Ch.96Ch.7 – Elegy for Reason (3)

*Click.*

Awakening <2/12> / Destruction <1/12>

While people evacuated to safety, the Innsmouth police cordoned off the building. Crayfield and I searched the third floor. The level directly above the second-floor hall where the incident occurred appeared to be used as a storage room.

We entered the storage area. Beyond the wide-open window stood a massive tree, close enough that even a teenager could jump and grab it if they had the courage. Below the windowsill was a thick layer of old dust that appeared to have been hastily wiped away.

Crayfield crouched down low. He turned his head sideways to examine the floor, then stood up and pointed toward the corner of the storage room. Small piles of sawdust had accumulated on both sides of a gap in the floorboards.

“They drilled a hole here and lowered a wire through it. Then they sliced poor Penny’s neck clean off, like an execution.”

Crayfield tapped the floor with his foot.

“No matter how sharp a steel wire might be, cutting through bone completely is no simple task. Not just the angle, but the pulling force must have been extraordinary. Too much for human hands. Perhaps a clockwork mechanism… Hey, assistant. What do you think?”

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, I fumbled for an answer. Crayfield lightly tapped his forehead.

“That was unkind of me. Just as you’re not Dr. Watson, I’m certainly no Sherlock Holmes. I wasn’t trying to show off with knowledge only I possess. What I mean is that everything is too obvious. Too obvious.”

Crayfield leaned out the window and looked around. But outside, only birdsong could be heard.

“Let’s start with the position of that hole. Our wire-cutting culprit knew exactly that someone would pass through here. And Penny was trembling and sweating. ‘Please, walk this way so I can cleanly slice your neck with a wire.’ Even a conveyor belt wouldn’t be this precise. Don’t you think the staging is excessive?”

I suggested that while this might be true in normal circumstances, we were currently in a quest situation, and quests in games often require some dramatic staging.

“Exactly. That’s precisely my point. These game designers are so self-absorbed that they’d fall ill if they didn’t create a masterpiece for the ages. Would such people really present it as ‘Wow, what kind of person was this Penny to willingly offer his neck to a steel wire? Aren’t you curious?'”

But at this point, it was too early to make judgments. We went downstairs to the entrance. A stretcher covered with a white cloth was being loaded into an ambulance. Agent Catherine Scully was sitting beside the body.

“Ah, Agent Catherine Scully.”

Scully was wearing protective goggles, a white gown, and safety gloves. She motioned for us to come closer.

“Good to see you, Crayfield, assistant. Want to see this? Come closer. I don’t want to show this to everyone else.”

She then pulled back the cloth covering the stretcher. Penny’s head and body dangled as if protesting the sudden exposure. Crayfield, who had a weak stomach, grimaced sharply.

“Damn it all.”

Whether she heard the protest or not, Scully unbuttoned Penny’s shirt. A long scar was clearly visible from the collarbone junction down to the abdomen. Scully took a sharp scalpel and cut along the scar. Crayfield finally covered his mouth and fled backward.

“Surprising. I didn’t know he had that side to him.”

Scully muttered, seemingly unconcerned. She tightened her gloves again and inserted her hand into the incision. She looked like someone searching for a marble in mud. Eventually, Scully pulled out a small metal cylinder. It was an elongated cylindrical tube about the length of a finger, sealed at both ends.

“It’s a bomb. The third one I’ve seen since coming to Innsmouth. The operating principle is similar to the Kingsport incident. It detonates through a resonator connected to the vocal cords. I’ll need to carefully examine this tube, but it appears similar to Professor James Moriarty’s design.”

“What the hell, who’s playing around with wires then? The lady from London?”

Crayfield protested while wiping his mouth. Scully covered the body with the cloth, discarded her protective gear, and stepped out of the ambulance. She slammed the door shut, and the ambulance drove away with its siren blaring.

“Let me tell you officially. The Federal Security Bureau has no relationship with the British Empire. Unless there’s a formal cooperation agreement.”

“A mad clockwork engineer bomb terrorist is operating freely in America, and that’s your response?”

“Let me talk to myself for a moment.”

“Go ahead.”

“She doesn’t listen to anyone. I don’t like her methods either, but we’re in a situation where we must ‘cooperate unconditionally.’ That’s what they’re telling us from above. If you know another way, please let me know. I’m at the frontline of this infuriating situation.”

I had never seen Scully reveal her emotions like this before. Perhaps she had accumulated frustrations with Clarice Holmes. Hearing her emotional tone, Crayfield spoke in a placating manner.

“What’s so difficult about it? Can’t you just have suspicious people remove their outer clothing? That bomb surgery or procedure seems to require quite a long incision. Couldn’t you gather people with scars in one place…”

But the answer came from behind us.

“That’s exactly what they want, Mr. Crayfield.”

The voice was dry and irritable, yet the pronunciation was clear. He could easily stand out as a radio news anchor. Charles Klein. The aide to Congresswoman Annette Cole and our client.

“Everyone who received the bomb implantation had the typical appearance of ‘Innsmouth people.’ They’re already hostile toward outsiders, and if we start asking them to ‘please remove your clothing’? Innsmouth would turn upside down. We’d have riots beyond mere protests.”

“You’re saying their goal is social conflict?”

“Exactly, Agent Scully.”

Klein sighed deeply.

“Innsmouth is on the verge of explosion. The locals think outsiders have ruined their town. They don’t like the congressional investigation team either. With these serial killings occurring, the hostility has become unbearable. People with public faces like our investigation team are now having stones thrown at them. Not directly at our heads, but tossed in front of our homes. If they put just a little more strength into it…”

Klein shuddered slightly.

“Moreover, everyone on the investigation team is suffering from insomnia, loss of appetite, and some are even experiencing hallucinations. Among ourselves, we say it’s from lack of sleep, but…”

“Hallucinations?”

Crayfield asked.

“What kind of hallucinations? Do you see heat mirages?”

“It’s nothing. Just need a good night’s sleep. And the season is getting hotter now, isn’t it? This is a coastal town. Seeing heat mirages isn’t unusual. It might just be steam rising from the overheated ground.”

Klein avoided direct mention.

“The timing couldn’t be worse. Planting bombs only in the bodies of Innsmouth locals, just when outsiders are flooding in. We’re caught between a rock and a hard place. If we push further in, the Innsmouth people openly show their dislike. But if we withdraw now…”

“News would spread nationwide that the investigation team achieved nothing.”

“Both the Patriot Party and the Progressive Party hate that prospect. The reason there’s no news coverage now is because both parties are spending enormous funds and conducting negotiations. Just so you know.”

Klein lowered his voice.

“Anyway, Mr. Crayfield. According to our previous contract, I’d like to request an investigation. Please visit Penny’s house and gather as much information as possible.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be at the police station in the meantime. I need to write a statement. My God, to see a man’s head fall off just ten steps away.”

Our client seemed quite shocked as well. Well, it’s understandable to be shaken when something you’ve only seen in textbooks or photographs suddenly happens before your eyes. As evidence of this, our protagonist suddenly wore a determined expression.

“We can’t just back down here. The press won’t keep quiet forever. They’re gathering strength to bite harder. Meanwhile, rumors are spreading beyond Innsmouth. Fishermen who sold fish in Arkham and Ipswich are being beaten and driven back here. Being cursed as potential bombs.”

Klein clenched his fist.

“We must resolve this situation. Whatever the conclusion, we will not tolerate anything that damages the solidarity of our democracy. This kind of conflict is the work of villains trying to divide our society. Both the Patriot Party and the Progressive Party will agree on this.”

“The intention is quite beautiful.”

Crayfield murmured, seemingly impressed.

“So what should we do now?”

“Now we need to investigate.”

Our protagonist shrugged and disappeared. Crayfield whispered quietly.

“Wow, judging by his speech, he’s already a congressman.”

* * * * *

June 3, 1929. 4:22 PM

Morel House

Innsmouth

There are professions whose influence grows the further you get from big cities. Journalists. Civil servants. Politicians. Though merely a senator’s aide, Klein’s influence was considerable. Thanks to him, we were able to obtain Penny’s home address from the Innsmouth police.

Both of Penny’s parents were still alive. They both appeared to be typical Innsmouth people. The father kept crying, while the mother was so angry that neither conversation nor investigation could properly take place. Despite Crayfield and I gently trying to persuade them, we only received thorny responses like, “It’s because of outsiders. We were happy enough until they came.”

“Last year and the year before, everything was because of outsiders. My son died because of outsiders. And now more outsiders come asking what happened. My God, Dagon!”

For the first time, the father reacted to the mother’s anguished cry.

“Dagon has left us! He’s completely forgotten us! Otherwise, how could he abandon us like this!”

“How dare you speak such blasphemy!”

The mother screamed with fury.

“We are all children of the sea! We will all meet in Y’ha-nthlei!”

“We will be buried in the ground.”

With those words, the father fell silent. The mother wailed again, and Crayfield and I left. We stopped at the edge of the alley near Penny’s house.

“This is miserable.”

Crayfield put a Camel cigarette in his mouth and took a deep drag.

“I heard the Dagon temple was closed. During last year’s mass arrests, the high priest was taken somewhere, and not only are visits prohibited, but even his survival is uncertain. He’s probably imprisoned at a military base or something similar. But does that mean the faith is completely broken? Just because one priest disappeared?”

I asked if there would be no worship without a religious leader.

“For conventional religions, yes. But the Dagon faith is closer to an esoteric cult. They’re heretics. Like the Hydra in Greek mythology—not Hydra, Dagon’s wife, but the creature where two heads grow when one is cut off—that’s what esoteric cults are like. If it were a religion that could be broken by losing one leader, it would have disappeared long ago. But listening to Penny’s father, he seems convinced that Dagon has left.”

Crayfield’s voice lowered.

“Let’s form a hypothesis. I hope I’m wrong about this. Suppose a god who promised eternal prosperity and immortality suddenly disappeared. His children are too conspicuous and persecuted for being repulsive. Even those who try to help them are opposed by others. Doesn’t this sound familiar? What choice do such people make when they become increasingly marginalized and rejected by society?”

I thought of the late Professor Gordon Whateley of Miskatonic University and the people of Kingsport. People who lived with suppressed anger in their hearts, with nowhere to turn. Those people willingly surrendered themselves to bombs. The bombs weren’t the cause. They were the result. Crayfield nodded, reading my gaze.

“We’re essentially dealing with a bomb here, assistant. A bomb cunningly planted by someone. A massive bomb planted in human communities, society, and order. The mastermind behind this act is trying to turn all of Innsmouth into one big bomb. As I said, I hope this hypothesis is wrong.”