“You should be careful too.”Harry slurred as he sank deep into the sofa.“I’ve got a bad feeling, really.”A moment later he was out cold. I retraced my steps and carried him up to Christine’s bedroom. As soon as I’d slipped off his shoes, he wriggled under the covers. How old was he? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? Even though fine stubble was already sprouting under dusky night light, I stared down at Harry’s face for a moment before turning away.Rain still lashed the windows. Instead of heading back to my small, cozy storage room, I went into the smoke-filled living room. Thanks to the fireplace, the house was full of warmth. Smoking slowly and sipping coffee, I replayed Harry’s story in my mind: Christine’s “upper-class gentleman,” “people in expensive suits,” that secret “party” she’d been attending every weekend. It wasn’t hard to guess where they met.The place I’d pursued relentlessly for eight years… the club. My fingers trembled around the cigarette as I thought that Harry’s “bait” might also be connected to that club. He said he’d a bad feeling. I felt it too—and my instincts usually led me exactly where they needed to. I’d finally grasped the clue that would let me infiltrate the highest floor boys’ circle. I drew in another deep drag of smoke.By the time Christine returned, the morning sun had risen beyond the gray sky.I watched and listened to her footsteps crossing the corridor while I toyed with my coffee cup. A moment later her steps halted; I heard a nervous laugh and a sigh. I looked up to see Christine—stunning in a gorgeous dress—approach, handbag tucked under her arm. She sighed again and flung the bag onto the sofa.Despite the beautiful dress, the set expression on her face made her look menacing. She was more muscular than me, her fists as big as my head. I’d experienced her strength firsthand. I tossed her the pack of cigarettes; she caught it in one hand, lit one, and took a long drag before speaking.“What now? Huh? What is it this time?”“Harry called. He seems worried because of you.”“Who the hell are you running games on Harry? The kid’s clueless—send him back yourself!”“Kid?”Christine threw the cigarette pack at my face. I rubbed my cheek where it hit and sat upright. I was tired from waiting all «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» night and too impatient to waste time.“I’ve heard everything. You said you needed bait to stall for time, right?”“…”“I’ve been sitting here thinking about why you lied about the club, why you fobbed me off and made a fool of me. You must have had your own plan. Looks like you’ve got accomplices. Maybe I got in your way.”Unmoved, Christine crossed her arms around the cigarette in her mouth, refusing to answer. I continued.“Thinking that through… I decided I’ll be your obstacle from now on. Christine, whatever you’re plotting, I’ll ruin it. I’ll pester you endlessly. Hugh, George, Simon, Jerome… I spent eight years digging into their trails. Eight years, Christine. And I finally found you. I’m far more tenacious and persistent than you think. If you don’t want me interfering, it’s simple. Answer my questions, and I’ll disappear from your life forever. So here’s my conclusion: do you remember my question?”“…”“Or, as Harry suggested, you can use me as bait. In that case I’ll need to know your entire plan.”Christine uncrossed her arms slowly and inhaled deeply. Beyond the glowing tip of the cigarette, her eyes burned bright blue. When she finally spoke, it wasn’t the strained falsetto she’d used to mimic a woman, but a low voice that sounded as if it resonated from deep within.“You can use me as bait. You’ve got guts. What do you think I’d have you do?”“Well, let’s hear it.”“I was worried about it, it’s true.”She sat down on the edge of the table. We were close enough that our knees almost touched. She propped her elbows on her knees and stared at me. Born with a naturally deep voice, she spoke so low it seemed to tickle her spine.“You said you killed Hugh and George. The more I think about it, the more I hate to waste you. True, you need to stall for time. I thought you’d be capable of buying me enough time.”“Nice. Then why…”“So you’d have me do the same to those bastards?”Her tone was calm to the point of monotony, but beneath it seethed fiercely restrained anger.“You want me to throw an innocent kid to them as a toy, so I can get on with my own business in peace? Raymond, I admit I don’t like you, but I’m not so fond of you that I’d sell you out. Hell, even if I hated you, I wouldn’t do that.”“…”“I’ll be damned if I can do either. I can’t use you as bait, but I can’t stop you from meddling. I’ll just have to watch you wreck my plans helplessly. Damn you, Raymond.”With that, Christine flung her cigarette onto the expensive carpet, then suddenly grabbed my cheek with her large hand. I gritted my teeth and glared back. Her hand shook with anger, but her voice remained as calm as ever.“This time, like those kids did back then, you’ll ruin my life.”“Then answer my questions, Christopher. Tell me about them. You know how I can find those bastards!”“Whether I answer or not, you’re going to get in the way anyway.”Christine shoved me roughly, snatched up her handbag from the sofa, and spat on the floor.“Do what you want. I’ll never help you.”I watched Christine storm out of the living room, turning neither to me nor slowing her footsteps as she climbed the stairs. Left with no choice, I stood dumbfounded, listening to her heels fade away.Autumn passed in a flash, and winter was drawing near. Holding a steaming mug, I stared out at the rain-soaked, gray landscape. There were few customers. In this town of more holiday homes than permanent residences, business was slow when it wasn’t vacation season—especially in dreary weather like this. Everyone coped differently. Fay claimed a table, drank three cups of tea, and read newspapers and books. Allen was busy developing a new sandwich menu. I just stared blankly.Christine’s words from a few days ago weighed heavily on my mind.“This time, like those kids did back then, you’ll ruin my life.”It bothered me that she’d compared me to the highest-floor boys, but I had no room to back down. I’d spent eight years clinging on. With the clue right before me, I couldn’t feign ignorance and walk away. If Christine would just answer my questions, I could vanish from her life—as if I’d never existed.Odd guilt for Christine, a quiet rage, and a swirl of new hope and determination mixed with lingering helplessness churned in my head. Rather than sort it out, I let random thoughts distract me as I idled away days. Finally, after days of mulling it over, I reached a conclusion: even if it meant tormenting Christine, I couldn’t give up. If I walked away, my past eight years would evaporate as meaningless. I couldn’t endure that emptiness again.Lost in thought, I finally looked away from the window and sat opposite Fay. She’d abandoned the newspaper partway through; I slid it toward her and flipped through to the crossword puzzle. A fleeting memory of a gravedigger in some rural village surfaced. Did Bill still hate me? Did he know I’d found Christine? …What about Teddy? Would he hate me too? These were useless questions. I sighed and folded the paper.“How many times are you going to sigh?”I looked up to see Fay watching me, her book set aside. I shrugged and took a lukewarm sip of coffee.“You’ve looked troubled the past few days.”“Busted.”“Don’t respond like that. What’s wrong? Haven’t seen that cute kid either. Did you fight?”Fay always called Harry “that cute kid.” Sure enough, Harry hadn’t shown up in days—maybe because Christine yelled at him. But they hadn’t fought. I shook my head slowly. Fay watched me, then spoke again.“When you stew alone until you can’t stand it, you jump to the easy fix.”“I’m done with drugs.”“Good idea. Now that you’re off the stuff, it’s time to reclaim your life. What’s the problem? Let’s figure it out together.”Her stubborn expression suggested she wouldn’t leave her chair until I said something. I glanced at Allen. Perched at the bar, he wore earbuds and was focused on his phone—seemingly abandoned the sandwich idea. I sighed again and met Fay’s eyes.“I need help with something, someone who can help me. Just one person. My situation’s bad—I asked for help so many times, but they refused.”“Who is it?”“I’m looking for my old… roommates.”“Can’t we help?”“It’s personal. Hard to explain.” Fay didn’t press.“Why won’t they help?”“For personal reasons. I don’t even know why.”“Geez.”She scratched her chin in frustration.“So what will you do?”“I’m not backing down. My situation’s lousy… I don’t have many options.”Just then a middle-aged couple arrived and sat by the window where I’d been standing. Abandoning the thoughtful Fay, I grabbed the menu and went to take their order. When I returned, Fay still wore her worried look. As soon as I sat down, she said,“This is really tough.”“I know.”“But if it were me, I’d just go all in. When a problem yields no answer, go as far as you can.”“True enough.”Customers kept coming, and the conversation ended. I had a makeshift lunch of Allen’s unfinished sandwich, washed dishes, cleaned the umbrella stand, straightened laundered napkins, and mopped the floor for the rest of the afternoon. By evening we closed the restaurant thirty minutes early and tidied up. The rain was so heavy I skipped my run.Fay, glasses perched on her nose, waved and went upstairs first. Allen lingered to organize the fridge, rattling off sandwich ideas and asking my opinion. I leisurely sipped tea and encouraged him. After Allen went to bed, I switched off the lights, slipped into my little storage room. Thanks to the radiator I’d turned on early, the cramped space was comfortably warm. I took off my shoes, flopped onto the bed, stared at the dark ceiling, and closed my eyes.That’s it.Go as far as you can.The next morning I changed my running route. The rain still poured. When I reached Christine’s house, my raincoat was soaked through. Orange light spilled from the windows. Shivering, I pounded the doorbell. After a moment Christine opened the door in a robe, her jaw dropping.“What is it? Seriously!”“I’m freezing. Let me in.”“Do you have the nerve to just barge in? What do you want?”Christine stood her ground in the doorway, her voice sharp.“I just thought you might have changed your mind. I came to check.”“My mind hasn’t changed. Get lost.”She slammed the door in my face. It was the reaction I expected—I shrugged and turned away. Suddenly the door flew open and a soft towel whipped at my face. Before I could speak, it slammed shut again. I wiped my face with the towel and headed back to the restaurant.The next day, late afternoon, I asked Allen’s permission and stepped out briefly—destination, of course, Christine’s house. As Christine stepped out of the shower, about to yell at me, I beat her to it and offered a paper bag. She took it with a suspicious look. Inside were the towels I’d washed and dried.“Thanks for yesterday.”“Then don’t ever come back.”Without hesitation she slammed the door again, but I wedged my foot in the gap as I slipped back inside.“Wait, Christine. Will you at least answer my questions?”“No way!”But I wasn’t about to stop. For a week I went every day. From the third day she refused to open the door, but I kept ringing the bell until, furious, she finally did. One time as soon as the door opened, a huge fist flew at me. Thanks to anticipating every possibility, I bent backward just in time to dodge the punch.“Still haven’t changed your mind?”“I might as well kill you instead.”

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