Bailonz Street 13

As I brushed the roughened face I hadn’t seen in a while, Liam gave a small smile. He then closed his eyes, burying his face into my palm for a long time. His wet hair tangled around my fingers. So he came back after being completely drenched in the rain. Foolishly. His face, chilled from the cold, looked more exhausted than usual.

I felt a sense of déjà vu. It reminded me of that time. On the train, when Liam Moore was on the verge of breaking down.

“Do you want a hug?”

I asked impulsively, surprised at myself for saying it. Liam didn’t answer but reached out to me without a moment’s hesitation, pressing one knee into the sofa.

“You can sit on my lap.”

I made the joke to lighten the mood. Liam Moore chuckled softly. The gentle vibration of his laughter transmitted through our touching bodies. Then he shyly whispered to me.

“I’m heavy.”

Of course. Liam Moore is heavy.

I felt his breath. With both of us sitting on a single-seater sofa, we were practically glued together. He wasn’t sitting on my lap, but he was leaning almost entirely against me. Though I had my arm around his neck, it felt more like he was the one holding me. After all, he was over six feet tall, and I was smaller than him.

I glanced away briefly. Liam Moore’s heart was really beating fast. Though his body was cold and his coat slightly damp from the misty rain, it didn’t feel that unpleasant.

He had a cool scent like mist, as if he had brought the rain clouds with him. After basking in the warmth with his forehead resting on my shoulder for a while, Liam Moore suddenly lifted his head. His damp bangs had dried nicely. Sitting near the fireplace made his complexion look much better than before.

I should feed him something. I wondered if he’d like the goulash I made with Mary for lunch.

“We should eat something before it’s too late. Our stomachs might stick to our backs at this rate.”

“…You really care about meals, don’t you?”

Liam murmured as if he found it curious. I replied.

“I don’t know, maybe a ghost that starved to death is haunting me.”

Actually, it’s the spirit of a nation that eats rice, but how could I explain that?

“Hey. I’m actually Korean.”

If I said that, Liam Moore wouldn’t just go, “Oh, really?” Of course not! This is the 19th century! Korea? Where’s that? He’d be more likely to say. Ah, right, it’s called Joseon now. But he wouldn’t know that either.

Suddenly, I felt confused about what I was doing here.

Unfortunately, my appearance was very Western and I looked like an ordinary British woman, so I couldn’t claim I was from a small country in East Asia. Though the gap between my mind and my appearance had somewhat resolved, there were moments when my twenty-some years of history felt distinctly clear.

And that would probably never be resolved unless I went back.

I lit the stove. While I always missed the conveniences of the 21st century, in moments like these, I missed the induction cooker the most. With an induction stove, you could heat a pot with a few button presses, but here, controlling the fire was tricky and food often burned with just a bit too much firewood. I cried a bit when I first burned a fried egg.

In the 21st century, there’s induction cookers, cell phones, Wi-Fi, and food delivery. I lamented what I was doing here, leaving all that civilization behind.

Ah. At least there was one thing. A refrigerator. I didn’t know they had refrigerators in the 19th century. It wasn’t electric but an icebox that kept things cold with ice, yet it was still a double-door fridge. It could hold most ingredients. I wished for electrification to come sooner. I didn’t expect it to catch up with my time.

The heat rose, and a slow bubbling sound began. Over it, Liam Moore’s voice layered.

“Do you remember the case of the person who went missing a week ago?”

“The one from the boarding house?”

Of course, I remembered. They disappeared without a trace from their room. They hadn’t come out for days, and when the door was forced open, no one was inside. It was reported to Scotland Yard. This was a story Inspector Jefferson had shared with us. “Miss Jane, isn’t this truly bizarre?” he had said.

They didn’t come out after entering. To leave the room, they would have had to pass by people, so disappearing without anyone noticing was impossible. I remembered the faces of those who had told us the same thing.

Liam and I had also investigated this case personally but ended up with nothing to show for it. Meanwhile, it faded into a minor issue in London and was forgotten without any clue of the whereabouts. It wasn’t surprising. Disappearances were too common here. Except for the wealthy.

“Wasn’t that case closed?”

“It was. We thought it was just a mysterious disappearance. But there’s something strange. A few days before, there was a similar disappearance. And now another one. They all have a common point.”

Liam Moore opened his mouth.

“—They are all members of our social club.”

“Damn.”

His dark eyes fixed on me. He was perched on the sofa armrest, watching me. He seemed to be waiting for what I would say next.

That familiar ominous feeling reared its head again. This was no ordinary case. My mind screamed that this was not a simple coincidence, but an act of malice targeting specific individuals.

“Is it just targeting social club members? Or is there another motive?”

I asked.

“Well, either way, it doesn’t seem like it’ll stop at this.”

I agreed with him. If this was a serial killer, they wouldn’t be satisfied with just three cases.

You can’t establish a connection to serial killings with just three cases. I knew that. Two were missing, one was brutally murdered, the methods differed. The body left on display also suggested a certain malevolence. It wouldn’t have been done without significant ill intent.

…But we couldn’t just wait for another victim to confirm our hypothesis.

What if a new victim emerged in the meantime? If, and I hated to assume, the crime targeted only members of the social club…

Then, really then…

“The professor might be in danger.”

Liam Moore slowly raised his head. His vacant eyes seemed to be replaying my words. He appeared to be trying to comprehend what I had said. His slightly parted lips moved.

“And you, too.”

This time, I couldn’t read any expression on his face.

From behind, the sound of the goulash burning reached us. Yet neither of us could move a muscle.

＊ ＊ ＊

The next day, another incident occurred. This time, it was another suspicious death.

We learned about it through a newspaper article. A body had been found floating in the Thames. Of course, this was familiar. Bodies surfaced in the Thames almost daily. Mostly dead fish, but human bodies weren’t rare either. Several people threw themselves from the bridges each year.

Liam frowned as he looked at the explicit photo.

“This is really too much. Such disrespect.”

The newspaper he set aside was a third-rate tabloid in London, known for sensational and ridiculous rumors. Unlike dailies or weeklies, I couldn’t understand why anyone would trust such a publication. This paper’s favorite topics were supernatural and bizarre events. I could predict tomorrow’s headline: a werewolf sighting somewhere.

“What’s so bad? Oh, my God. These people have no respect for Londoners having breakfast while reading the news!”

I glanced at it briefly, then recoiled and put it aside. There was a mummy, apparently. The taste of butter suddenly seemed awful. The bread that had been delicious moments ago now tasted bland. Liam, however, was too busy eating his eggs to care about the newspaper’s photos. He acted as if this was nothing.

I sighed, reaching for a teacup to cleanse my palate. The drink inside was as black as a poison. This is it. The rich aroma tickled my nose. Coffee.

It had been a century since American ports turned sea water into tea. Meanwhile, coffee consumption in London had skyrocketed.

I honestly thought tea leaves were consumed more. England is the land of tea, after all. But surprisingly, many people drank coffee. I heard coffee imports surpassed those of tea leaves. Thanks to that, coffee was available everywhere. I became a regular at various coffeehouses around London, compiling a list of the best ones.

Occasionally, traditionalists who loved the old tea culture would frown at my taste. They’d say, real elegance is in tea. Even now, people think like that? I found it hard to believe. It’s not even the real tradition. Every time, I would tell them to drink their tea while I drowned in coffee.

Because I frequented coffeehouses and drank copious amounts of coffee, Liam ended up bringing coffee beans home. I looked at the strong brewed coffee with satisfaction. This is it. This is Korean tradition. —Though it wasn’t the ‘real’ tradition.

Now, every morning, the house at 13 Bailonz Street smelled of coffee. I was promoting coffee to visitors, but not many people wanted what they called “burnt bean water.” Maybe Liam Moore, slightly mad from staying up all night, or young folks?

“But it’s certainly suspicious. It feels artificially created.”

Liam’s words pulled me out of my reverie. Finishing his sentence, he fumbled for a cup and downed it.

“Uh. That’s mine.”

That was my coffee.

“…”

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