Liam set down his cup with a faint smile as the rich flavor hit him. Perhaps it was too strong a stimulation for his palate so early in the morning. “Let’s discuss the case, then,” I suggested, pulling a newspaper from the corner and pointing at it with a butter knife.
“It doesn’t look like someone who jumped from a bridge, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Was it before or after?”
“Checking the lungs would be quickest.”
A drowned person’s lungs are distinct from those of someone thrown into the water post-mortem. However, to verify this would require navigating a maze of procedures. London has laws governing autopsies, which allow authorized individuals to perform them, but as private detectives and not police, we faced significant challenges.
“We’ll have to rely on their efficiency. Hopefully, there’s an available coroner who isn’t swamped with work.”
“There probably is. Given the state of the body, someone will rush over.”
The corpse was found completely desiccated, devoid of any blood. It was peculiar for a body washed up from the Thames to be so dry. It even led to sensational headlines like “The Return of Nosferatu!” Hopefully, no one took these cheap gossip rags seriously. Vampires, in the 19th century?
“What should we do?”
“I need to step out for a bit,” Liam replied.
＊ ＊ ＊
Was it midday? Since returning, Liam Moore had become noticeably quieter. Though he conversed with other club members before, he hardly spoke at home. Not that he said nothing at all.
“You’re up? Slept late.”
“I was just tired.”
Simple conversations like these were rare and often ended abruptly, leaving me at a loss for words.
For several days, he came home late, stayed in the living room for a while, then went to his room. He either woke up late or left the house after only a few hours of sleep. Our interactions dwindled.
He seemed troubled, but I didn’t bring it up. It was better than seeing him force a cheerful demeanor. Instead, I watched him move through the slightly open door, guessing his thoughts.
Maybe the person we found was a member of the ‘club’ too. He always tensed up at the mention of it, so I couldn’t press further.
Today was no different. Liam emerged from his room, looking weary, rubbing his cheek. He pulled on a coat over his rolled-up sleeves, clearly not in his right mind.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“…Meeting someone.”
“Will you be back late?”
“Probably.”
And with that, he left. Was he avoiding me? Mary frowned as she glanced at his departing figure during our coffee time.
“Mr. Moore seems strange,” she said, sipping her coffee. I found it odd too, but I didn’t expect Mary to notice. Then again, Liam usually announced his destination.
“He’s having some trouble, but are you worried about him?”
“No! Not worried at all!” Mary protested, clearly anxious, making me chuckle. Her ears turned red, and she looked away.
“Just, it’s strange to see him like this… not even a word to you…”
“I know. I believe you.”
“Really! I’m not worried about Mr. Moore!”
It felt like watching a bickering sibling pair. If I mentioned this, Mary would probably scream and run. As for Liam… well, he had a knack for handling kids, as if he grew up with siblings.
Before I could say more, Mary admitted, “Actually, I’m a little worried. Just a little.” Then she hurried away, leaving me laughing.
‘What to do now?’ With no cases to dig into and everyone gone, I was alone. The only expected visitor was the postman. Did I have letters to send? I hadn’t written any since arriving in London. I wondered how my brother was doing. When was the last time we communicated? I could hardly remember. We got along well as children. Would he respond if I wrote now?
After some hesitation, I pulled out some stationery. It felt awkward. What should I say? I stared at the blank paper, feeling overwhelmed. I hadn’t written anything personal recently, only telegrams about case records.
“No choice,” I muttered. Start with a greeting, at least.
＊ ＊ ＊
I spent the afternoon idly, expecting Liam to return by evening. I eventually had dinner alone as he still hadn’t come back. I resolved to talk to him properly this time.
Was it just my imagination, or was he avoiding me? Avoiding eye contact, avoiding encounters. Why the sudden change?
I heard him return late at night. He hesitated outside my door before going to his room. Did he have something to say? Why just leave?
I was puzzled. Should I follow him? But I couldn’t muster the courage. My resolve to talk seemed futile as I lacked the bravery to open the door. Maybe Liam felt the same.
About two hours after the lights in the living room went out, I quietly left my room. A faint light came from Liam’s room, but there was no sound.
Peeking inside, I called, “Liam?”
No response. Taking it as permission, I entered.
“Goodness, what a mess,” I sighed.
Clothes were draped over the chair, books piled on the floor in three towers. Chemicals glittered on the wooden desk, and a brass balance held a mineral chunk.
I finally found Liam curled up and asleep on the bed. It looked uncomfortable, yet he slept.
‘Has he been sleeping like this for days?’ No wonder he looked worse.
I picked up a document from the floor: a list of mysterious deaths from recent years. Newspaper clippings, too. Had he raided the library? Carefully, I put it back and approached the bed.
The lamp on the nightstand casts a dim light. His sleeping face, even tense in sleep, appeared through the fading glow.
What is troubling you so?
Questions rose that I couldn’t ask. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. What drove him to such lengths? His solitary struggle was both frustrating and pitiful.
I sat on the bed, careful not to make noise. I watched him for a long time, captivated by his presence.
Only soft breathing filled the silence. The reality of his presence settled in as my ears adjusted to the quiet. Gentle breaths and warmth reassured me he was real.
As I stopped seeing Liam Moore as a game character, reality hit harder.
This is real. Your remembered civilization is gone. You’ve fully become a part of this world now.