Chapter 21: The Intruders and the Mask

“I can’t just sit here.”

Simon had officially reached his limit with waiting. How could he fold his hands and bide his time when he had no inkling of when that unreliable police force would finally act, or how this situation would even resolve? Even if everything miraculously worked out in the end, every single day that bled away was nothing but pure torture for the old woman.

Tap, tap.

Simon rapped firmly against the wall of the carriage to catch the coachman’s attention.

“I need to make a brief detour.”

Simon recited the residential address of Ashley Lewin. He felt a wave of relief that he had taken the trouble to memorize the exact location from the investigative files Clint had gathered. Before long, the carriage bearing Simon swerved away from the path leading back to the estate, charting a course toward an entirely different destination.

Ashley Lewin’s residence was a single-story house nestled within an thoroughly ordinary, quiet neighborhood. While the structure bore the unmistakable patina of age, it remained meticulously well-maintained and even boasted a small, charming front garden. It was the kind of home that projected a peaceful, conventional image, suggesting that the person living within was just as unremarkable. No one passing by would ever harbor the slightest inkling that a savage murderer resided behind those walls.

Simon dismissed the carriage ahead of time and quietly approached the house. Since it was currently peak business hours for the candy shop, Peter Matterson was bound to be occupied at his store. Even so, standing around and blatantly peering into someone else’s home would look profoundly suspicious. He traced a slow path around the perimeter of the property, minutely inspecting the doors and windows. Every single point of entry was securely locked, but a hairline fracture between the heavy curtains offered a narrow glimpse inside.

The interior appeared pristine, decorated with a few pieces of dated, slightly tacky furniture that had gone out of style years ago. At a glance, the inside of the house mirrored its exterior perfectly—utterly mundane. However, it was impossible to deduce everything from such a restricted vantage point. The gap between the curtains was entirely too narrow, revealing little of the layout no matter how much he shifted his angles.

‘Wait, is that a bundle of white fur over there…?’

As he stared intently through the glass, the faint bundle of fur suddenly seemed to twitch and lurch forward.

‘Could that be Nora?!’

Simon caught his breath with a sharp gasp. If that bundle of fur truly belonged to Nora, he absolutely had to extract her from this place this very instant.

‘How do I handle this? I have to find a way inside.’

With every door and window firmly secured, he stomped his feet in sheer frustration. Sheltered and gently raised as he was, Simon possessed absolutely no knowledge regarding the finer arts of lockpicking. Fortunately, he was highly literate and had a sharp memory for things he had read or heard.

An old newspaper article he had skimmed long ago suddenly flashed across his mind. It detailed the apprehension of a burglar who had managed to ransack ten houses in a single day. The thief’s secret to infiltrating so many residences with such terrifying speed lay entirely in ancient window frames. The burglar would slide a long, thin wire through the tiny gap between the window sashes, bending it precisely to manipulate and release the locking mechanism from the outside.

‘This house is exceptionally old. It looks like he’s lived here for a long time without making any modern renovations, which means this is definitely worth a shot.’

He needed a long, slender piece of wire. Simon swept his gaze across his immediate surroundings. In the neighbor’s adjacent garden, he spotted a thin length of wire driven into the soil to support the climbing morning glory vines.

‘I’ll just borrow this for a brief moment.’

Simon carefully wedged the wire into the seam of the window frame and began to work it back and forth. It proved far less simple than the effortless execution described in the newspaper; it seemed this endeavor required a distinct, nuanced knack of its own.

Click.

After a grueling, frantic struggle, the window latch finally gave way and released. He promptly returned the wire to its exact resting place in the dirt, leaving a single silver coin beside it as a quiet fee for the borrowing.

Taking a soft, steadying breath, he cast a vigilant gaze to his left and right before sliding the window open. Though it was a low window that rose only to about Simon’s waist, scaling the frame turned out to be an entirely different hurdle. It took several ungraceful hops before he finally managed to plant his foot firmly upon the sill, and even then, he had to huff and strain with a fair amount of awkward groaning before he successfully squeezed himself through the gap and into the house.

‘I’m in…!’

He had conquered the first major obstacle. Massaging his aching, throbbing arms, Simon immediately hurried toward the exact spot where he had spotted the bundle of fur. Right beneath the shadow of the sofa…!

‘What in the world?’

The true identity of the white fur mass was nothing more than a tightly rolled-up blanket. The perception that it had moved had been a pure trick of Simon’s frantic imagination.

“Haah…”

Thoroughly drained by the sudden wave of deflation, his strength dissolved, and he sank heavily onto the sofa. After taking a brief moment to catch his breath, he rose to systematically systematically search the residence. Leaving the living room behind, he traversed the kitchen and moved methodically through a small bedroom.

‘It’s surprisingly… normal.’

Just as it had appeared from the outside, the interior of the home was completely ordinary. The outdated interior styling gave off the distinct impression of a residence belonging to an elderly couple who had long since raised their adult children. While the housekeeping wasn’t immaculately spotless, it wasn’t overtly filthy either. It diverged entirely from the grotesque image he had constructed in his mind.

‘In novels, there’s always a hidden chamber or a secret compartment concealed somewhere.’

Driven by a sliver of hope, he rapped his knuckles against the walls and floorboards, checking for hollow sounds. Yet, absolutely nothing suspicious or resembling a hidden entrance manifested. He completed a full circle and found himself back in the living room. Despite exploring the entire layout, he had encountered no dried bloodstains, no menacing murder weapons, and no horrific remnants of slaughtered rats. It was simply a home where an ordinary individual lived an ordinary life.

‘It’s incredibly difficult to leave absolutely no trace like this… Could it be that he has an entirely separate location—a hidden hideout or a workshop where he carries out his grim tasks?’

At the very least, Nora was definitely not here. He couldn’t detect a single stray cat hair or any indication of a pet’s presence.

‘I need to get out of here right now.’

As Simon turned back toward the entry window, his foot struck something on the floor with a soft thud. Curious, he bent his waist and picked the object up. It was a small wooden token adorned with an intricate painting. Just as he lifted his head with the token gripped tightly in his palm, the distinct sound of a carriage grinding to a halt echoed from outside. Startled, he bolted toward the window facing the front garden, only to witness Peter Matterson actively stepping down from the carriage.

‘Why is he back at this hour?’

It was an entirely logical question, but logic was a luxury he couldn’t afford right now.

‘I have to evade him. Should I hide? Should I bolt out of the house? What—what on earth do I do?!’

Seized by a violent wave of panic, Simon began to scramble around in utter disarray. Even during those precious lost seconds, Peter Matterson was advancing toward the front door with brisk, heavy strides. Simon could hear him halting at the threshold, the distinct jingle of keys echoing as he selected the right one. Just as Simon was about to completely unravel into blind panic, a deeply familiar voice cut through his terror.

“Over here.”

The voice was a low, hushed whisper, yet it traveled with absolute clarity straight to Simon’s ears. It was Clint. He was standing right outside the very living room window Simon had used to infiltrate the house.

“Hurry, get out here.”

Without granting himself a single syllable of hesitation, Simon bolted toward him. Clint reached inside, lifting Simon completely off his feet as effortlessly as if he were handling a small child, and swiftly guided him over the window frame. The instant Simon’s feet touched the solid ground, Clint snapped the window shut, pressed a firm hand against Simon’s shoulder, and pulled him down into a tight crouch against the outer wall. The entire sequence unfolded in a seamless blur. His mind still thoroughly dazed, Simon stared up at Clint.

A torrential flood of questions swirled within him—why Clint was here, when he had arrived, and why they were currently huddled in the dirt. However, Clint firmly clamped his hand over Simon’s mouth, cutting off any possibility of a vocal inquiry.

Practically cradled entirely within Clint’s protective embrace, Simon could do nothing but roll his eyes wide with anxiety.

Gasps.

Through the glass of the very window they were currently crouching beneath, Peter Matterson materialized. He stood peering out into the garden with a deep, severe scowl etched across his face. It was a menacing, brutal expression that contrasted starkly with the genial facade he maintained at the candy shop. This, without a doubt, was the man’s true countenance.

Ah, Simon realized with a jolt of horror, he hadn’t locked the window from the inside.

Had they been discovered?

Peter Matterson swept his sharp eyes from left to right across the yard. Strung tight with suffocating tension, Simon’s frame began to vibrate with a fine tremor. Finally, the man reached out, securely locked the window sash, and turned back into the interior. A moment later, a frantic, chaotic clattering and rumbling echoed from within the house as the man began aggressively moving things about.

“Haaah…” Simon finally let out a long, shuddering exhale.

“It seems we weren’t spotted. Thankfully.”

Clint offered a comforting, reassuring pat against Simon’s shoulder. While the gesture was intended to soothe him, it triggered an entirely different kind of internal chaos. They were entirely too close! They were huddled so intimately that the raw, masculine scent drifting from the nape of Clint’s neck flooded Simon’s senses completely. Simon had to exert every ounce of his willpower to suppress a sudden, intoxicating impulse to press his lips against Clint’s neck. The terror of the moment was instantly and thoroughly obliterated.

“How did you end up here?”

“When we spoke earlier, I got the distinct impression that you weren’t truly satisfied, Mr. Grayan… so I decided to come check on this place just in case. But I never imagined you would actually take it upon yourself to break into a suspect’s home alone… You possess an incredibly reckless streak.”

Simon found himself entirely devoid of a defense. It was an undeniable fact that his actions had been profoundly reckless and exceptionally dangerous. Yet, he didn’t nurse a single shred of regret. A crisis had certainly loomed, but at the very least, he would now be able to look the old woman from the apple orchard dead in the eye and truthfully declare that he had exhausted every possible avenue to find Nora.

“The fellow inside looks incredibly occupied, so let’s seize this opportunity to make our escape.”

Clint rose to his feet first, extending a steady hand down to Simon. Though his words carried a note of gentle reprimand, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of good humor in his demeanor. It was highly unexpected, considering Clint had just risked his own safety to extract Simon from a perilous situation. Simon grasped the offered hand and pulled himself up. Because Clint was wearing gloves, his body heat filtered through the fabric as nothing more than a faint, lukewarm sensation.

“But why would Peter Matterson return home so suddenly at this time of day?”

“Indeed. He appeared exceptionally pressed for time, didn’t he?”

While the anomaly burned in their minds, it wasn’t as if they could simply march inside and demand an explanation from the man himself. Moving with utmost caution, the two figures traversed the garden, walked a safe distance down the street, and boarded the public carriage Clint had arrived in, successfully slipping away from the vicinity without further incident.

A short while later, as if stepping into the arena to receive a passing baton, a lone man materialized on the very street Simon and Clint had just vacated. Clad in a crisp police uniform, the man walked with heavy, thoroughly exhausted strides. Formally designated by everyone in the department as the ‘Rookie,’ this officer was currently marking his third year on the force. Yet, because the precinct hadn’t onboarded a single new recruit since his arrival, he was continuously worked to the bone as the eternal low man on the totem pole.

The sole reason he was currently trudging toward the residence of Ashley Lewin was entirely due to his status as the department rookie. The moment he had returned to the precinct after wrapping up his formal duties for the day, a senior officer on his way out the door had casually dumped this task on his lap, ordering him to go verify the property. He lacked any concrete context regarding the case. The brief directive—’A report came in claiming this Ashley fellow is some kind of vicious criminal, go check it out’—comprised the absolute entirety of his knowledge. Since he had been deployed elsewhere on a completely separate matter when the initial report was filed, he was entirely blind to any further details.

‘A vicious criminal? Give me a break. His public record is completely pristine. It’s not like the man is some sketchy outsider either.’

Had the suspect been a transient or a stranger to the area, he would have naturally harbored a healthy dose of suspicion. However, the files clearly indicated that Ashley Lewin was a lifelong resident of this community, leaving virtually no room for doubt.

‘This is a complete waste of time, there’s absolutely nothing to verify here. They love making me run ragged for no damn reason.’

Still, a formal report had been lodged, meaning he was legally obligated to execute the welfare check.

‘Looks like a perfectly normal house.’

Ashley Lewin’s residence was undeniably aged, yet even that characteristic projected an aura of comforting normalcy. It bore the distinct atmosphere of a family home that had been passed down through generations, causing the rookie officer’s remaining guard to dissolve entirely.

Knock, knock.

At the firm rap against the wood, the front door swung open to reveal a middle-aged man with a noticeably thinning crown. He appeared thoroughly ordinary, harboring absolutely nothing that aligned with the profile of a hardened criminal. The officer’s final vestige of suspicion evaporated on the spot. He resolved to throw out a few routine questions to satisfy protocol and quickly wrap things up.

“Good evening, Officer from the local precinct. A formal report has been filed concerning you, Mr. Lewin. I need you to step aside so we can have a brief discussion.”

“Oh, goodness! An officer? Uh, yes—of course. I am more than happy to cooperate with the authorities. Ah, but…”

Ashley’s features contorted into a deeply apologetic, conflicted grimace.

“I happen to be right in the middle of simmering a big pot of stew. It’s practically finished, so why don’t you come inside and have a hot bowl before you go? You look exhausted from working so hard, and I would love to offer you a proper meal.”

Right on cue, a loud, treacherous rumble echoed from the rookie officer’s starved stomach. While protocol strictly dictated that an officer should never accept hospitality or meals from a subject under active investigation, the reality on the ground was that such interactions occurred with extreme frequency.

“Ahem. Well… if it’s not too much trouble?”

Ashley stepped to the side with a welcoming gesture, inviting him in. The rookie officer walked across the threshold, his guard completely shattered. The exact instant his back was turned to his host, Ashley reached behind the frame of the door, seizing a heavy wooden club he had concealed there, and brought it down with tremendous force.

Crack!

The club connected squarely with the back of the officer’s skull. Letting loose a sharp, truncated cry, the rookie collapsed heavily to the floorboards, losing consciousness instantly. Ashley Lewin—or rather, Peter Matterson—stared down at the crumpled figure with eyes that had turned entirely to stone. Stripped of the genial, warm mask of the beloved local candy shop owner, his true countenance emerged: a terrifying visage of absolute malice and chilling indifference.

Peter reached down, roughly seizing the officer’s chin to tilt his face up for a closer inspection.

“My, what an exceptionally magnificent head.”

A profoundly menacing, chilling smile spread slowly across his lips.

📚 Also on NHV Novels

A Boy’s Bizarre Tale

BLBoys LoveDrama

Read Now →
Not interested