Driving up to the circus grounds, they found a performance already underway.
On stage, a middle-aged man was folding himself into a box the same size as the one found with the victim. The audience below erupted in applause and cheers.
Backstage, watching the contortionist twist himself inside the box, George Stacy crossed his arms. "See that box? Same size as our victim's. Looks like we're on the right track."
"How lovely." Lynn nodded, his attention fixed on the wandering figure of the specter beside the stage. "George, I'll go take a look around—see if there are any other clues."
With that, he turned and walked off, following the ghost's lead.
The specter drifted ahead, and Lynn followed quietly behind.
Ever since they'd arrived at the circus, the spirit's obsession had grown stronger.
Its once translucent body was beginning to take on a faint, solid outline.
Trailing it through the maze of props and curtains backstage, they finally stopped at the door of a dressing room.
The spirit's glowing red eyes softened with emotion.
It raised a trembling hand toward the doorknob but hesitated halfway, lowering it again.
Then, turning to Lynn, a faint trace of consciousness surfaced within its obsession as it murmured, "Romeo… not blame… Juliet…"
Lynn arched an eyebrow at the words.
Romeo… not blame… Juliet..?
Hmm.. Romeo doesn't blame Juliet?
What was that supposed to mean?
Though puzzled, Lynn could clearly sense the spirit's deep obsession.
After a moment's thought, he raised his hand and knocked on the dressing room door.
A moment later, it opened to reveal a red-haired girl in jeans.
She froze for an instant when she saw the tall, sharp-featured Lynn standing there, then asked politely, "Hello, can I help you?"
"Hello. I'm Lynn Hall, NYPD, Criminal Investigation Division."
He showed his badge before continuing, "This morning, we found a man's body by the Hudson River. Based on our investigation, the victim appears to have been part of your circus."
As he spoke, Lynn handed her a photo of the deceased, carefully watching her reaction.
At the mention of "Hudson River" and "body," a flicker of sorrow crossed the girl's face.
Beside them, the spirit slowly reached out as if to touch her cheek—but stopped halfway, its hand trembling in midair.
Just as Lynn was about to ask another question, a man's anguished sobs echoed from backstage, accompanied by George Stacy's steady voice trying to calm him down.
Hearing the commotion, Lynn immediately turned and hurried toward the sound.
When he arrived, he saw the same man who had performed the contortion act earlier—now crouched on the floor, face buried in his hands, weeping uncontrollably.
George Stacy was gently patting the man's shoulder, trying to comfort him.
When Lynn approached, George let out a quiet sigh. "This is the victim's father," he said softly. "He just saw his son's deceased photo and broke down completely."
As a father himself, George understood Wilson's grief all too well. If it had been Gwen… he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold himself together either.
After a long while, once Wilson finally calmed down, he wiped his tears and spoke hoarsely to them. "David was my son. He just turned eighteen this year. He grew up in the circus—traveled and performed with me all over the country."
"He was born flexible—had a real talent for contortion—but he was a mischievous kid. Every time we arrived in a new city or town, he'd sneak out to wander around."
"When was the last time you saw him?" Lynn asked.
"Last night," Wilson said, his voice trembling as he gripped the photo in his hands. "He told me he was going out for a walk. I didn't think much of it… but I never imagined…"
His words broke off, his throat tight with emotion.
Just then, another man walked over. "I'm so sorry, Wilson. I never thought something like this would happen. God knows, I really feel for you—"
Before he could finish, Wilson's eyes filled with rage. He balled his fists and lunged at the man, starting a fight right then and there.
Seeing the two men start to fight, Lynn and George Stacy immediately stepped in and pulled them apart.
"Easy lads!"
The man in red, who had been restrained, didn't lash out. Instead, he took a deep breath and said to Wilson, "I don't blame you, man. Anyone would lose control after something like this."
George continued holding Wilson back, then shot Lynn a meaningful look.
Catching the signal, Lynn guided the man in red a few steps away. "Do you and Mr. Wilson have some kind of grudge?"
"Not exactly a grudge," the man said, accepting the cigarette Lynn offered. He lit it and exhaled slowly. "Sigh.. Wilson's father founded this circus. So both Wilson and his son, David, grew up here."
"I joined when I was sixteen. Wilson's father was my mentor—he taught me the aerial acts I still perform today."
"At first, Wilson and I got along fine. But later, we both fell for the same girl in the troupe."
"Oh?"
"Yeah.. She chose me… and from that day on, things between us fell apart. We became rivals, plain and simple."
As he spoke, Lynn noticed the red-haired girl from before approaching. The spirit followed closely beside her, its gaze fixed on her face with deep, lingering emotion.
Lynn's mind clicked instantly.
"I just spoke to your daughter," he said casually, eyes on the man in red. "She and David—were they involved romantically?"
Hearing Lynn's question, the man in red stiffened, his expression darkening. He frowned and said, "No. David grew up here in the circus with my daughter. He did have feelings for her, but I never approved of them being together."
"So, if anything, it was one-sided on David's part."
As soon as he finished speaking, Lynn caught the subtle change in Lily's expression—her brows furrowed slightly, her lips tightening.
"Alright, thank you for your cooperation," Lynn said, extending a hand.
After a quick handshake, he gave Lily a meaningful glance before turning away.
He rejoined George, exchanged a few quiet words with him, then began looking around the circus grounds.
Backstage, he came across a small cart with dried mud clinging to its wheels—and a costume tossed carelessly beside it.
Slipping on a pair of gloves, Lynn picked up the outfit for a closer look.
It was a performer's costume from the same act, identical in style to Wilson's, except for the color.
Given the details, Lynn suspected this one had belonged to the deceased—David.
Just as Lynn was about to put the costume away, David's spirit drifted closer.
Its gaze locked onto the outfit, and a flash of disgust flickered in its crimson eyes.
"Romeo, not blame, Juliet…"
"Romeo, not blame, Juliet…"
"Romeo, not blame, Juliet…"
The spirit repeated the phrase over and over, echoing in Lynn's ears.
Lynn straightened and flexed his wrist. "Come on out. You've been following me from backstage all the way here—you've got something to say, don't you?"
As his voice faded, Lily stepped out from behind a nearby cart.
"Mr. Hall," she said softly, lowering her head, "David and I were… secretly seeing each other."