Detective Agency of the Bizarre
Chapter 161 - 161 Fourteen

161: Fourteen.

She is waiting for you to come back 161: Fourteen.

She is waiting for you to come back “You look pale.”

It was the morning after Shelley’s return.

She sat opposite Trance, her face appearing stiff, as if covered with a layer of human skin.

“I…

I’m fine.”

Trance mustered a forced smile, continuing to stir his milk absentmindedly, his mind crammed with the scene from the night before.

“I plan to rest for a few days…

I’ve been feeling very tired lately.” Shelley ran her fingers through her hair, a handful of strands slipping from her fingertips, scattering beside the elbow on the dining table.

She didn’t notice this.

“Alright, alright…

I’ll talk to the manager.”

Trance stared blankly at the clump of withered hair, swiftly averting his gaze when Shelley looked over, stumbling over his response.

During breakfast, Shelley would normally chatter ceaselessly, complaining about how nagging a client was or what happened in a colleague’s family.

Trance would listen quietly.

But today, Shelley’s voice was no longer filling the space, and Trance silently and somberly finished his breakfast.

Trance, heavy-hearted, ate breakfast mechanically, then put down his fork and knife.

He hesitated over how to face his wife when she suddenly rose from her seat across the table and leaned in close to Trance.

Trance suddenly remembered that every morning his wife would give him a kiss just like now…

That rigid face was inching closer, and in a trance, he smelled a whiff of decay, suppressing the urge to gag, swallowed the saliva in his mouth, and staggered to his feet, dodging his wife’s kiss.

“I…

I need to get to work right away.”

He grabbed the briefcase beside the dining table, snatched the coat off the hanger, and left the house in a hurry without even grabbing an umbrella.

Pitter-patter…

The drizzle blurred everything, signaling the start of the rainy season, which was typically light.

However, the downpour would likely change in a few days.

The company was to the right down the street, but Trance stepped into the curtain of rain, heading in the opposite direction.

Behind the window of a house, a figure stood, quietly watching Trance’s retreating figure, a touch of sadness flashing deep within their eyes.

…

“You mean to say she has livor mortis?

That’s impossible; livor mortis can’t occur in a living person…

I know, but the fact that you came to me instead of going to the church indicates that you are aware of your wife’s condition…

Mr.

Trance, don’t panic, I understand your nervousness.

From your description, it could be a severe skin disease; the back has started to ulcerate, and it requires a diagnosis.

If there’s time…

no, I hope you bring your wife in as soon as possible, to prevent the dermatosis from worsening.”

“Oh child, what brings you here in such haste…

Go see Father Charlie, he might provide answers to your questions…

May the Lord bless you and your wife…”

“Yes, this is undoubtedly the devil’s doing.

She’s enduring the agony inflicted by the devil…

Poor child.

Trance, if you bring her to the church, I will conduct an exorcism to rid your wife of this affliction.

Mama!

Do we have any holy water left?”

“Damn it, Trance!

Today you’ve ignored our clients for the second time, picked up the wrong files for the third time, and tried to drink from an empty coffee cup for the fifth time…

What?

I’m sorry, I didn’t know, no wonder Shelley didn’t come to the office today…

Is it serious?

Oh…

I can approve your leave so you can go back and look after her— you really don’t need it?

Well, since you say so, but stop being so clumsy.”

At five in the afternoon, Trance closed his briefcase and got up to enter the washroom.

The sound of running water filled the room as Trance turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face.

In that instant, the chilling water cleared the fog in his brain, and he looked up to see his reflection in the mirror, his eyes rimmed with bloodshot veins.

Turning off the tap, Trance left the washroom, donned his coat, and took his briefcase to leave the office.

At five fifteen in the afternoon, Trance stood at his front door.

The moment he reached for his keys to unlock the door, he hesitated for a moment before slowly opening it.

Instead of being greeted by his wife’s laughter and cheer, there was a faint, pervasive stench of decay in the air.

Tightness seized Trance’s heart, and a sudden surge of concern for his wife dispelled his fear; he put the briefcase on the shoe rack and rushed into the house.

Splash—

The sound of cooking emanated from the living room.

Trance rushed to the outside of the kitchen and saw the figure standing with its side to him.

He stepped forward, all eagerness, and said, “I went to——”

His words came to an abrupt halt, his heart feeling as though it was suddenly seized by a massive hand, pain so intense he could not breathe.

Patches of purplish bruises marred his wife’s beautiful cheeks.

Not only that, her once bright and clear eyes had become murky, no longer transparent.

Those unfocused pupils awakened Trance’s memories.

He suddenly recalled, as a small child playing with his friends at the edge of the woodland, they saw a shadow hanging between the trees.

As the children mustered the courage to get closer, the wind blew the figure on the rope, gently turning it around.

On that elongated neck, the turbid and shattered eyeballs were just like at this moment.

This was not an illness…

his wife was dead.

Trance could no longer remember how he managed to sit down, eat his meal, then turn off the lights and go to sleep.

It was the body that suddenly pressed into his embrace that awakened his consciousness.

Her whispering voice resounded by his ear, those cloudy eyes fixed on him.

“Do you love me…”

“Of course…” Trance replied subconsciously.

“Then let us…

become…

one.”

His wife suddenly convulsed, her tone gradually becoming eerie.

From the forehead that Trance had kissed, the skull cracked open, and a blood-red tentacle burst forth, stretching out straight towards him.

At that moment, the depth of his love for her equaled the depth of his fear.

Trance pushed Shelley away and, still in shock, grabbed his clothes and fled out the door.

“Don’t leave——”

A cry from Shelley came from behind, like a harrowing scream, dragging with it a long, mournful wail.

Bang!

The door slammed shut, and Trance fled without looking back.

For the next three days, Trance stayed at his company.

He worked during the day and claimed to work overtime to rest in the office at night.

But his thoughts uncontrollably flew back home.

Finally, on the fifth morning since Shelley’s return from disappearance, amidst pouring rain, Trance came home.

Pushing open the door, a smell of decay wafted out, though it was not overwhelming.

He forgot to lock the door and walked stunned into the bedroom and study—the absence of the stench signified that his wife was not there anymore.

At that moment, an elderly voice came from outside, “You’re back, huh?”

Startled, Trance saw an unfamiliar old man.

He fabricated a lie, “Hmm…

I’ve been working overtime these days.”

“Oh…

Well, I’m leaving now, remember to take care of yourself.” The old man nodded, his murky pupils holding too much, he gave Trance a deep look, then turned and slowly walked away.

Trance watched curiously as the old man, who didn’t even carry an umbrella in the rain, disappeared into the downpour.

He sat back down on the sofa and held his head in his hands.

In the bleak and silent living room, he sat alone right in the middle of the couch.

The sound of his wife’s laughter seemed to echo in his ears.

Trance was filled with a poignant sense of loss.

He knew that he had lost her forever.