl—though the child wasn't mine, of course." Victor finished reading the newspaper commentary about himself and picked up his bowl of watery porridge.

With his free hand, he flipped the paper to the back page, where the job listings were. He'd been out of work for a while now. The house his parents had left him provided a small income from tenants—enough to live modestly, but not so little that he'd have to stoop to the level of some smelly sailor.

He'd been one of the primary instigators in the whole affair with Michelle; it was he who had started the rumor about her having an abortion.

Victor wasn't Michelle's boyfriend—he didn't even know her—but that hadn't stopped him from stirring the pot. He hadn't gained anything tangible from it, but he loved being the center of attention, basking in that fleeting adoration.

His eyes scanned the listings. Victor hoped his considerable experience might land him a job at city hall, perhaps giving speeches. He was genuinely good at that.

The bowl of porridge was soon empty. Victor leaned back in his chair and let out a loud belch. After a moment's rest, he slipped on his slippers and carried the bowl to the door.

Creeak...

Just as he was about to step out, Victor flinched back. A figure stood in the doorway, startling him.

"...Hello?"

The girl before him stood with her head bowed, her eyes hidden by the shadow of her hair. He could tell from the lines of her face that she was beautiful. A new tenant?

He wished he'd put on a proper suit, some cologne, and his good shoes.

"You don't even know me..." The girl in the doorway slowly lifted her head. An icy voice, two bloody tears, and crimson eyes met Victor's stare.

The horrifying sight made Victor's breath catch in his throat. The face seemed familiar, like...

"You're Michelle! But you're dead..." Victor finally realized this wasn't some romantic encounter, but a vengeful spirit come to claim his soul. He screamed and dropped to his knees, begging for mercy. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry! I was just... bored... I..."

His words cut off.

There was a dull thud.

...

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I should never have said those things! Oh, God... I... I've been so full of regret ever since I heard about your suicide, I'm begging you, please forgive me..."

The girl, dressed in the uniform of Polis Aristocratic Academy, knelt on her bed, her face buried in a soft quilt. Her entire body trembled, and she didn't dare lift her head. The chill that had filled the room began to fade. After a long wait, she raised her head with trembling hands.

The blood-soaked dress that had been floating in the air was gone.

A look of terror was frozen on the girl's face. She scanned the room—the ghost was gone.

She let out a shuddering breath and leaned back against the cold wall, still reeling from the shock.

Thud!

...

Adam knew he'd made a mistake. He felt like a complete idiot. He was just an ordinary stablehand, nothing special. But then he'd become Michelle's boyfriend. The excitement had gone to his head, and for a few shillings, he'd sold her out.

She was dead, and there was no fixing it.

He squatted in the stables, staring at his reflection in the water of a feeding trough. A second face appeared beside his own.

An icy chill shot through him. Adam felt the hair on his arms stand on end. A moment later, he realized he couldn't move. Only his head was turning, slowly, impossibly, backward.

"You... bitch..." he cursed. His head kept turning, twisting past its natural limit. Fury gave way to terror, and he let out a pitiful groan. "Spare me... I know I was wrong... You said you loved me..."

His head kept turning.

Blood gushed from his mouth, and the veins on his neck bulged. He managed a final, choked rasp: "Spa... re... me..."

Snap...

In his final moments, he heard a voice as cold as the grave: "I'll be waiting for you there. And I will kill you all over again."

His soiled body slid from the stool and crumpled to the ground like a pile of refuse. The cruelty in Michelle's crimson eyes slowly began to fade.

It was time to go back.