“You have to leave. Run away. Get on a plane—no, better a boat, take a boat…”Christine babbled, then suddenly gripped my wrist as if she’d found a weapon.“Right. First go to Scotland and depart from there. They’ll think you’ve already fled; if you throw them off once, it’ll be much…”“You… up until now… with him… you’ve…”I couldn’t finish. I shoved Christine hard. She stumbled back and, as if fleeing, disappeared down the corridor. Exhausted by that single push, I sank to the floor, my legs like jelly. I felt I could never get up again—that I would sit here forever.In the end, I hadn’t killed a single one of the highest-floor boys at Bluebell. The only one I’d killed there was Kal. That thought felt like a noose tightening around my throat. The fire I’d set that night had only taken my friend’s life—innocent, ignorant Kal, a boy whose face I could no longer recall.But… I still couldn’t understand… What about George? George had been horribly burned in that fire at Bluebell. He’d plotted for five years to avenge Hugh’s death at my hands. I could see him crawling across the log-cabin floor, calling for Hugh. I had urinated on the madman writhing in grief over his lost lover. Hugh had certainly died. There was no way George wouldn’t recognize me. That man was not Hugh. Hugh was not… no!Accepting that, I remembered why Christine always called him “Timothy” or “Tim.” My mind cleared bit by bit. Something thudded onto my head—it was the sweater I’d tossed off yesterday. My driver’s license clattered down as well. Looking up, I saw Christine, trembling as she spoke.“Run away. Don’t let them catch you again. I’ll handle the fallout.”“It wasn’t Hugh.”I stared at her, dazed.“It wasn’t Hugh, right? Who… who was it? What in God’s name are you planning, Christine?”My voice cracked. She looked down at me silently. Fear surged through me. She would chase me out again—without explanation. I grabbed her pant leg and pleaded desperately.“Who was it? Tell me, Christine, please… it wasn’t Hugh, right?”“Yes. It wasn’t….”She murmured through chattering teeth:“You don’t need to know who it was.”“What… what are you doing, Christine? I can’t go on like this. I can’t.”At that, Christine sank to her knees too. Cradling her face, she begged in a weakening voice:“It’s just my turn now. Like you did at Bluebell! This time… finally… I—me too… so please, Raymond! Please go…”Collapsed on the floor, she buried her face in my lap and wept. She lay over me, begging:“Please, Raymond, my love. Leave. Please.”Something was happening here and now—something that would finally settle our grim past with the highest-floor boys. Christine was right on the brink of it… the vengeance I’d spent eight years chasing was closing in. I seized her by the nape and hauled her upright. I glared at her pale face.“Tell me, Christine. I will never leave.”“…”“Tell me!”Christine bit her lip. Her jaw trembled. She gazed over my shoulder at the tightly shut front door. Panting, she blinked her eyes open and shut, then at last spoke. Her lips were chalk-white, but I never took my eyes off her.“You asked why they did it.”She yanked off her tangled wig. Beneath it, her short hair was matted with cold sweat. The hand gripping the wig trembled.“‘What is this club, and who goes there?’ you asked.”Her unadorned voice was low. From the hidden, dark depths of her soul came a bass so heavy with pain it could not rise.“I didn’t know. People like me don’t know.”Christine gave a wry, uneasy laugh.“Dogs like you and me don’t know. No matter how hard we try, we can’t find out. Why… why, why they did it…”“…”“You earned Timothy’s hatred because you killed his brother.”It was a strange chain of vengeance. I’d avenged Hugh’s death by killing him; because I’d killed Hugh, I became the target of someone else’s revenge.For over eight years I’d tried to learn everything about the highest-floor boys. Hugh had been the easiest to investigate thanks to his family’s prominence. He’d modestly said his family ran a tobacco farm, but the “Maryanne” cigarettes the Donwell family produced once outsold Marlboro.A wealthy scion and competitive swimmer, Hugh was often in the media as a child. His dramatic end had riveted Britain for a time. But after his death, the Donwells withdrew from publicity. His only brother’s life since the high-school yearbook photo was a mystery. I never tried to dig deeper.I paid no mind to their present. I had no interest in the current club. I tracked only those who’d once been invited to it—long ago, more than ten years past. I cared only about the past: the histories of the highest-floor boys I didn’t know.Yet I might have been wrong… The present inevitably touches the past. To uncover their histories, I shouldn’t have shadowed their past but boldly intervened in their present. If Christine—Christopher—had made such an attempt, my questions were misguided from the start. She could not have helped me; she’d never left the club. Christine herself might—Exhausted by our tumultuous emotions, we stared at each other, breathless. Christine rose first, struggling to her feet, and walked silently down the corridor. I pulled my sweater over my head, shoved my license into my pocket, and followed her into the living room.Last night’s debris lay everywhere: bottles and glasses on the table, the carpet rumpled. Christine stood before the unlit fireplace smoking. She still wore her silk robe; her face was pale but no longer sweaty. She paced, lost in thought, occasionally sipping scotch on an empty stomach. I slouched on the sofa, lit a cigarette, and watched her.Twice before, I’d nearly died confronting the highest-floor boys. Over these eight years, I’d considered contacting the remaining ones. Each time, the temptation crossed my mind to shoot them both and then kill myself—but I always concluded I couldn’t. It had to be more than an easy end. I wanted to know them as well as they knew me—and avenge myself most painfully. That conviction had fueled my silent years.Christine was no different. If she’d plotted her own vengeance, laid her own plans, she wouldn’t want anyone to ruin them—especially if she still suffered from the club.“I’ve waited a long time for this moment,” Christine said suddenly, leaning on the hearth and chain-smoking. I looked up at her as she flicked a butt into the fireplace.“I can’t let you take Timothy.”“I don’t know who he is or care. All I want are four names: Hugh, George, Jerome, and Simon. That’s enough.”“We’re not in a position to choose,” she muttered, still avoiding my gaze.“Timothy is mine. I’ve waited too long, endured everything to get here. I won’t let him slip away now. It’s unfair…”Truthfully, I had no need of Hugh’s brother. Only Jerome and Simon remained. If Timothy sought to make me pay for killing his brother, that would be an issue—but nothing had happened yet. Yet Christine wasn’t speaking to me. She was murmuring to herself.“You might delay them… enough to capture Timothy’s attention… enough to fully engage him…”In that instant, I realized how Christine had planned to use me as bait. Though she’d decided not to, if I’d played that role, I’d have excelled.“It’s fine even now. I’ll follow your orders—use me as bait. After all, we want the same thing. So…”“I’m not like you, Raymond.”“…”“I don’t know what you expected or imagined, but you and I are different.”“You called me a ‘monster,’ Christine.”“You and I are different!”She seized the fireplace mantle and hurled a curse at me. But it was irreversible. She and I both knew it. I’d already set a foot inside. Timothy had invited me to the feast, hadn’t he? No explanation needed—I knew the feast would be held at the club. Now Christine could no longer ignore me.From the start, Christine and I had traveled the same path; sooner or later, we’d cross. Christine sensed this, driving me away so fiercely. Silence fell, and finally she turned to face me. We looked at each other wordlessly. Her bright blue eyes, once trembling, grew calm. She swept her hand across her brow and lit a fresh cigarette.“I hated you from the beginning.”“Same here.”When I replied faintly, Christine just smiled.We wasted hours chain-smoking. In truth, I waited for Christine to regain her composure. She circled the hearth, brushing back her hair. At last she balled up an empty pack and threw it into the fireplace, then abruptly left the living room. I hurried after her to the kitchen, where she was opening the fridge.In no time jam jars, bread, milk, and a frozen baguette appeared on the table, with spoons and cups set for two. Though I had no appetite, I silently helped prepare the meal. While Christine brewed tea, I thawed the baguette. We sat across from one another, eating and drinking in complete silence. At last she spoke, asking a question I never expected.“What’s your bust measurement?”“…My what?”“My bust. You seem about my size, maybe a bit smaller.”“Wait—why my bust?”As I spoke, Christine scoffed at the baguette in her hands.“Why do you think your preference matters?”“…”“I told you—we’re not in a position to choose. If you don’t like it, knock yourself out. I won’t stop you.”I stared at her. She wasn’t joking. I thought for a moment, then shrugged.“I don’t care. Dress as you like—call me Rachel or whatever.”Christine fell silent. She narrowed her eyes, studying me intently. I meant every word. She set down the baguette and snapped her fingers.“All right. But you don’t need to cross-dress fully. Just wear women’s underwear.”“Why?”“Look at your face and demeanor. None of the Moulin Rouge performers look as tomboyish as you. You’re obviously a man performing as a °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° woman in a strip club. Do you think Timothy isn’t perceptive? He’ll be suspicious.”“I… suppose.”“Wear a men’s suit—just underwear underneath.”“A bra?”“Underwear, yes—of course panties.”“But we never take off the suit, so what’s the point of a bra?”“If you don’t like it, don’t go.”Christine said crisply and bit into the baguette. I smirked at the thought, recalling Judy’s memory I’d long forgotten. Cross-dressing—no wonder their tastes were twisted. I took a sip of tea and replied,“I don’t mind.”By the time we finished, it was nearly four in the afternoon. Christine ordered me to shave clean, then went upstairs.

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