CHAPTER 15: CHAPTER 15: I KNOW WHERE SHE IS

Jean Ellison didn’t dare go downstairs. Her fingers trembled as she fished out the key from her bag, struggling to fit it into the lock.

Throwing aside the supermarket plastic bag in her hand, she peered through the peephole and saw a shadow at the corner of the stairs, standing there, neither leaving nor approaching.

Someone was really following her.

Terrified, she stepped back, found her phone on the table, shaking all over. Her hand trembled as she dialed a string of numbers.

Before she could finish the eleven digits, the words "Lawyer Holden" appeared on the screen.

She hesitated for a moment but pressed the button anyway.

It rang for three seconds, and no one answered, so Jean hung up, realizing she was late.

She thought she was crazy, actually considering calling Justin Holden.

It must be because they had just parted downstairs, and she naturally thought of him.

She picked up the fruit knife from the table but felt it was inappropriate, put it down, and ran to the kitchen, coming back with a rolling pin.

She couldn’t hurt anyone, or she’d be sent to jail again. She still had to take care of Jesse.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Startled, she dropped the rolling pin, which rolled to her feet.

"Who’s there?"

She dared not move, standing rigid in the living room, her face paler than her lips.

"Miss Ellison, it’s me."

It was the voice of the landlady.

"Aunt Shaw, so late—do you need something?"

Jean let out a small breath of relief, bent down to pick up the rolling pin, not putting it down, clutching it tightly.

"I’m here to ask if you’re renewing your lease for the next half year. I have a relative coming to Kingswell City in a few months, and they’re worried about not having a place to stay. If you aren’t..."

"I am, Aunt Shaw."

Jean agreed immediately without thinking.

"That’s good, then. I’ll head back, and you should rest early."

"Wait, Aunt Shaw, did you see anyone when you came upstairs?"

"Didn’t see anyone."

The landlady lived on the first floor; how could she not have seen the shadow on the stairs? Was it just her imagination?

At this moment, her phone’s screen suddenly lit up.

Justin Holden was calling back.

Jean answered, her voice trembling.

"Hello..."

The man’s voice was magnetic, indifferent, and cold.

"Yes, I’m downstairs."

"You’re still downstairs?"

Jean didn’t know what to say to him. Since Aunt Shaw hadn’t seen anyone, she must have been mistaken.

"What’s the matter?"

Justin’s voice was slightly breathless, as if from recent exercise.

He saw the missed call and immediately turned back.

"Just had a feeling someone was following me, must have been mistaken, it’s fine now."

Jean was about to hang up.

A deep voice came from the phone, "Wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Hello..."

The call wasn’t hung up, nor did he respond.

Steps echoed once more in the corridor. This time, the sound was unmistakably those of a man’s leather shoes, heavily treading the stairs.

Jean looked through the peephole and recognized Justin Holden.

Simultaneously, she pressed down on the handle and opened the door.

A few strands of hair fell across his forehead, his face cold and somber, standing in the dark corridor, his handsome features accentuated even more.

The moon-white shirt, tailored to fit perfectly, wrapped around broad shoulders and a narrow waist, while the tailored slacks made his long legs seem extraordinary.

Even with his back to the light, just a silhouette, she wouldn’t mistake him.

"Get me a flashlight."

Jean responded, found a flashlight in the living room drawer, and handed it to him.

Justin took the flashlight, its black body looking particularly small in his hand.

"I’ll go check upstairs."

"I’ll go with you."

Jean picked up the rolling pin from the table again, gripping it tightly, looking at him with determination.

"Hmm, okay then."

Justin’s tone was indifferent, his gaze briefly sweeping her bright eyes, a peculiar look beneath his glasses.

They walked upstairs, which led to a rooftop.

Jean had always been afraid of the dark and had a fear of heights, but she followed him, instinctively clutching his suit coat, then letting go as she realized it.

Justin felt the hem of his coat being lightly tugged and then released, seemingly unbothered, as he stated plainly, "I don’t have a cleanliness obsession."

Jean responded affirmatively, her tone uplifted.

When had he stopped being obsessed with cleanliness? Was it after marrying Wendy Wallace?

Or, perhaps, his obsession was only towards her.

He used to pick the best hotels outside school—not just out of cleanliness but also out of some compulsion.

After such things, no matter how late or tired, he would get up for a shower immediately and insist she do the same.

When she couldn’t move, he’d carry her to the bathroom and drop her into the tub.

She’d say she was too tired, and he’d squat and help her.

Only after both had showered and they changed the sheets would they sleep soundly.

She once suspected that his monthly internship salary at the law firm was all spent on this.

She had mentioned it, saying it didn’t matter, as long as it was with him, anywhere would do.

Thinking back now, the way she said it was really cheap.

Justin probably thought the same at the time, eager to take advantage and save him money.

"Come out by yourself."

Justin sternly looked at a pile of debris not far ahead.

Jean peered over, a little afraid. So someone was indeed following her and now hiding on the rooftop.

"Should we call the police first?"

She whispered, but Justin shook his head.

A pile of boxes and plastic pipes was stacked haphazardly, a corner of blue cotton-linen trousers sticking out, with a circle of colorful patterns at the cuff.

Seemed like a little girl?

The pile shifted a bit, and a small girl hesitantly emerged.

Petite and sprightly, a silver necklace around her neck, her black hair hanging straight down to her waist, her skin a healthy tan.

"Don’t call the police."

"It’s me, we’ve met before."

The little girl spoke hurriedly, clad in a deep blue cotton-linen long-sleeve top and trousers, carrying a bag of the same material and gripping something like a copper compass.

Jean was even more puzzled, looking toward Justin Holden.

Justin glanced down at her, his face colder, "Granddaughter of The Seeress from a nearby village."

The little girl joyfully ran over, "Great, you remember me."

She undid her shoulder bag, carefully placing the copper compass inside, then slung it back over her shoulder, as if she’d just finished some task.

"I can’t take your money for nothing. Since I accepted it, I have to help you find the person."

"I can’t just say auspicious words to make people happy; I have real skills, though not well learned."

Justin stayed silent, the lines on his brow deepening.

Jean, standing aside, felt a foreboding sense, growing wary, curling her fingers, fingertips meeting the sweat in her palms.

A clear, cold scrutinizing gaze fixed on the little girl, trying to maintain outward composure.

Besides looking for her, she couldn’t think of anyone else Justin might be trying to find lately.

The little girl’s demeanor suggested she wasn’t just searching for someone; outsiders might think she was preparing for a séance.

Jean was about to say something when the girl shot her a sharp look, then spoke first.

"I know where she is."

This was clearly intended for Justin Holden to hear.