I couldn’t come in. I didn’t care. I had something else I wanted to check. That slick, fish-like face of his.I curled my fingers like claws and scratched at his throat. As I’d expected, it was slick too. Mr. Acacia (아카시아, Acacia) cursed and shouted as he tried to twist away, but the more he struggled, the tighter I clung. I yanked at the tie choking his neck, tore open his shirt buttons, and plunged my hand beneath the collar. At last, my fingernails snagged on what I was looking for. I grabbed the unpleasantly slippery material and ripped it off.Only one thought swirled in my head.A silicone mask came off in my hand. A stiff, golden wig snapped free. Beneath the covering that never felt human, there was a grotesque face. The skin had melted into a ruin—no eyebrows, no lashes, nostrils reduced to tiny holes in raw flesh. Sparse, very short hair stuck out like a rat had gnawed at it. The reddish, wrinkled flesh looked like twisted bark; no expression could ever form on it.The moment I met that face—no, the moment I caught sight of those blue eyes embedded in it—my vision swam and a hollow laugh escaped me. I leaned close to Mr. Acacia, who lay beneath me, gasping raggedly and trembling with fury.In that instant, I was completely free from Bluebell’s scars. Fully separated from the past glory I’d left behind, I whispered to it:The hideous man shrieking as he tried to cover his face was George (조지, George)—the very boy I’d left at Bluebell! I grabbed a handful of his remaining hair and slammed his head into the floor.Strands of hair tore out. I smashed his head against the ground again and again. George was insane—screaming, clawing at the concrete with his fingernails, writhing. He fought to shield his face as if he dreaded me seeing it. I twisted his neck, rolled him over, and forced him to look at me. I locked his waist between my thighs and stared into his bloodied, streaming face.It was ugly and filthy. The shame etched on it sent a thrill down my spine. For the past five years, I hadn’t been the one drowning in Kelly—George had! The marks of defeat stamped on his face, his hands, his whole body would never fade; they would constantly remind him of his humiliations. He would never forget that wretched defeat! Confronting George’s burn-scarred face, I at last distanced myself from death and from any longing for it.I didn’t want to die. I wanted them alive—so they could pay for Cal’s death! I’d cremated them all at Bluebell and was robbed of avenging Cal. But now Bluebell’s phantoms were resurrected here, so I could send them as offerings to Cal. Their sins could wash away all mine. The trapped ones were the top-floor boys. It wasn’t me who belonged to Bluebell—it was those top-floor boys!Is that sophistry? Maybe. But who judges me? They’re all dead, destined to die!“D-Don’t… don’t look! I said, don’t look! L-Let go, let go!”I whispered as I studied George’s tear-streaked face. He thrashed it against my hand, and every time he tried to cover it, blood dripped from his split lips. His reaction was strange; tears ran uncontrollably down his face.Dead? Is Hue dead? I gripped George’s ear and tested his thoughts.“No… nooo!”George screamed, shaking the cabin. Still, no one came to look at us—no one to care for George. One of the top-floor boys must be dead.

“No… n-no… haa… ah, no… Hue… my love…”George’s struggling weakened until he slumped beneath me, head lolling. Muffled groans and broken words tumbled past his lips. I hauled him upright. He mumbled like a madman, then suddenly smashed his head against the floor. He curled up like a worm and slammed his forehead into the concrete, over /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ and over. Blood and tissue splattered.George shrieked:“Hue! Nooo! Hueee! Please! God! Aaaaah! Hue! Hue! Save me, no! Aaaargh!”In a grating, broken voice he screamed, yet he wouldn’t stop.I held the electric lamp from the window and shone it on George. His forehead was a massacre as he writhed. I remembered George’s cool, composed voice from childhood. Did he scream like this every day since I cremated his lover alive? Is that why his voice turned so hideous? My chest tingled with excitement. My shoulders trembled with anticipation.I studied George’s face in the glare as he lay sprawled and convulsing, foam-flecked blood dripping from his mouth. I slowly lowered the lamp to his face. His unfocused eyes snapped to me. He still seemed mad. George stared, muttering:“Hot…”His voice was a rasp.“Hot… so hot I can’t stand it… feels like I’m on fire…”“Really? Want me to put the fire out?” I bent close and whispered,“Shall I cool you down?”George burst into tears and nodded. I set the lamp beside his head, dropped my zipper, and released my piss onto his face. At first, he didn’t realize it was urine; he opened his mouth, closed his eyes, and seemed to enjoy the filth. After a while he understood. He jerked his head away.“Hey… stay still, you bastard.”I laughed and peed into his ear.“Asked me to put out the fire. I’m putting it out now.”George scrabbled across the floor to escape, then, out of strength, collapsed and began smashing himself again. I zipped up and watched him writhe like a medicated rat beneath my feet.He looked exactly like the PTSD soldiers I’d seen at the veterans’ hospital. Such mental illness always flares up if the cause remains. If I—the very witness and cause of that fire—lived on in front of George, that bastard would end up in an asylum until he died.I examined George’s foam-flecked, eye–rolled face in every detail. I never wanted to forget this. I wanted to remember forever his pathetic, filthy contortions, soaked in my filth, eyes rolling!I hadn’t spoken. Raising the lamp high, I saw someone standing in the unfinished doorway. Jerome (제롬, Jerome) stepped into the light, expression cold with mingled contempt and revulsion. Of course—he’d always hated George. They’d always hated each other.He shoved his hands into his pockets and strode closer. I stood my ground, staring him down. His gaze never left George.“Pathetic and filthy.” Jerome’s tone was light, but his words dripped contempt.“You too, Raymond. Peeing on him—seriously?”In the darkness his pale face lit up with joy he could barely contain. I looked at Jerome’s gleaming smile and said,“Who made us witness something that revolting?”“And does that make you feel any better now?” Jerome ignored me and laughed.He’d brought George here on purpose, knowing he’d have a breakdown. Maybe he wasn’t certain, but he’d gambled—he had nothing to lose. I studied Jerome’s slick smile. Then with all my strength I hurled the lamp at his chest. Too close, he couldn’t block it. In its final arc before smashing, Jerome’s face showed shock, a flicker of tension, and still—laughter.I didn’t wait. As the electric glow died and darkness swallowed us, I lunged at Jerome.We crashed to the floor tangled together. While Jerome staggered from the lamp’s blow, I drove my fist into his face. Every punch tore flesh, warm blood marking my knuckles. Strangely, Jerome didn’t fight back. At some point I stopped. He was laughing.“Hahaha! Huff, hahah! More! Hit me more, Raymond! Harder! Harder!”“You son of a bitch…” I ceased and rose. Jerome grabbed my ankle.“What’s wrong? Tired already? Huh? Keep going, I said—harder, Raymond!”I kicked him in the side with all my might. Jerome gasped for air, yet chuckled between gasps:“Raymond! Oh, Raymond!”I turned away, leaving Jerome laughing in the dark. Two top-floor boys survived behind me as I vaulted the window frame into the night. Jerome called after me:“Don’t go, Raymond! It’s not over! Keep hitting me—harder! Puhahaha!”His laughter faded. I sprinted into the woods I knew from my walks.No sooner had I broken cover than flashlights lit up behind me. I ducked behind a tree, but the crackle of leaves drew all the beams to my hiding spot. A mistake—but by the width of those beams, they were still some distance off.Clearly, eyes watched us. George and Jerome wouldn’t come alone. I needed distance. I plunged deeper into the forest, ignoring the lights. It was night, and I had the advantage as a soldier. If I could reach the film set, I’d call for help and escape.But that plan was flawed. When I stepped clear of the tree, flashlights found me again.“There he is! Shoot!” someone yelled—and guns fired. Madmen! I hit the ground and crawled into shadow. Only then could I breathe. My ears rang, my heart pounded—these bastards meant to kill me, not just catch me. I closed my eyes to steady my breath.My tension faded to calm. Most of them couldn’t shoot true, though a few had skill—I’d seen them play tin-can games. Darkness and trees would protect me, but I couldn’t risk exposure again.Outnumbered and outgunned, my best chance was the dark. I’d lead them deeper until they were lost, spend the night concealed, and at dawn slip away. For now, I’d pretend to flee. Lure them in, then vanish.I moved again, deliberately breaking branches and scattering footprints to leave a false trail. The flashlights bobbed after me, and sporadic shots rang out. My spine tingled, but I couldn’t look back. Even if I were hit, I had to use this chance to press on. No time to glance behind.At least I had my shoes, though my bare torso was covered in cuts. I didn’t notice the pain as I tore through undergrowth. It wasn’t much of a forest—more a rugged mountainside. Luckily, it was unfamiliar to my pursuers too.Their beams occasionally swept close but mostly missed. Angry shots cracked, but they weren’t a real threat. As the distance grew and the shots faded, relief seeped in. I’d shaken them. Now, if I covered my tracks and changed direction, they’d have a hard time.My lungs burned and I stopped at a tree stump to rest. I couldn’t rest long. Though I’d put space between us, I was still at a disadvantage—and without a lamp or flashlight, I couldn’t keep moving indefinitely. I needed shelter. Even in tropical night, dew would soak me by dawn if I stayed shirtless. Could I last till sunrise? I tried to calm my breathing and think of how to conserve strength. I had no good ideas. How to survive till morning… But why?

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