Gun of Ashes

The air was filled with the stench of blood, as if a wild beast had just devoured brutally here. In the dried pool of blood, remnants of flesh were scattered. Kicking away the clutter on the floor, one can see obvious marks on the floor, as if something sharp had recently scraped across it.

”Do you have any thoughts, Mr. Holmes?”

Pres tightly covered his mask, trying hard not to inhale the terrifying air.

From the moment the writing on the wall was discovered, the famous detective’s condition had been poor, his face pale as if he had just experienced a nightmare.

Officers brought him a chair, and he sat amid the pool of blood, facing the woman who had died horribly on the bed and the wall filled with hateful writing.

”Quiet...”

Lorenzo clasped his hands, crossed his legs, and lowered his deerstalker hat, making it impossible for Pres to see his expression.

”Why not try using Wind Tobacco? You always find clues from the Spiritual Vision of the dead, don’t you?”

Watson leaned against the back of the chair, his voice echoed in Lorenzo’s ear, full of temptation.

”But that would also deepen my connection with darkness, which means increasing your chance of escape, wouldn’t it? So forget about it; as a damn Devil or whatever witch, this is your prison, you can’t get out.”

Lorenzo lowered his hands with a fierce look in his eyes.

”Before finding a way to utterly kill you, I won’t give you any chance.”

A sound of silver bell-like laughter rang out, as Watson gently embraced Lorenzo’s neck and whispered.

”But you’re always accepting my gifts, whether to survive or to sever the link with the Static Holy Temple isn’t that all reliant on the one you hate the most, me?”

Lorenzo looked at her coldly, yet Watson stepped away from Lorenzo, studying Pres by the side, seemingly only Lorenzo could see her despite her movements or even touching Pres, he didn’t react at all.

Pres only felt a breeze passing, making him feel chilled, this confusing feeling he finally attributed to Old Dunling’s winter.

”Just get out, I don’t need you, at least not now.”

Lorenzo stood up, and as he cursed, Watson bowed and retreated slowly until she vanished into the air, leaving only her voice echoing.

”You know well how to summon me.”

Thus, everything returned to silence, Lorenzo slowly got up, his face solemn.

”Do you have any thoughts?”

Pres looked at Lorenzo, who had stood up. He thought the detective might have some idea now, so Lorenzo spoke.

”What hatred could an outsider working in a factory provoke?”

Finally, Watson disappeared from his sight, allowing him once again to calmly ponder the case before him.

Though the eerie appearance of Watson was the most dangerous, the Evangelical Church hadn’t resolved this issue for hundreds of years, Lorenzo didn’t think he could do anything either, better to focus on the present.

He was curious not only about why the woman died so horribly but also why it happened here, where Watson formally shed the Gap and appeared before Lorenzo, this bloody room seemed as if something was driving all this, leading to the current encounter.

”Wait, where are you going!”

Pres asked urgently as he saw Lorenzo suddenly heading for the door.

”Investigating.”

As Lorenzo spoke, he walked to the door, the wooden door was crooked, implying that the criminal had burst through the door with sheer force to start the massacre.

In the six years in Old Dunling, Lorenzo wasn’t just a detective who resorted to drugs when in trouble or the Winchester who blew everything up, he demonstrated his reasoning skills when necessary, like now.

”I enjoy the theater classes taught in university, the bald professor’s first lesson taught us acting involves depicting the persona’s expression as well as what’s in their mind. When an actor stands on stage, they are no longer themselves, for a brief moment they become someone else entirely.”

Stepping over blood and wreckage, Lorenzo forcefully closed his eyes, and in Pres’s puzzled gaze, Lorenzo died for an instant, as if time reversed, blood began to flow backward, clutter returned to its original position, and shattered wooden pieces gradually reassembled, finally the intact door stood again.

The clock hands began to turn backward, followed by the sound of knock-knock-knock, a weary woman emerged from the bedroom, stood at the door, her position overlapped with Lorenzo.

Lorenzo opened his eyes again, starting to reconstruct everything about the case in his mind.

Understanding a person, knowing her behavior and logic, ensures the perfect portrayal, in that moment lost in time, to recreate the moment of death.

”She heard knocking, then stepped to the door.”

Lorenzo suddenly spoke up, then stepped across the shattered wooden door, noting a distinct dent on a large piece of debris.

”I think she wanted to see who it was, but clearly that person couldn’t contain their anger, punching the door open before she could react.”

Lorenzo’s gaze fell into a corner nearby, not far from the door where a bloody tooth lay.

”The woman was clearly knocked out by this blow, before she could stand she was choked, unable to make any sound, which is why no one noticed this tragic event.”