I attempted to push him away, but thankfully his colleagues finally intervened and pulled him off me. I gasped for air, inhaling and exhaling as if I hadn't breathed for what felt like ages. Sweat dripped down my forehead while I looked at him, filled with fear and regret.
I had definitely crossed paths with the wrong person...
Yet, oddly enough, I found myself somewhat drawn to it.
"Heh," he scoffed, restrained by his coworkers. "How does it feel to be humiliated?" he taunted, smirking as he spoke.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly got to my feet, clutching the blanket tightly around me.
"It feels terrible," I confessed. Embarrassment and anger surged through me since he had turned the tables, making it seem as if he was the one dominating in front of these people in the brown house, where Sam's deceased wife lay.
Lyan grinned, satisfied that I didn't deny his power over the situation. He calmed down and gestured for his colleagues to release him. They hesitated for a moment before nodding and stepping back, allowing him to return to his own business.
I didn't break eye contact with him, and he mirrored my gaze. It felt like we were two children locked in a staring contest. Suddenly, he approached me confidently, and a shiver ran through my body. Even wrapped in a blanket, I felt a chill.
"Wh-what?" I stammered, my voice shaky.
What if he decides to choke me again?
He merely tilted his head slightly, moving closer until he was right in front of me. Our bodies were nearly touching, suffocating me, and I wished I could hide beneath the bed or a table.
Lyan stared at me intently with an unnerving familiarity that I couldn't place.
"What~" he said mockingly, cold smile in place. "Is it so bad to be close to you?" With that, he pressed our bodies together even more. My breath caught in my throat. "Like this?" he added with a deep chuckle.
He was reveling in this.
Panic coursed through me as I struggled to speak, words stuck in my throat as if I had suddenly gone mute.
"Cat got your tongue, cutie?" he asked sweetly, though we both knew it was a taunt.
His hand slid up my arm to my shoulder in a way that sent both pleasant and unsettling shivers down my spine.
It was both tempting and creepy. I wanted to hide yet yearned for him to chase and catch me.
But that wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen.
"It hasn't yet. Not yet," I replied, prompting a laugh from him, as though I were a clown performing in a circus.
"Not yet? So it will eventually, right?"
I shot a glare at Lyan and tried to push him away, but he seized my wrist tightly, preventing me from breaking free and keeping us close. "Not going to happen…" he whispered in my ear, his lips brushing against it, which made me gasp with unexpected pleasure.
Just as he seemed poised to continue making me feel small and humiliated, Sam barged in, interrupting my predicament. Though I knew he was only intervening because of an urgent matter at hand—
His dead wife.
I was still grateful.
Sam glared at us both. "Why are you two flirting in a situation like this?" he shouted in anger and exasperation, then turned to Lyan. "You're a police investigator, and here you are, enjoying yourself with this young lady?"
Lyan listened to Sam's words and responded with an indifferent shrug and an annoyed eye roll. "Sir, I'm aware of my duties. I know my role." He paused, turning his gaze back to me. "I'm here to comfort this young lady. She's been through trauma and survived." Even though his words carried a sense of truth, his manner toward me was entirely different.
"You—"
Sam was cut off as Lyan continued.
"She survived the killer in your house. I understand your wife didn't make it; my condolences. But please let us be. I'm not finished asking her questions about today's crime." His tone was firm and authoritative, leaving Sam momentarily speechless."
Sam pretended to cough. "I-I apologize..." He made a slight bow and exited once more.
I blinked in awe and admiration at Lyan, despite having felt scared of him just a moment ago. Although I'm still a bit intimidated, the way he crafted such a convincing lie—so flawless you couldn't detect it as false—is truly remarkable. He is quick-witted and can come up with unassuming excuses that are grounded in truth.
Everything he says is factual.
Noticing his self-satisfied smirk, I let out a groan of annoyance. Yet, I couldn't help but feel a hint of happiness at his smirk; to me, that counts as a smile.
"You're getting a bit too close for comfort, Lyan," I teased lightly. His proud expression vanished, and I was once again met with his impassive demeanor.
"Don't even think about it," he muttered, irritation evident in his voice as he walked away to rejoin his coworkers for further investigation. I watched him leave, perplexed.
Did I say something that upset him? I was merely trying to lighten the atmosphere, but apparently, I missed the mark.
The investigation has concluded, yet another case remains unsolved. I've heard that the murderer is quick to flee and adept at concealing his evidence, making it difficult for the authorities to apprehend him. While I acknowledge his skills, I can't shake off the brief encounter I had with him.
"Little flower..."
That nickname reverberates in my mind, sending shivers down my spine. I clutch the blanket tightly, shut my eyes, and attempt to drift off to sleep, but his voice lingers. The repetition of that name plays over and over in my head. I wish I could erase those thoughts and replace them with something fresh, but I know that's impossible. It's time to stop indulging in these irrational fears.
"Get out of my thoughts..." I muttered in frustration, scratching my head.
Clink!
I heard the sound of glass.
"What was that?" I mumbled, turning onto my side in search of a more comfortable position.
Clink!
With a sigh, I decided to dismiss it. Someone seemed to be tossing small stones at my window. I was too exhausted to investigate; it might just be some teenagers having fun. My house is old, which probably fuels their imaginations about it being haunted.
CLINK! CRASH!
Suddenly, I was alert, hearing the shattering of glass. I looked down to see shards scattered across the floor.
I rushed to the window, being careful not to step on the broken pieces. Peering down revealed no one, but then I spotted a shadow flit away from my door. Shocked, I dashed back to my bedroom door and locked it, my breath coming in quick gasps.
A whirlwind of thoughts raced through my mind. What was that? Was it a ghost? A person? Am I dreaming due to my previous encounter with the killer? Is this the result of trauma? Is any of this real?
I snapped back to reality when I heard slow, soft footsteps coming up the stairs. I couldn't tell if it was a person or perhaps just a figment of my imagination. Maybe someone was just playing a prank on me. I felt dizzy looking at the broken window, contemplating a reckless idea. No, jumping out of there would be pointless.
The footsteps grew nearer to my bedroom door. I leaned against it, pressing my ear to listen.
At last, the footsteps halted. My heart raced.
Whoever it was stood just outside the door.
Everything spun out of control as I heard that familiar voice and that chilling nickname.
"Run away, Little flower~," he taunted, and my eyes widened in both shock and terror. Instinctively, I ran toward the window but froze; I couldn't leap. Frantically, I scanned my room while the killer pounded on the door.
"You better hurry, or I'll catch you~," he said cheerfully. I could vividly recall his sadistic, mocking smile, and I was certain he wore the same expression now.
A hoarse scream escaped me as he banged again on the door. Why me? Why in this place?
I knew one thing for certain...
Today could very well be my last.