"But, I... don't want to run! If I keep running, I won't win! I definitely won't!"

-Ayumi Yoshida

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Chapter 7:
The Plot

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ZANE

As I prepared to exit the car, the driver swiftly beat me to it. With a deft flick of his wrist, he opened my door, revealing the bustling street outside.

"Thank you," I spoke.

As I approached the door, he returned to his seat, slipping behind the wheel with effortless ease. Without hesitation, he skillfully manoeuvred the car back into motion, seamlessly merging into traffic until he disappeared from view.

Where are you?

As I strode towards the door, another message flashed on my phone, this time from the mysterious number once more.

"What do you want?" I grumbled under my breath, irritation bubbling within me.

Ascending the stairs, the calmness of the buildings filled the air better than earlier.

220. 221. Realization that I forgot my key struck me as I walked down the lighted hallway. I paused in front of our flat and let out a knock.

Before long, the door creaked open. "Finally!" the woman in front of me exclaimed. I thought you had suddenly vanished.

Choosing to ignore her, I wordlessly stepped inside. At that moment, I just wanted to sit back and have dinner.

"You’ve been gone for ages. Did someone abduct you?" she asked, sitting on the long sofa in our living room, which faced the television that was not currently on.

"Actually, yes," I answered, my patience wearing thin as I made my way for looking for whatever's left from our unfinished dinner.

"Really? I didn't think I'd hit the nail on the head. Well, it's a relief you're back after your long absence," she spoke sarcastically.

In the kitchen, I found the dessert I'd been yearning for. Someone had neatly encased the cake under a clear lid within the refrigerator.

"Why the sudden leaving earlier? I was worried for you, yet here you are, as calm as ever. You haven't even touched your cake," I murmured, grabbing a spoon and settling down in a chair facing the living room.

"Oh, the cake! Right!" she exclaimed suddenly.

"What’s so special about the cake?" I asked, pausing mid-bite.

"That cake? Nothing, eat it. Just don't touch mine — I'll eat it later," she replied.

"How does that relate to what you were saying about the cake?" I muttered to myself, taking a small bite of the mocha cake. The flavour and texture played on my tongue in perfect harmony.

"What's the connection?" she asked, echoing my question. "Well, it’s just that the murderer will strike again later tonight. Here, in this building."

Her words caught me off guard, nearly causing me to choke. "W-What are you saying? Who's the target?"

As she rose from her seat, her gaze fixed on the wall behind the sofa adorned with papers — a sight I hadn't noticed upon my arrival.

"I spoke to Detective Ferrer earlier. It turns out the victim was involved in an accident. She was one of the six survivors of the—" she began, but then paused abruptly.

"Survivor? From what?" I hurriedly finished the last piece of my cake and stood up, ready to approach her, only to notice her closed eyes, as if grappling with internal turmoil.

"A-Are you alright?" I moved to touch her, but I received a tight grip on my arm.

"I'm fine," she assured, releasing my arm, though a faint red mark lingered.

"Sorry," she murmured softly, avoiding my gaze. Her attention returned to the wall. As I focused my gaze towards it, I saw the photographs or perhaps sketches, all rendered in stark black and white, pasted there as well.

"Anyway, vehicular accident!" she continued, shaking off her earlier mysterious fear. "In that accident, six people survived. Four of them were the first to die. According to Detective Ferrer, the victims were: Andrea Rivera, Antonio Reyes, Carmela Dela Cruz, and the first one, Gabriel Santos."

A mysterious aura filled the room as if we were being dragged down. Amongst the dimly lit space, faces emerged, sketched delicately onto the papers pasted on the wall.

As I stood beside her, a shiver crept down my spine, and with a trembling voice, I dared to ask, "Did you draw those?"

"Yes, why?" she calmly replied, her gaze fixed on the portraits.

"They're great," I praised, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Thanks, but listen, there's a life at stake here," she replied. "Now, where was I? Ah, their names! Now, two more survived, and right now, one of them is about to die again."

"How did you know the next killing will happen now and here in our building?" I asked, looking at her suspiciously.

"Oh, come on. I'm not an accomplice or the killer himself, whoever they are," she spoke.

"I didn't say that," I quickly interrupted.

"One survivor lives here," she answered, pointing to a sketch resembling Aunt Clara. "The police are currently tracking the whereabouts of another survivor, so he might hurry to execute the plan before getting caught."

"Is that—?"

"Clara Nuñez, yes. It happened a year ago in a collision. Your aunt survived, but her hand was badly injured," she explained.

"That's why she couldn't carry my bag. It must still hurt," I remarked.

"She also mentioned that she'll have a visitor later," she said.

"She said that?"

"Earlier, while we were eating," Raine replied. "It just means that the other suspected survivor will visit her."

"Does Auntie know?" I asked. "She wouldn't just let someone she doesn't know into her house."

"Unless she thought the other survivors had just committed suicide. With only two of them left, she'd need support to prevent herself from doing the same," Raine added.

"If that's the case, let's go. Let's inform Aunt Clara! The person might already be here!" I quickly grabbed her hand and walked towards the door.

She calmly followed me even after I released her hand. As we walked down the hallway, I noticed the stairs leading to the third floor beside the adjacent flats. Since we were closer to 222B, we decided to go up.

Upstairs, the numbering of other rooms went up to 225C. That part was where my sister's place stood.

"Where's Auntie's house? Do you know?" I asked her.

"225C," she replied.

I hastened towards it, but when I didn't hear her footsteps, I stopped again.

"What's wrong? Let's go!" I grabbed her arm once more and pulled her towards the room. We were right in front of the house when I remembered I didn't have the key to open it.

My knuckles tapped gently against the weathered oak door painted Van Buren brown. "Auntie Clara?" I called out, hoping she was safe.

Silence greeted me, wrapping around my heart like an icy embrace.

"Auntie!" My voice trembled with anxiety, a knot tightening in my chest with each passing moment of unanswered calls.

Raine pushed me back gently as she swung open the door, revealing its lack of a lock.

"Doesn't this have a lock? Or has someone entered before us?" I questioned.

"I really left it unlocked when I visited earlier. Of course, I knew we didn't have a key, so after I gave her the remaining adobo to add to the meal, I deliberately didn't lock it," she replied.

"And how did you make sure she wouldn't lock it after you left?" I questioned further.

When she opened the door, my aunt startled me. Her head was down on the table, eyes closed as if she were unconscious. Beside her was the leftover adobo chicken we had earlier, along with the cake she had baked.

My heart seemed to stop when I saw her. I was about to rush over when Raine blocked my path.

"Don't make any noise!" she scolded in a whisper.

"What do you think—"

"Lower your voice!" she interrupted.

"What do you think you're doing? You just told me earlier that her life is in danger, but now you're blocking me?" I whispered angrily with my frustration beginning to seep out despite my efforts to contain it.

"Do you see any bullet wounds on her? None, right?" she whispered back.

"Then why is she unconscious?" I demanded, my voice edged with concern and confusion. "Why?" I demanded.

"I put chemicals in the remaining chicken adobo we ate earlier," Raine confessed, her words laden with guilt, yet she still couldn't meet my gaze. Instead, she stared at the ground as if seeking a polite reply from me.

"What?! So you knew she wouldn't lock the door anymore," I said, my anger rising further.

"Take her to our flat. Don't wake her up, just let her sleep on the sofa or wherever, just keep her there," she ordered.

"And what are you going to do here?" I asked. "Am I supposed to carry her while you just follow and give more orders?"

"That's right. Now hurry, because you don't want us to be caught here by a possible murderer."

I had no choice but to carry Auntie. Though heavy, I still needed to save her. With Raine's help, I successfully made it out into the hallway. "Close and lock the door this time!" I instructed her.

I dashed downstairs, carrying what felt like a heavy sack of rice. When I could no longer manage, I laid her down on the sofa.

"You're heavy, Aunt Clara," I joked, stretching my hands.

"Come on, let’s sleep. I’ll turn off the lights so if the culprit comes, they won’t enter our flat," Raine said, following me. My only misconception was thinking she would be so noisy while I walked downstairs.

The clock on the wall read only half-past nine. "It's still early," I remarked.

"There's no such thing as early when your aunt's life is in danger," Raine retorted gravely as she reached for the switch to the living room light.

"I'll just get my blanket and pillow. I'll sleep here beside Auntie," I declared, hurrying towards the bedroom.

"Hurry!" she urged.

Returning with my bedding, I carefully tucked in Aunt Clara before settling down on the small sofa opposite her longer one.

"Are you really going to sleep there?" Raine asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I'll just watch over my aunt," I affirmed.

"Suit yourself," she spoke before plunging the room into darkness by switching off the light.

As the flat descended into silence, I could hear nothing but the faint rustle of the curtain near the balcony and the distant echo of footsteps outside our door.

"Raine? Where are you?" I called out into the darkness, realizing her potential absence.