Ch.153Act 2: Ch.10 – Long Live the King (5)

Without even a chance to ask where we were going, Crayfield gathered his clothes and equipment. He loaded ammunition into the drum and attached it to his revolver. I also strapped on my holster and grabbed my revolver. After a moment of contemplation, Crayfield handed me ‘Chekhov’.

“You’d better keep this.”

A surprisingly lightweight piece of metal. I still wasn’t used to it. That’s why Chekhov needed to be handled more carefully. It was so light that it would be hard to notice if dropped while running or crawling. Instead, he took the compass—a small one he had made before that indicated a player’s direction.

Like the Doomsday Clock, it was created for a special purpose and couldn’t perform its original function. That clock only showed how close we were to doom, not the actual time. The compass was the same. Perhaps because Drugstore hadn’t arrived yet, the needle spun wildly of its own accord.

We went down to the parking lot and got into a standard Ford. When Crayfield started the engine, a reassuring rumble echoed. The fog had cleared further, and no agents were in sight.

It had been a while since I’d seen the streets, but there was no vitality to be found.

People arguing and fighting, household items placed outside homes. Foreclosure notices and final warnings, numerous bills left in front of closed doors. Some sat dazed, staring up at the sky. There were porters loading furniture onto trucks, an old woman wailing and pulling at a porter, and beside them, a girl in expensive-looking clothes clutching a teddy bear.

The newsboys weren’t faring well either. Five people gathered around a single newspaper, staring at it as if their eyes might pop out. Then they would collapse to the ground. Some shook their fists at the sky, others laughed hollowly, and some, unable to contain their anger, not only tore the newspaper to shreds but also lunged at the boy, while others tried to stop them.

“This is just the beginning.”

Crayfield fumbled in his coat’s front pocket. He seemed to want to put a new cigarette in his mouth. Finding nothing there, he searched the car door’s pouch. But there was only the sound of air escaping.

“I forgot to buy a pack of cigarettes.”

“The beginning, you say?”

“The modern meaning of doom.”

Crayfield had to stop the car because people were rushing onto the road. It was a man in a suit, with more than half his clothes torn. Behind him were furious people. Cries like “Give me back my money, you fraud!” could be heard. The one at the front was unmistakably a hunched old woman, followed by a young woman. A man in suspenders overtook them all.

“All those people…”

“Just so you know, in this era, there’s no buyback for incomplete sales, no financial education. Various consumer protection laws came much later. And the Wall Street fraudsters are well-fed wolves. The combined annual salaries of everyone running out there wouldn’t match the value of one of those wolves.”

“When you think about it, aren’t they all victims?”

“Yes. Their only crime was dreaming. Dreams of a better life. And the man fleeing up ahead is guilty of giving hope that those dreams could be realized faster. Though he probably didn’t even know what he was selling.”

Cars and people became entangled. The road grew more congested. Only when a whistle-blowing policeman arrived did the road situation improve.

As we moved toward the center of town, more people came into view. Everyone was holding something—umbrellas, canes, clubs, pitchforks, baseball bats. They all stood in front of a bank, raising their voices against the barricaded Pollard police. The police were protecting a graying man with blood streaming from his forehead.

“This wave will spread to the Old Continent. The stock market is interconnected, after all. It will stir up old wounds in countries already suffering from the ravages of war. Paris. New London. Berlin… not one place will remain intact.”

Crayfield looked up at the sky. I could also see the indifferent clouds drifting inland.

“What will happen?”

“People who were just catching their breath from the ashes will collapse again. Assistant, I fear a person who has lost a handful of hope more than one whose spirit is broken. The feeling of helplessness. The accumulating resentment. Even good people can turn cruel. Above all, such people will try to test.”

“Test what?”

“How they might move the world. They’ll try to confirm if they’re truly powerless. And it’s always easier to burn things down than to achieve something. Look at them. They’re still orderly. They’re angry but still following the control line and chanting consistent slogans. At least for now.”

Crayfield said no more. I didn’t ask further either. Instead, I looked out the window. Crayfield was heading toward the outskirts, not the center of town. Toward the northern cliffs.

“Where are we going? This isn’t the way to the theater or the eastern dock.”

“I have something to show you. Something you need to see.”

“What about Drugstore?”

“No matter how reckless Drugstore is, once he’s entered this world, he has to follow the rules. Even if it’s a world of his own making, he can’t ignore everything. Things like a clock skipping 2 and 3 and going straight to 12 won’t happen.

Moreover, that’s not his style. He’s a director. A director who likes to reveal himself. Such a person always hides behind everything and then delivers the final blow to steal attention in one go.

Judging by how he was talking last time, he might even be broadcasting live. Saying something like, ‘No one could figure it out? This is how you do it,’ while showing off.”

I remembered what he said at the western reservoir in Arkham. His claim about summoning Hastur. If so, Drugstore would participate in the game as a member of the theater troupe. Of course, even that could be some kind of deception.

Thinking about the western reservoir made my stomach twist. Emma Scully wasn’t someone who deserved to be expended like that.

Hadn’t Drugstore said it himself? That he intended to win this game, and while he would participate fairly, before the game began, he wanted to change the world to his liking.

Perhaps the stock market crash, the fog over Pollard Island, demanding Aurora as a sacrifice… all of it might have been manipulated by him.

All to win.

Click.

The clock pointed to 1.

The car had now entered the suburbs. The bustling city was behind us, and ominously undulating trees welcomed us with open arms. The fog clung here too, like a persistent stain. But Crayfield didn’t stop. He kept moving forward.

“Hold tight.”

Suddenly, in the middle of the road, he turned the car. Toward the wide field on the right. The car jolted, causing pain in my neck and back. If Crayfield hadn’t warned me, I might have bitten my tongue.

There was a sound like a whip wrapping around something. It was the sound of grass, grown to the height of the car’s bumper, hitting the body of the car.

“Isn’t this a pasture?”

It was a field with nothing but abundant grass, literally. Not a building, not even a wall in sight. Had it all been destroyed by fire? Or was there another reason…

The Ford gradually decelerated. Crayfield gently stopped the car. Around us were only weeds flowing with the wind. It might have seemed pastoral in a way, but it was too quiet a place to visit in such circumstances.

“Let’s get out.”

What was even more incomprehensible was Crayfield. He was even sweating. There was a metallic sound coming from his throat. Eventually, the engine completely shut off.

As the engine died, the sound of the wind could be heard. It was a sound that had nothing to obstruct it, so it just had to rush forward. Not a single tree, not a piece of rock. The wind only swirled around our car, me, and Crayfield.

Wondering if such a place had always existed, I rubbed my eyes. This is a field. A common field where the wind rushes through the grass. The fog covering the sea, the leisurely swaying trees, those things are far away. Nearby, there’s just grass that comes up to about knee height.

But something feels off. Something keeps nagging at me. There shouldn’t be anything strange, yet an odd sense of discomfort wouldn’t leave.

Unconsciously, I took a step. A sharp pain was felt on the back of my hand. I had been slightly cut by a blade of grass. It didn’t bleed, but the scratch mark was clear.

What a nasty grass… I looked at the grass that had cut my hand so easily.

“Uh…”

I grabbed a handful of grass and pulled it out. They came out too easily. I spread the grass on my palm.

They were identical.

The shape of the leaves. The parts where the stems branched. The shape and degree of curvature of old leaves and new buds. Even the length.

“Good heavens, Crayfield. What kind of place is this?”

“There used to be streets here. It was a space for the upper class. ‘Resort village’ might be a strange term, but it was a place of pleasure where festivals were held from Friday evening to Monday morning. Ordinary people couldn’t even dare to approach. As you can see, it’s wide open here. Anyone trying to sneak in would be caught by the guards. There were even guard posts.”

“You say it was a resort village, but I don’t see a single brick? Not even a trace?”

“Nothing disappears without a trace, Assistant.” Crayfield’s voice was gloomy.

“Nothing in this world disappears without a trace. It’s not that there are no traces. It’s just that we don’t see them, don’t recognize them, and simply turn our heads away and ignore them. But if you take one step or two steps forward…”

We walked through the grass field. Under the sky, there was only us, the turned-off Ford, and the rustling grass being trampled. Because we had to step on them to walk, our pace was slow.

“Careful.”

As soon as those words fell, it darkened. Like entering a dark room from a bright place, nothing could be seen. All that could be heard was the sound of breathing and a strange wind, all that could be seen was darkness and deeper darkness.

I narrowed my eyes. They say that helps you adapt to darkness faster. Although it was a place of nothing but darkness, things weren’t indistinguishable. Nearby places were darker than distant ones. It even seemed like some kind of form.

Like a collapsed building.

“Can you see?”

Crayfield was still standing beside me. Due to the sudden darkness, he wasn’t clearly visible either. Only his voice was distinct.

Click. Click. The sound of a lighter being lit. For the first time, I was glad he was a smoker. But the moment he lit the flame and revealed himself,

I screamed.

Crayfield’s eyes, nose, and mouth had disappeared!