"Pretty doll. I didn't know your family had Indian roots..."
Maya jumps, her breath catching in her chest. Sergeant Follin has just appeared at her side, his massive figure outlined against the dim light of the lounge. He gazes at the couple in the portrait with a half-smile, his tired eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and mockery.
His tone sounds light, almost casual, but Maya senses an undercurrent of tension, a measured caution. He turns his head slightly toward her, as if speaking directly to her… or at least, to someone standing in her place. Another voice answers him—a voice Maya cannot hear, a voice from the past.
"Oh… she could almost have had Indian origins, then. Suicide, you say? What a waste, a pretty girl like that. So your ancestors came from a second marriage, after that one was… cut short? Hm… interesting."
He breathes out those last words as he turns away from the painting, his sharp gaze sweeping the room as if searching for something specific. Maya senses tension in his shoulders, a latent wariness. He feels he's on hostile ground. But it's the other presence she feels that unsettles her more. The sergeant's associate lurking outside? Maybe...
"Let's get to the point, Mr. Hall, shall we?"
Follin curtly refuses something—a drink, perhaps, or an invitation to sit.
His voice cuts through the air, sharp, meant to end all distractions. He remains silent for a long moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, his stare fixed on his interlocutor with a heavy intensity. His face remains unreadable, save for his usual gruff, slightly annoyed demeanor. But Maya senses in his stillness a focused attention, as though he's weighing every word offered by Jimmy's ancestor with a patience carefully concealed behind his mask of indifference.
Then, finally, he inclines his head slightly and says, in a deep, composed voice,
"Those are serious accusations, Mr. Hall."
A tense silence follows, before he continues, sounding a touch more skeptical.
"Do you have any proof to support what you're claiming?"
The memory seems suspended in the air, frozen in the expectation of an answer Maya cannot hear. She watches, fascinated, as Follin arches an eyebrow, then slowly shakes his head, clearly unconvinced by whatever has just been said. A weary sigh escapes his lips.
"So, let me get this straight…" he begins, a little mocking. "You're convinced someone's out to get you, that you're being threatened… and you base this on feelings of being watched, a vaguely glimpsed figure at the back of the garden, and a few terrified servants who still dare live here? With no tangible evidence whatsoever?"
He lets a heavy silence hang in the air, his gaze locked with Hall's.
"You're mocking me, sir."
With slow but steady steps, he moves closer, and Maya can almost feel the tension rising in the room. His expression grows harder, more closed off.
"I don't know who you think I am, but my job isn't to chase after rumors and ghosts."
But something in his eyes shifts—something darker, more threatening—that makes the young woman shiver.
"Thing is, there's been quite a few unexplained accidents in the nearby villages. Incidents, disappearances... even deaths. And you see, Mr. Hall, it all sounds eerily similar to what used to happen back when your mother was still alive. Doesn't it?"
A brutal silence. Follin suddenly turns his head, as if struck by an invisible slap. His features freeze for a fraction of a second before a joyless smile creeps onto his lips.
"Well, you seem awfully sensitive, young Master Hall." His tone drips with irony. "Don't tell me you're mourning your dear departed mother?"
A brief pause. Then he gives a small nod, as if confirming a suspicion.
"Hm… That's what I thought. Between us, young man… are you absolutely sure someone isn't trying to blackmail you over your mother's crimes?"
His gaze hardens further as he goes on, his voice taking on an almost gentle, yet poisonous tone. With an irritated motion, he smooths down his mustache, ruffled by that invisible slap, then regains his composure.
"No demands, you say? Hm. Yes… A blackmailer always asks for something in return. Unless he hasn't had the time yet?"
He lets the question linger before finally nodding slowly, as if reaching a decision.
"Let me be very clear with you, Mr. Hall. I don't like you. And I have little respect for people like you—the ones who've never worked a day in their lives while others die for their comfort. But my father served your family his whole life, as did his father before him, until your mother dismissed him unfairly."
He pauses, and something indefinable crosses his face.
"So, out of respect for my old man, I'm going to help you. I'm proposing to move in here. I want to witness your… phenomena. And if there's someone real behind all of this, like I believe there is, I'll deal with it personally."
His gaze locks with Hall's one last time, unshakable.
"Do we have a deal?"
And, like mist swept away by the wind, the vision vanishes. Maya blinks. She finds herself alone again in the sitting room, Harriet still motionless at her side. The vision can't have lasted more than a few seconds.
Camille stands at the entrance of the room, arms lightly crossed, looking a little lost. Her eyes shift from Maya to Harriet, who still waits calmly in her corner, unaware of the storm stirring around her.
"Did you see something?" she finally asks, her voice uncertain.
"Yes. Where's Jenks?"
"He went to check something…" Camille pauses, her expression slightly troubled. "He said he smelled something burning. He said he'd be right back.
Something burning?
Maya instinctively takes a deep breath, trying to catch the oddity. But apart from the familiar scent of embers dying in the fireplace, nothing strikes her as unusual. She turns back to Harriet.
"Sergeant?"
The response comes almost immediately, as though the spectral man had been waiting for her to call.
"I'm here…"
"I just saw you talking to someone. Who was it?"
"Peter Hall. A scrawny boy with little charm or wit," Follin almost seems to smile as he says it, but his tone stays dry. "He'd convinced himself someone was after him and invited himself to Blackmere Estate. I was doubtful, but there were strange things happening in the region. And after all, he was his mother's son…"
His voice darkens slightly at those last words, as though a particular memory rises to the surface.
"I proposed moving in here, officially to investigate and protect him… but in truth, I wanted to keep a close eye on him. I stuck my partner with guard duty in the gardens and I didn't leave the kid's side for a second. At first, I was constantly looking for signs that he was like the old hag who ruled this place before she died. I figured he was just hiding it well…"
Then, against all odds, his tone shifts slightly, betraying a new, almost imperceptible nuance.
"But I had to admit… I started seeing qualities in him."
At those words, a sudden vision flashes in Maya's mind, like a photograph taken in a burst of light. She doesn't recognize the place. Dim light filters through the darkness, dancing over carefully aligned colored bottles. The atmosphere feels hushed, intimate. A wine cellar, maybe… or a liquor cabinet? The fleeting image vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
Maya rubs her eyes, trying to shake off the strange sensation, and sways slightly. Camille immediately steps closer, placing a concerned hand on her arm, as if to steady her.
"You should probably take a break, Maya. You're going to drive yourself mad jumping in and out of dead people's memories."
The words hit harder than Maya expects, and a sharp pang pierces her chest. She clenches her jaw, tries to push the ache aside and form a response—but a sudden noise cuts her off.
Jenks bursts into the doorway, his face twisted with uncharacteristic panic.
"He burned the wall!"
Maya blinks, startled—so does Camille. The statement sounds absurd at first, but within a split second, Maya's mind connects the dots. The sigil.
"He can't destroy the symbols himself, Inspector…" she tries to explain, clinging to the strange rules that govern this place.
"He didn't have to," Jenks snaps back, still breathless. "He used still-glowing embers from the fireplace to set fire to the wooden panels. Not enough to burn the whole wall—but enough to destroy the sigil! Which means…"
Maya's stomach twists.
"He can get out…"
The words die in her throat. A wave of cold horror crashes over her, and she turns instinctively toward Camille. The Frenchwoman's expression changes in an instant—not the slow dread of realization, but raw, immediate terror. Her eyes widen, her face turns pale, and her trembling finger rises to point behind Maya.
Then she screams.
Maya spins around.
Behind the window, half-hidden by the darkness outside, a figure stands still.
Hugo.
His face is pressed against the glass, his grotesquely wide smile stretched too far, white teeth gleaming under the room's soft light. His wild eyes bore into them, burning with insatiable rage. Then, suddenly, he takes a step back.
His arm lifts—and Maya sees in his hand a massive object, heavy, irregular—a stone. Huge. Probably torn from one of the garden beds.
"Down!"
Jenks reacts in a split second, grabbing Maya and Camille by the neck and shoving them to the floor just as the stone crashes through the window with a deafening shatter. Glass explodes into a rain of sharp fragments that scatter across the room—some skimming their heads, others clinking sharply as they bounce off the floor.
The projectile lands with a dull thud just inches from Maya. A moment later, Hugo leaps through the gaping hole, his massive frame vaulting the broken window in one brutal motion. His shoes crunch over the shattered glass with a sinister screech. Wild-eyed, panting harshly, he charges straight at her.
"How dare you refuse me?!"
His voice is nothing but a roar of pure fury, a wave of hatred crashing over Maya as he reaches out to grab her.
Before Hugo can touch her, Jenks lunges forward and lands a right hook squarely on his jaw. The impact is fierce, enough to make him stumble, reeling back with a grunt of pain.
"I know, police brutality," Jenks mutters with grim irony, shaking his aching hand, a grimace twisting his face.
He instantly positions himself between Hugo and the two young women, eyes sharp and unyielding. Maya wastes no time—she grabs Camille's arm and helps her up. They retreat quickly toward the wall, eyes locked on the violent confrontation unfolding before them.
Hugo recovers fast and hurls himself at Jenks with reckless, feral violence. The inspector tries to draw his weapon, but Hugo strikes his hand in a brutal, lightning-fast move, sending the revolver flying across the room. The gun clatters to the floor and slides away, out of immediate reach.
The two men clash in a savage struggle—fists swinging, elbows colliding, shoulders crashing. Each tries to disable the other while edging toward the weapon that remains just out of reach. Their battle drives them across the room, a chaotic dance of violence.
Harriet, still motionless, watches the scene from behind her white mask, entirely indifferent to the chaos erupting in front of her.
The weapon keeps skidding across the smooth floor, always slipping from their fingers at the last second. Then, in a sudden fit of rage, Hugo manages to grab Jenks by the collar and, with shocking strength, hurls him through the doorway into the next room.
The wood groans under the impact as Jenks crashes hard to the floor. Hugo doesn't give him a second to recover—he lunges, pinning him with his full weight. His hands lock around the inspector's throat, squeezing with relentless brutality.
Jenks struggles, his face contorted with effort, his legs scrambling for purchase on the floor. He punches Hugo in the temple, tries to pry his hands off, but the grip is iron-tight. Air escapes him, his vision blurs.
Then, in a final burst of strength, he hooks a leg beneath Hugo and, with a desperate twist, throws him over. The man crashes forward with a heavy thud, releasing his hold for a brief second.
"Maya, we have to go!" Camille tugs at her arm, her voice pleading, her face pale.
"We can't leave Jenks! Grab Harriet!"
Without waiting for a response, Maya rushes toward the splintered doorway and dives into the room where the struggle continues, her eyes scanning wildly for a way to help. The bar, probably once a cozy, elegant space, now resembles the scene of a savage brawl.
Hugo has Jenks pinned against the edge of the bar, his fingers once again clawing toward his throat. The inspector fights back, trying to shove his arms away, but Hugo's brute strength crushes him little by little against the solid wood. Without thinking, Maya rushes forward and grabs Hugo's arm, trying to pull him back.
"Jimmy, wake up!"
She doesn't get to say more. In a brutal backhand, Hugo strikes her full across the face, sending her sprawling backward. She crashes hard against the floor, pain exploding through her jaw. Instantly, she tastes blood, metallic and thick.
Jenks uses the distraction to shove Hugo away, but Hugo grabs him by the collar and hurls him violently across the room. The inspector crashes into a shelf, which collapses in a thunder of shattering glass.
Maya tries to get up, but Hugo is already on her. He slams her to the ground, straddling her chest with his full weight, crushing her into the floorboards. Air rushes out of her lungs.
"I've been more than patient, Maya!" he snarls, his face twisted with fury. "If you won't give me what I want, I'll find a more obedient host!"
His hands clamp down on her face, fingers digging into her cheeks, her temples, her forehead. The pressure builds—sharp, searing pain—as if her skull might split under the sheer force of his grip. She claws at his wrists, struggling to break free, but he tightens his hold with relentless intent.
A gunshot rings out suddenly, tearing through the air with a deafening crack.
The bullet smashes a bottle on the bar shelf just above them, glass raining down in a sharp, chiming shower. Hugo flinches violently, loosening his grip slightly, breath caught in shock.
In the frame of the broken doorway stands Camille, the gun still smoking in her hands, fingers clenched around the grip. She's trembling, her wide eyes darting between Hugo and Maya.
Hugo slowly turns his head toward her, his expression shifting in an instant. His calculating gaze sizes up the young woman with new interest, as if he sees an opportunity worth pursuing.
Maya feels a surge of rage rise within her. The idea that he might reach Camille, manipulate her, shatter her the way he tried to shatter her—it's unbearable.
"No!" she screams, thrashing with all her strength.
Before Hugo can react, Jenks lunges at him from behind. He hooks an arm under his chin, locks his elbow against his throat, and squeezes with relentless force. Hugo stiffens, immediately releasing Maya to claw at his neck, trying to break the hold. But Jenks doesn't let go. He yanks him backward, tearing him away from Maya, and the two crash to the ground in a furious struggle.
Hugo thrashes violently, desperate to escape the inspector's grip, but seconds pass and his movements grow erratic, less precise. His fingers claw at Jenks's arm, trying to grab hold of something, anything, but his body grows heavier with each moment. His breathing turns ragged, then shallow.
Maya, still dazed, watches him struggle a second longer before his eyelids flutter and slowly close. His head slumps forward onto his chest. Jenks keeps the hold a few seconds more, making sure he's truly unconscious, then finally lets go. He rolls onto his side, gasping for breath.
Maya pushes herself up with difficulty, then crawls toward him. Jenks's face is marred by fresh bruises, his split lip leaking a thin thread of blood, but otherwise he seems intact. He reaches for her hand and gives it a soft squeeze—a silent reassurance that he's alright.
She helps lift Hugo's limp weight off his chest, and together they rise, aching and breathless.
"Is he… is he dead?" Camille approaches with hesitant steps, still clutching the gun, her fingers trembling uncontrollably.
"Blood choke…" Jenks answers, catching his breath. "He's out, but not for long. Quickly, help me."
Between the three of them, they drag Hugo's body to one of the large club chairs in the living room.
"We need to tie him up," Jenks says, straightening his sore back.
"I'll do it," Maya replies, and bolts toward the living room.
She quickly unfastens all the cords that hold up the curtains. The irony isn't lost on her—it's exactly what Hugo did with Ashford. A bitter smile tugs at her lips. Back in the bar, she and Jenks hurry to bind Hugo tightly to the armrests and back of the chair. He's already beginning to stir, a low groan escaping his lips.
Jenks turns to Camille and gently retrieves the gun from her still-clenched hands. She lets it go reluctantly, averting her eyes, still in shock. The inspector checks the cylinder quickly, then positions himself in front of Hugo, the two young women standing just behind him.
Hugo groans, shifts his head, his body fighting to rise from unconsciousness. He breathes deeply, as if struggling to gather his senses. Then, slowly, he opens his eyes.
"Oh, I'm going to invent brand new ways to make you three suffer when I'm done with you!"
Hugo's voice rumbles, thick with rage and sinister promises. He spits a bloody glob at their feet, a viscous mix of saliva and blood from his split lip. His wicked grin twists into a snarl of hatred.
"I ought to kill you for all the damage you've done..." Jenks replies, his gaze burning with a cold fury.
He's still catching his breath from the fight, his fingers trembling as he awkwardly adjusts his dented hat, returned to him by Camille. Maya places a hand on his arm, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles.
"Inspector, no…" Her voice is low, almost pleading. "You'd sacrifice Jimmy if you do that..."
"Oooooh… Maya, Maya, Maya…"
Hugo says her name with exaggerated slowness, mocking, his voice dripping with gleeful venom. He lifts his gaze to her, pure malice gleaming in his eyes, his teeth clenched in a rictus of contained fury.
"Don't pretend you care about that fool," he spits each word with cutting contempt. "You don't. You just want to save your own skin. You're not on the good guys' team here."
A cold shiver runs down Maya's spine.
"Why is he saying that?" Camille whispers, confused.
Hugo immediately turns toward her, his eyes lighting up with cruel delight. He's sensed a crack—and he dives into it eagerly.
"Ooooh, you haven't told them?" His smile stretches, cruel. "Naughty, naughty Maya… Of all the rotten eggs, you were always the worst."
"That's enough. I've heard enough."
With a sharp motion, Jenks grabs one last velvet cord and uses it as a gag, forcing it between Hugo's teeth to silence him. The monster tries to protest, his eyes flashing with rage, but Jenks tightens the knot with cold satisfaction.
"We'll decide your fate when backup gets here…" he growls, adjusting his weapon with a steady hand. "Count yourself lucky I'm not putting a bullet in your head right now… whatever you are."
He turns to Camille.
"Go get Harriet."
Then to Maya.
"Tell me you've got a new lead to get Harriet and Simon out of this… Maya?"
The young woman doesn't move, frozen, her eyes locked on Hugo's. Something in his gaze holds her there, hypnotizes her. A silent promise. A creeping certainty.
What if he's telling the truth?
What if she's the one who should be tied to that chair?
We're the same… he never stopped taunting her.
To what extent is this true?