LSK Chapter 3

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me for pointless matters during work?”

“But, Chief—”

Killian reprimanded his subordinate with a cold voice.

“Handle it yourself. Cut it off appropriately.”

It was unwelcome news. Called over with such a grave expression, he thought something serious might have happened, only to hear that it was some woman claiming to be his lover. Precisely the sort of ‘pointless matter’ he had warned against. Killian issued his cold order to the subordinate and turned away.

When Killian returned to Shannon’s hospital room, the psychiatrist, Dr. Caleb, was just stepping out. A faint crease formed between Killian’s brows. The examination had concluded earlier than expected.

“The examination is finished. She’s resting now.”

As soon as he closed the door and came out into the hallway, Dr. Caleb began explaining Shannon’s condition.

“There are no signs of mental illness or any particular abnormalities in Shannon Sherwood’s case. She was simply shaken by the sudden accident. A perfectly normal response.”

“Is that so?”

The fact that the consultation ended so quickly meant nothing unusual had been found in Shannon. Wanting to prove his capability to Killian, who wore a less-than-pleased expression, Dr. Caleb took the initiative to hand over the medical records, though they hadn’t been requested. Killian’s gaze lingered on a few lines as he skimmed through Shannon’s records.

“……Thank you for your cooperation.”

“It’s an honor to be of help to you, Chief.”

Fawning, Dr. Caleb watched Killian with eager expectation. But Killian was already walking away down the corridor.

🍂

Shannon let out a sigh of relief and quickly crossed the hospital lobby. She hadn’t slept a wink all night, worried that this might turn into an imprisonment disguised as hospitalization. But fortunately, by morning, a nurse returned her clothes and told her to go through the discharge process, adding that she should later visit the Metropolitan Police Department for questioning regarding the incident.

The moment she opened the mental hospital’s front door and stepped outside, even before she could fill her lungs with the refreshing morning air, Shannon froze in shock.

“What… is this…?”

It wasn’t the Oclo she knew. An old-fashioned car, the kind she had only seen in photos, zoomed past her. She thought she heard the neighing of a horse somewhere, and sure enough, a horse-drawn carriage appeared in the distance.

The clothing of the people hustling about in the morning was odd too. Not just one or two, but countless women dressed in bustle dresses and silk bonnets from thirty years ago? Was there a film shoot happening?

“Extra! Get your paper, today’s paper!”

A newsboy ran past the stunned Shannon. In his hand, the newspaper clearly read: April 8, 1837.

Shannon’s jaw dropped.

What the hell was happening? Was this really Oclo thirty years ago?

At that moment, a low voice cut through her daze.

“There’s no Saint Dominic Street in Rodeck.”

It was Killian Grey. She had no idea how long he had been standing there, but he spoke sharply as though he’d been waiting the moment she left the hospital. Even before she knew his true identity, Shannon had felt he exuded the presence of a predatory beast, but now that she knew he was a psychopathic serial killer, it was a hundred times more terrifying.

“You must have looked at the map wrong, officer. I’m sure it’s there.”

Shannon quickly hurried down the hospital’s front steps. The mental hospital loomed right behind her. And this man wasn’t just any officer, he was the chief inspector. Meaning he had the authority to throw her right back into that hospital.

“You speak in an upper-class accent.”

Unlike the flustered Shannon, Killian strolled leisurely and quickly caught up with her. He pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket, struck a metal lighter, and lit it.

The pungent smoke was blown directly at Shannon’s face, on purpose. Shannon coughed and turned away to avoid it.

“Strange, though. I don’t know any ‘Sherwoods’ among the upper class.”

“Speaking with an upper-class accent doesn’t automatically make one upper class.”

They had barely exchanged a few words, yet his sharp instincts were already catching on, and Shannon bit her lip nervously.

The reason an orphan like Shannon spoke with an upper-class accent and vocabulary was pure chance. An old wealthy lady who sponsored the orphanage had taken a liking to Shannon. The lady, with poor eyesight, was fond of Shannon’s voice and often summoned her to read books at her mansion three times a week.

But there had been a catch. Naturally, when one sense dulls, another sharpens, the old lady’s hearing was keen. She couldn’t stand hearing a lower-class accent in her home, so she strictly trained Shannon to speak in an upper-class manner and behave like a young lady of status. That’s how Shannon, a girl from the slums, came to adopt an upper-class accent.

Desperately trying to calm her pounding heart, Shannon looked for a chance to escape. She darted her eyes around, taking small steps back.

Killian, as if amused by her flustered behavior, smirked and began questioning her about the previous day.

“What time did you go to Iena Bridge? What did the person who pushed you look like?”

Though they were questions to help find the culprit, Shannon felt as though she were being interrogated.

“Someone pushed me off the bridge…”

“…On second thought, maybe I just slipped. The railing’s low at Iena Bridge, you know?”

Quickly thinking on her feet, Shannon lied. The last thing she wanted was to ever cross paths with that serial killer again. She discreetly kept stepping backward.

“A grown woman wouldn’t fall off so easily.”

“I was drunk… so I couldn’t keep my balance well…”

Faced with his sharp retort, Shannon had to pile another lie to cover the first.

“Drunk?”

Killian let out a dry chuckle at her unconvincing lie. It made sense, after all, they had kissed twice. He’d know there wasn’t a hint of alcohol on her breath.

“Either way, there’s no need for an investigation. There’s no culprit.”

Killian stared down at Shannon as she spewed obvious lies. A smirk curled his lips through the cigar smoke. He recalled a line from her medical record.

No delusions. No signs of defensive wounds.

His suspicions turned into certainty. The woman before him hadn’t been pushed by anyone, nor was she mentally unstable, she’d tried to kill herself. From the fact that she had deliberately chosen Iena Bridge, known for its low railing, to the lack of any signs of struggle against an attacker, and most tellingly, to her muttered words: ‘Why did you save me?’, it all pointed to one conclusion.

“Why’d you leave Rodeck for Oclo?”

When Killian suddenly asked a question unrelated to the incident, Shannon’s head snapped up. She took a few larger steps back.

“I don’t think I need to explain my personal affairs to you, Inspector.”

The closer she got to the main road, away from the hospital and Killian, the sharper Shannon’s tone became.

“Lost all your money, didn’t you? Where are you headed now?”

“That’s none of your business either. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Once she had put enough distance between them, Shannon abruptly turned and ran without looking back. Her only goal now was to get as far away from the mental hospital and the serial killer as possible.

“…Good luck, Miss Sherwood.”

Shannon was already a small, distant figure, running desperately. Watching her fleeing figure, a crooked smile appeared on Killian’s lips.

To anyone else, it would’ve looked like a criminal fleeing from the police, suspicious in every way.

But Killian merely took a leisurely puff of his cigar.

🍂

“Haah… huff… haah!”

Only after confirming that Killian wasn’t following her did Shannon finally stop and catch her ragged breath.

A refreshing fragrance of perfume wafted in on the morning breeze. She realized she had stopped in front of a perfume shop. Having run blindly toward the main street, it seemed she’d arrived at a bustling part of town.

‘Pathetic, Shannon Sherwood.’

When she’d fallen into the river, she hadn’t even struggled, feeling no attachment to life. And yet, here she was, desperately fleeing because she didn’t want to die at the hands of a serial killer in a mental hospital. The irony made a bitter smirk creep onto her lips.

Regardless, she began to walk slowly, taking in her surroundings, and the more she saw, the wider her mouth fell in astonishment. Having lived in the capital city of Oclo for years, she knew this street well. But now, it was distinctly different. It felt as though she had traveled through time, a version of the same city but not quite the one she knew. The uncanny sense sent a chill down her spine.

‘Rothschild Bank. Founded in 1792, so of course it should still be here in 1837. That place used to be a jewelry store… but now it’s a corset boutique.’

She had majored in history. Which meant she knew the long, storied history of this ancient, city-as-a-museum capital like the back of her hand. Shannon continued walking slowly through the main street, mentally matching each shop to its founding year, and every single one lined up. It was terrifying how perfectly it all fit. As if she truly was in the past, thirty years ago.

It was now also clear why the hospital doctor hadn’t recognized Saint Dominic Street. That was a street name that had been changed during an address reorganization twenty years ago. Naturally, it wouldn’t exist now.

Though a part of her still refused to believe, no, couldn’t believe, that she was in Oclo thirty years in the past, Shannon realized she had no choice but to accept it. In truth, whether she believed it or not wouldn’t change anything. It was more accurate to say she’d decided not to care either way.

With no clear destination, she kept walking wherever her feet led her. Eventually, her legs ached, and hunger gnawed at her stomach. Harsh reality set in. Stopping in front of a jewelry store, Shannon stared blankly at her reflection in the display window and asked herself:

‘Why am I still alive? Why am I still breathing?’

She’d always lived as if clinging to a cliff’s edge, scraping by, desperate to survive. Even though her hollow, aimless life felt as though it might float away like a balloon at any moment, she’d never had the courage to let go. So, she had trudged forward, day by day, like a dog being dragged by its leash.

And yet, as always, she lived on. Without knowing what she truly desired, without understanding what she was enduring it all for, she once again found herself existing through another unwanted, unasked-for day.

Shannon, right now in this moment too, was merely searching for a way to live.

‘If I were a child, I could pick flowers and sell them… or knock on the back doors of wealthy mansions to beg…’

Unfortunately, Shannon was a fully grown adult. Pull a stunt like that, and she’d get reported, hauled back to the police station, and right into the path of that serial killer again.

But Shannon wasn’t one to crumble or act foolishly. She was the same clever girl who had once been so bright that even a small-town orphanage scraped together every coin it could to send her off to university in the capital.

‘Thirty years ago, how does an adult woman find work as quickly as possible in the capital? Easy.’