Chapter 25 - Cryptic Deaths

"AAAAAHHHH!"

BANG

Vern heard a guttural scream followed by a gunshot.

Beaumont dashed out the door in a hurry, almost running into the wall of the corridor due to the momentum. When Vern followed him out, the shadowy hall was empty except for the two of them.

The door to room 308 was ajar and hoarse screams alongside a disgusting smell wafted out of it unceasingly. Beaumont didn't pay it any mind and tackled the door—charging into the room. Vern, however, halted right outside. There was a gun involved in the situation, and running in without disarming the user wouldn't be anything less than suicidal.

"AAAHH!"

"EEEEHHHHH!!"

The man continued to scream, and Vern peered into the room from the cover of the wall. A lanky man with sunken eyes dressed in a shirt with red blotches was splayed on the ground, his legs stretched out in front of him. His hands were planted behind him as he backed away haphazardly, screaming incoherently at the top of his lungs.

Then, in his peripheral vision, Vern noticed a thin stream of smoke, which he followed to the source, and sighed in relief. The gun was dropped on the floor a little to his left inside the room. Vern took two steps and swiftly picked it up, tucking it on his waistband. Pulling out his shirt to conceal the weapon, he refocused.

No way in hell was he going to leave a gun unattended.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!"

The man swung his head side to side so fervently that it was a surprise he hadn't cracked a bone already. His eyes, however, were glued to the space in front of him, aimed at something even in those frantic oscillations. In no time, he had backed himself against the wall, cutting his retreat. The already foul musk in the room had another mixed into it as a wet patch appeared at the man's crotch.

Having secured the gun, Vern was much more composed, but the actions of the man and the state of this room sent a chill down his spine.

There was nothing in front of the man but a depraved room that told a gruesome story. The yellow light of the lamp illuminated a bloody carpet, on which lay the torso of a human, blood still flowing out of the choppy wound on its neck.

Trails of blood were everywhere, and in the center of the room was an altar. When his mind registered what was on the altar, his blood ran cold, and a shiver ran down his spine. The head of a woman was placed on the altar, her eyes gouged out. What seemed like tears of blood ran down her eye sockets, seeping into the altar.

Vern took a deep breath and repressed the disgust welling up inside him. Luckily, he hadn't had anything to eat yet.

Beaumont, who had rushed in, seemed to be just as flabbergasted at the state of the room.

"EEEAAAAAAH!!! AAAH!!! AHHHHH!!!"

But the man's screams turned shriller and shriller. Beaumont finally seemed to recover from his stupor, for he dropped to the ground and grabbed hold of the man's shoulder—speaking to him like a child, "Calm down. Mr. Garfield. Calm down. There's nothing here. Calm down."

Garfield, however, continued to shriek incoherently, curling into himself as he pointed in front of him.

Vern made to move closer to Garfield as well—but then he noticed it. A yellow parchment was lying right next to the altar, the blood from the head dripping onto it. But what gave him pause was the symbol at the top. Drawn in red were two inverted triangles—one within the other.

The symbol of Cryptic Constructor!

Vern's mind reeled in shock as his brain processed the implications. His first instinct was to stay as far away from that thing as possible, but that would be stupid of him. Surely the parchment has something related to Cryptic Constructor on it.

But he didn't have the time to think about it for long. Footsteps were rushing towards this room from all over—other guests of the hotel were about to get here. He had to make a decision quickly.

So Vern made up his mind and rushed towards the altar while Beaumont was still trying to soothe the screaming Garfield.

In a few steps, he was already next to the altar. Before Beaumont could sense anything amiss, Vern snatched the parchment from the floor—hurriedly folding it, he thrust it into his pocket.

But before he could back away from the altar, a few people stormed in.

"EEEHHH!" a woman that had come running in screamed at the sight and retreated to the corridor in a fluster. Other than her, a tall and stout man dressed in a neat suit entered the room, holding onto his top hat which barely covered his bald head, unperturbed. The man seemed to squint as he took in the vile scenery.

Few others arrived as well, but none of them dared to come in. Vern had luckily managed to grab the parchment before anyone else came in. Otherwise, it seemed like he would have had to give up on it or get labeled as a vile cultist like Garfield. This room wasn't really a good look on anyone associated with it.

But he was still quite perplexed at this whole situation? What was Garfield so afraid of? Vern didn't see or feel anything. If something subjective was in the room, he should be able to see it too, right?

Then out of the blue, the room suddenly turned silent, and the shrill scream stopped grating on his ears. Everyone, including Vern, who was looking at the newcomers, turned their gaze back to Garfield, who suddenly went limp.

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Beaumont seemed unsure of what to do. But then he yelled, "Is anyone here a doctor? Also, can someone grab the medicine pouch from the reception?" Beaumont then lifted Garfield's shirt, checking for bleeding or injuries. However, the skin beneath the patches of blood on his shirt was unblemished and smooth, with not a hint of injury.

Before Beaumont could conjure a response to this baffling situation, the bald man strode further into the room and said, "Kindly step aside, dear butler. Let the deceased rest. He was a rather unpleasant character who has faced the consequences of his actions. Let's not waste our sympathies on him. He is beyond the aid of any physician now."

Just as Beaumont made to say something, he was interrupted yet again. Someone from the crowd exclaimed, "Good heavens above! What in the name of propriety is transpiring within this hotel? Butler, do explain yourself! How could you permit such unspeakable occurrences to unfold under your watch? And that woman there. Mercy on my soul! Was she not one of our fellow boarders in this hotel? Are your eyes all painted on, or do you see this abhorrent spectacle?"

More people joined in and started chiming their own opinions.

"Murderer. Sinner. What a vile creature! He got what he deserved."

"None of that matters right now. Who killed him!? Butler, is the killer still among us?"

"Burn this room. It's a den of sin. I thought the city outside was a land of death, but this hotel is worse. Those fucking Kingsmen, never there when you need them."

"The butler must have killed him, I tell you. The man was well and good this morning when I talked to him. It must be the butler."

CLAP!

A loud clap rang in the room, and the bald man demanded, "Everyone, please give me a moment of your time." The chatter died down in an instant as the crowd looked at him with rapt attention,

The bald man took a deep breath as if to make up his mind and started again, "I implore you all to maintain your composure. This is decidedly not the moment for panic." His voice seemed to have a soothing effect as the people visibly relaxed, and he continued, "There have been a series of regrettable fatalities within the confines of this venerable hotel. It would serve us all well to allow these memories to fade into oblivion, ensuring our continued safety. Shall we agree on this, ladies and gentlemen?"

Vern snapped his gaze back to the bald man and looked at him incredulously. What did he say?

However, what was even bizarre, was that no one called him out over this illogical assertion. Instead, people seemed to agree with him as a few of them nodded while the rest seemed confused.

The corner of the bald man's lips turned up, and he continued. "Would it not be in our collective interest to concur that this unfortunate incident has been nothing more than a figment of our imaginations? The decapitated figure over there was once a vibrant individual, much like the esteemed company present here. Would you genuinely wish to shoulder the unsettling knowledge that you, too, could face such a fate?"

Vern felt a little light-headed as the words started to make more and more sense to him. The man did make a point.

"Observe that bloody eye he holds in his hands if you will. Such sights are not the sort we wish to ponder upon as we retire for the evening, are they? Let's put such distasteful thoughts aside for the sake of our peaceful slumber."

Right. Garfield was indeed clutching a spherical thing in one of his hands, blood dripping out of it. Yeah, why would Vern want to think about that during his sleep? But no. This wasn't right. This wasn't right.

This is bad! Something was off with this man's words.

But the moment Vern realized the incongruity, it was as if a haze that was starting to fog his mind was lifted. The bald man's sentences seemed to feel illogical once again. Vern frowned, and a possibility crossed his mind. This has to be some kind of Observation.

He was doing something to the thought process of everyone. And Vern had no plans of falling for it—not when it was nowhere near as influential or imposing as Hensen's methods. So he kept reminding himself of the fallacies in the bald man's words, who rambled these illogical sentences non-stop. What if that strange emotion returned if he allowed his thoughts to relax?

The man surveyed everyone closely, and he asked, "Do we all find harmony in the perspective I've proposed?"

Before Vern could stop his own deluge of negations to keep his thoughts pure, the ramblings had already come to an end, and the bald man was looking at Vern with a scowl.

Vern's heart raced faster as a feeling of impending doom seemed to fill him. Shit! Did he notice? In a bid to keep his thoughts stable, he had completely forgotten about his frowning expression.

Is it too late to change it now? But if I suddenly start nodding, he might realize that I am faking my reaction. Vern was still in a dilemma when the man seemed to squint at him and said, "You are also in agreement with me. Right, good sir?"

Vern felt a little woozy, but nothing he couldn't handle. However, he didn't miss this heaven sent chance that dropped on his lap and played along. Following in the footsteps of others, he relaxed his eyes and nodded languidly.

The man smiled and said, "Great! Now that we have all come to a consensus, I propose we return to our rooms and resume our earlier endeavors. May your evening be filled with peace and pleasant dreams."

As he said this, people started to disperse. He couldn't fuck this up. Who knew what this man might do to him if he realized Vern wasn't really swayed by his words.

Vern did have the gun on him, but was it really a good idea to shoot this guy right now? If everyone suddenly became lucid again, they would see Vern shooting the man. He doubted he could explain himself out of that one. Luckily, the man just wanted everyone to forget and be on their way.

He could do that. He could pretend like he hadn't seen anything. So Vern started walking in lazy steps and exited the room. But suddenly, he noticed someone moving against the crowd. A man was walking out of the crowd straight into the room. Vern didn't manage to catch his face properly due to the obstruction from other guests. On top of that, he couldn't even turn around to get a better look lest the bald man notice.

"I presented you with an opportunity and see how that unfolded. Are you still reluctant to join my cause? With the correct insight, you could have preserved that lady's life. And with correct guidance, you could do so much more. It's your unyielding stubbornness that led to her unfortunate demise," said the bald man in a hushed tone.

"Will you still not join me in my cause?"

Then after a few seconds, a hoarse voice replied, "I—I agree." But then the door clicked shut, and rest wasn't audible.

Who was that just now? What did any of that mean?

However, now wasn't the time to answer those questions. Who knew what kind of Observation skills those man had? So Vern maintained the same pace and walked to his own room, following Beaumont, who was heading in the same direction.

When in front of 307, Beaumont entered the room, and Vern followed suit.

Then after Beaumont walked back to the food cart, he looked around in confusion before he gracefully picked the second platter from the cart and placed it on the table.

"Please indulge, Mr. Vern."

Vern didn't flinch at Beaumont’s reaction and replied with a smile, "Thank you, Beaumont. Have a good night."

"May the lady bless your dreams, too," then, with a shallow bow, he wheeled the cart out of Vern's room and closed the door on his way out.

But I can't stop. He just had to be so unlucky as to be in the room next to those two men. That was to say, he might still be within a radius where they could Observe him. Who knew what kind of tricks they had up their sleeve. If their Observation allowed them some method to see through walls, then he would have to be very careful.

Any odd behavior, like trying to listen in on their conversation or even taking out the parchment or that gun from his pocket, might raise suspicions. Fuck me. So Vern had to play it cool until they were gone because even leaving the room might warrant some unwanted reaction.