Doomsday Wonderland C.1412: Minus One

Elizabeth found herself becoming more adept at lying recently.

After agreeing to Pink's terms and secretly meeting with him twice, she began to formulate her next plan. Convincing people of her psychic abilities was challenging yet sometimes straightforward—she needed to reveal hidden truths that others were unaware of.

In many ways, she felt less like a psychic and more like a detective.

Fortunately, "Ms. Chen" had disappeared from her house, allowing her to lead a normal life again. Initially, she feared "Ms. Chen" might suddenly appear to frighten her. She was on edge for two days but saw no sign of her again.

She had to seize the opportunity of its absence to complete her game objective.

"There's something you've been seeking, but it's always eluded you, shrouded in mystery."

It wasn't the first time she had spun this tale; now, when Elizabeth spoke her fabrications, even Ms. Chen showed a mix of astonishment and skepticism, no longer dismissing her outright.

Of course, Ms. Chen would never find it because what she was looking for was with Pink, hidden away.

Strangely enough, after Ms. Chen drugged Pink's grandma again, she made no further moves; perhaps her anxiety overwhelmed her. Her visits were becoming more frantic and noticeable, with her constant looking around and fidgeting.

"The reason you seek this is tied to your past."

This was pure nonsense. Ms. Chen obviously needed Pink's grandma's personal information for a specific reason, and that reason certainly wasn't from the future.

Elizabeth and Ms. Chen stood in the corridor, an awkward place for a chat. Elizabeth smiled gently. "I can divine based on your past and guide you to it. But if you remain obstinate..."

She gave a regretful shake of her head and walked away, feeling Ms. Chen's gaze lingering on her back. Elizabeth checked off the first item in her mental to-do list—today's deception targeting Ms. Chen was complete.

"I... I'm scared that if this continues, he will kill me first... I can't delay."

In the second apartment she visited, Marigold sat hugging her knees, her back against the wall, murmuring incoherently. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, as if they might pop out at any moment. Elizabeth thought Marigold might have even forgotten she was there.

"What do you intend to do?" she asked tentatively. "The neighbors believe you are gradually recovering."

"It's not enough!" Marigold exclaimed, jerking her head so abruptly that her shin bone made a "snap" sound. "Since he can't claim I'm mentally ill, he must be planning something else. I... I can't let him succeed. I need to act... act before..."

Acting first could be disastrous. If Marigold lashed out and people discovered she had been pretending all along, at best, Elizabeth would lose Jetson as a believer. After much persuasion, using every psychic term she could think of, Elizabeth managed to calm Marigold.

"Listen to me, for I can perceive the designs of fate," she said. "Have you been taking good care of the baby lately?"

If Marigold wanted to appear to be recovering, she needed to start caring for her own child. Elizabeth had gone to great lengths just to get that baby into Marigold's sight. She had fabricated a story about Jetson having a child with another woman, knowing Marigold, who already thought the worst of Jetson, would take it seriously.

After a long pause, Marigold stiffly nodded.

'How many more days left until this game ends? Only twelve, right?' Elizabeth thought, wiping her brow. If she could keep Marigold engaged for just twelve more days, she would achieve her goal.

As long as Marigold maintained the pretense of normalcy, Jetson's trust would be secured. Lately, Elizabeth had visited them both daily. Apart from relying on them for lunch, these visits also helped sustain their trust in her.

As for the other neighbors, she knew very little about them.

Elizabeth walked along the corridor to Apartment No. 1. She stopped by the catmint by the door and poured all the water from her bottle onto it. She liked this plant and was concerned that the inebriated owner of Apartment No. 1 wouldn't care for it properly, so she watered it occasionally. It also gave her an excuse to eavesdrop on the happenings inside Apartment No. 1, although she hadn't gleaned any useful information so far.

Elizabeth sighed, saying to the catmint, "If only you could tell me what's going on inside. I heard he had a big fight with Ivy, even got physical."

The catmint swayed slightly in the breeze as if in response, or perhaps it was just the wind.

After caressing the catmint's top leaves, Elizabeth turned to leave but paused. She had been to Apartment No. 1's doorstep many times recently but had never heard anything apart from Barbeque Brow's snoring. Pretending to inspect the growth of the catmint, she crouched down and listened intently.

She had imagined she might hear all sorts of things from Apartment No. 1., but she had never expected to hear this.

Barbeque Brow's faint voice singing a lullaby.

The only baby in the building was in Marigold and Jetson's home, whom she had just recently seen. Barbeque Brow didn't have children, so why was he singing a lullaby? Moreover, as he sang, his voice choked on sobs, gradually turning into a low, mournful whimper.

Was this man mentally unstable?

Filled with doubts, Elizabeth tried to walk away from the entrance of Apartment No. 1 as quietly as possible. The two college girls seemed to be the most normal people in the building; she couldn't find any leads on them. Perhaps they weren't hiding any secrets. After some thought, she decided to approach Mr. Grant on the second floor.

His crush on Jessica was common knowledge in the building. Could she use that to her advantage?

She quickly got her answer.

"Sorry," Mr. Grant said coldly. "I'm not interested in fortune-telling and making wishes."

Before she could think of a way to retain his attention, Mr. Grant slammed the door.

Well, another tough nut to crack.

Elizabeth sighed, feeling she needed to strategize further with Pink. She dragged her feet toward the last apartment in the building—Apartment No. 8, next to hers, where Ivy lived.

After ringing the doorbell several times without an answer, she knocked and called out, "Ivy? Are you home? It's Elizabeth."

Apartment No. 8 remained silent.

'She should be home.' Elizabeth peeked through a gap in the window, but it was too dark to see inside. She knocked again, but still no response. Seeing that the neighbors appeared to be in their apartments, she gently turned the doorknob.

The door was unlocked.

Stepping inside, Elizabeth moved slowly into the cool, dark interior. The air was stagnant and carried a pungent odor.

Even before she turned on the lights, she sensed what awaited her.

She flicked on the living room light.

Amidst shattered dishes, overturned furniture, and general disarray, Ivy's contorted body lay in the center like a grotesque piece of art. Her body was covered in wounds, as if a violent storm had torn off a layer of her skin. Most strikingly, her legs were spread apart, resting on the edge of an overturned couch, with a dried pool of blood beneath her.

Elizabeth let out a scream in horror.