The Bizarre Detective Agency

Chapter 103: She Awaits Your Return

"You don't look well."

It was the morning of the second day since Shelly had returned.

She sat down opposite Trans, her face unnaturally stiff, like a mask.

"I'm... fine." Trans forced a smile and continued to stir his milk distractedly. The image of the previous night was still seared into his mind.

"I'm thinking of taking a few days off," she said. "I've been feeling so exhausted lately."

Shelly ran a hand through her hair, and a whole lock of it slipped through her fingers, falling onto the table beside her elbow. She didn't seem to notice.

"Alright, of course... I'll talk to the manager," Trans said, staring at the fallen, brittle hair. When Shelly glanced at him, he quickly averted his gaze.

Usually, Shelly chattered nonstop over breakfast, complaining about demanding clients and gossiping about her colleagues' families. Trans always listened in silence. But today, her voice was absent, and Trans finished his meal in a heavy quiet.

Lost in thought, Trans forced down the last of his breakfast and set aside his knife and fork. He was debating how to act around his wife when she suddenly rose from the table and leaned in toward him.

Trans suddenly recalled that this was how his wife always gave him his morning kiss...The frozen face drew closer, carrying with it a faint scent of decay. Swallowing down a wave of nausea, Trans shot to his feet, dodging the kiss.

"I... I have to get to work."

Snatching his briefcase and coat, Trans fled the house, forgetting his umbrella in his haste.

The rainy season had started, and a fine drizzle misted the air. It was forecast to grow heavier in the coming days.

His office was down the street to the right, but Trans walked in the opposite direction.

From the window, a figure watched him go. Deep in her eyes, a flicker of sorrow appeared.

...

"You're saying she has developed lividity? That's impossible; such marks don't appear on living people... I understand your concern, Trans, I do. But the fact that you came to me instead of the church suggests you already have an idea of what this is... From what you've described, it could be a severe skin condition, with ulcerations starting on her back. She needs an examination, if you have the time... No, I must insist you bring your wife in as soon as possible, to prevent her condition from deteriorating."

"Oh, my child, what has troubled you so? ... Go to Father Charlie; perhaps he can answer your questions... May the Lord watch over you and your wife..."

"Yes, this is undoubtedly the work of a demon. She suffers from the torment it inflicts... The poor child. Trans, if you bring her to the church, I will perform a rite of exorcism to free your wife from this agony. Mama! Do we have any holy water left?"

"Dammit, Trans! That's the second client you've ignored, the third time you've grabbed the wrong documents, and the fifth time you've tried to drink from an empty coffee cup... What? I'm sorry, I didn't know. No wonder Shelly didn't come in today... Is it really that serious? Oh... I can give you some time off so you can... You're sure you don't need it? Alright, if you insist, but try to pay more attention."

At five in the evening, Trans closed his briefcase and headed to the restroom. He turned on the tap, cupped his hands, and splashed cold water on his face. The icy shock cleared his head for a moment. He lifted his head and stared in the mirror at his own bloodshot eyes.

He turned off the tap, put on his coat, picked up his briefcase, and left the office.

At five-fifteen, Trans was standing at his front door. He took out his key but hesitated before putting it in the lock.

He wasn't greeted by his wife's cheerful voice, but by a faint, cloying scent of decay. Trans's heart seized. For a moment, his fear was eclipsed by a surge of worry for his wife. He dropped his briefcase on a shelf and rushed inside.

The sound of sizzling came from the kitchen. Trans approached the doorway and saw his wife standing with her back to him. He took a step forward and began, a note of urgency in his voice, "I went to see someone today—"

He broke off mid-sentence. His heart felt as if it were being crushed by a giant hand, and the air fled his lungs.

Bluish-purple blotches—lividity—had appeared on his wife's beautiful face.

And that wasn't all. Her once bright, clear eyes were now cloudy. That vacant stare dredged up a distant memory. He remembered playing with his friends at the edge of the forest as a boy, when they had stumbled upon a body hanging from a tree. As the children summoned their courage and drew closer, the wind twisted the corpse on its rope.

Its cloudy, lifeless eyes had been just like these.

This was no illness. His wife was dead.

Trans had no memory of sitting down to eat, nor of getting into bed. He was jolted awake by a body pressing against his.

He heard her murmur, saw her cloudy eyes fixed upon him.

"Do you love me...?"

"Of course," Trans replied automatically.

"Then let's... become... one."

His wife suddenly convulsed, her voice twisting into something sinister. From her forehead—from the very spot he always kissed—a blood-red tentacle burst forth, stretching out toward him.

And in that instant, the terror he felt was as immense as the love he had once felt for her.

Trans shoved Shelly away, scrambled for his clothes, and fled out the door.

"Don't go!" Shelly's voice shrieked from behind him, a long, blood-curdling wail.

The door slammed shut behind him. Trans ran and didn't look back.

Trans spent the next three days at the office. He worked by day and, using overtime as an excuse, stayed there through the night.

But his thoughts kept returning home.

Finally, on the fifth day after Shelly's disappearance, in the early morning and through a torrential downpour, Trans returned home.

He opened the door. The scent of decay struck him, though it was not as strong as before.

The door was unlocked. He checked the bedroom, then the study. The smell had vanished, which meant she wasn't there.

Just then, an elderly voice spoke from the front door. "You're back?"

Trans started. An unfamiliar old man was standing before him. "Yes," Trans lied. "...Just got held up at work."

"Oh... I'll be on my way, then. Take care," the old man nodded. His cloudy eyes seemed to hold a world of meaning. He gave Trans a long, searching look, then slowly walked away.

Trans watched in bewilderment as the old man vanished into the rain without an umbrella. He sank onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands.

He sat alone in the empty, gray, silent living room.

He felt as if he could still hear his wife's voice, still see her smile.

A piercing sense of loss washed over Trans.

He knew he had lost her forever.