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Maya snaps the binder shut with a sharp motion, her hands slightly trembling. Follin’s notebooks come to an abrupt halt, their remaining pages left blank, as if their author never had the chance to fill them. The young woman has no trouble imagining why. Follin must have faced his teammate… and lost his life in the process. But she still needs to reach that memory to free the sergeant’s spirit and save Harriet from his grasp.
That’s why she couldn’t see him in the memories!
The descriptions Follin gives of his partner perfectly match the entity they are facing: a visceral contempt for those he deems inferior, a cold, relentless violence. Yet, so far, it had only manifested through the Hall family members. So how could this teammate be connected? Who was this man who followed Follin everywhere in the shadows and seemed to hold a grudge against Peter Hall? And most of all, why couldn’t Maya see him in the memories?
A gunshot suddenly rings out, shattering the silence.
Maya jolts violently and, purely on reflex, drops to the floor, her heart pounding wildly. Her breath catches as she scans the room with a panicked gaze, searching for the source of the shot. An uneasy pause. Then she understands.
Outside.
She rushes to the window, yanks it open, and leans out. In the garden below, bathed in the pale moonlight, she spots a familiar figure. Harriet. Or rather, Follin. Back against the wall just beneath her, the mask—white as snow—contrasts starkly with the gun held firmly at arm’s length, the barrel still smoking, aimed straight ahead. A few meters away, Jenks and Camille stand frozen.
Horror washes over Maya as she realizes what just happened. Her heart skips a beat.
“Inspector! Camille!”
Jenks raises a hand without taking his eyes off Harriet, his expression tense, focused. In his other hand, he keeps Camille back, preventing her from moving forward.
“It’s okay, it’s okay…” his voice echoes calmly, but his gaze never leaves the gun, nor the rigid posture of the possessed journalist. “She missed. Seems our sergeant is pretty shaken…”
Maya leans out further, her breathing ragged, her heart racing. Down below, she can distinctly hear Follin’s voice breaking into incoherent phrases, fragments of words that make no sense. Whatever Hugo whispered in her ear before he ran off, it has plunged her into a state of absolute panic and confusion.
A terrible hesitation grips the young woman. Every fiber of her being screams at her to go down, to run and join them in the garden, to try and intervene before tragedy strikes. But a visceral fear keeps her rooted to the spot. What if something happens the moment she looks away? What if she misses a crucial detail, an opportunity to stop this madness before it’s too late?
She has no other choice.
“I know how he died, Inspector!” she shouts, her eyes fixed on Jenks. “His partner! It was his partner all along!”
“How do you know that?” The officer looks up at her, uncertainty etched on his face.
“We don’t have time! You have to talk to her, make her tell you what happened!”
Jenks hesitates. He glances at Harriet, whose erratic breathing makes her gun hand tremble.
“I… This isn’t my thing, Maya, I don’t know how to do that.”
“You can do it!” she insists, her voice tight with urgency. “You have to save Harriet!”
She sees the change in the inspector’s eyes immediately. He swallows down his hesitation, his determination snapping back into place. Slowly, he approaches Harriet, still holding his hands up in a calming gesture, his movements controlled, his attention fixed on the gun clenched in her shaking fingers.
“Sergeant Follin? Are you still there?”
A tense silence stretches out. Then, a voice rises—rough, aggressive, its tone sharp and threatening like a knife against the throat.
“I’m here…”
“Ah… very good. Excellent… From one law officer to another… When you mentioned there had been another murder, did it have anything to do with your partner?”
Maya holds her breath. Harriet—or rather, Follin—flinches. A long shiver shakes her body. The gun wavers slightly.
“I should have known it was him… How many times did we criticize the bourgeois together? How many times did he join me when I talked about how that old witch Hall threw my poor father out? He understood me.”
The voice cracks slightly before continuing, darker, heavier.
“He also understood my guilt, my isolation… that pain of never being acknowledged. But he went further than I did. A crusade. A purge.”
Maya can see Jenks tense up. The inspector keeps moving forward cautiously, without a word, without making any sudden movements.
“Early in the morning, I went out… and walked to the old gamekeeper’s house. My father’s old house. Fool that I am… That’s where he had been hiding all along. He was still covered in blood. I don’t know how I could have dreamed of what he’d done, but I knew they’d find a young boy’s body in the forest, torn to pieces. I knew he’d blame it on Peter. He was waiting for me. Sitting there. Confident. Pleased that I had finally understood.”
A suspended silence. Then, lower, almost a whisper.
“I had to talk to him… I wanted to understand why he was targeting Peter. Why the Halls. Why here…”
“What happened, Sergeant?” Jenks nods gently.
The weapon trembles again, but Follin continues, carried along by the unstoppable flow of his own past.
“He said he did it all for me. That it had always been that way. He was the one purging society of its scum. And I was the one solving the cases, even if it meant having the wrong guys executed in his place.”
Harriet’s breathing quickens, irregular, torn apart by sobs that the entity seems unable to hold back.
“Everything was collapsing around me,” her fingers tighten on the revolver grip. “My career… My investigations… Everything I had accomplished… It was just an illusion. I had spent the last few years investigating crimes… with the one who had committed them.”
Silence.
“I saw him for what he was. A monster. Sadistic. Cruel. Without mercy. Without remorse. A demon.”
The word cracks through the night like a verdict.
“I took my gun. I threatened to shoot him on the spot if he didn’t come with me. He laughed. He said he wasn’t going anywhere. That he had worked too hard… to reclaim what was rightfully ours.”
“What was rightfully yours, Sergeant?”
Follin continues, his voice rougher, more bitter.
“I used to live here, a long time ago. Back when my father was still alive. This was our home. Mr. Hall was in India, and we lived here, in Blackmere. He told me my mother died in childbirth. But it was a lie. She lived long after that. Long after driving my father and me out of here when her husband returned… and then she had another son.”
A long silence falls over the garden. Maya feels her heart pounding in her chest.
“That’s why I felt so close to Peter…” her voice trembles with a mix of rage and pain. “If only I had understood sooner… I would have run away. I would never have come back here. For his sake.”
Maya remains frozen, her mouth slightly open. She exchanges a glance with Jenks and Camille down below, but none of them manage to speak. Everything finally makes sense.
Follin… was a Hall.
The son of Elisabeth Hall. Peter’s older brother.
But then…
“Your partner…” Jenks murmurs, his voice tinged with sudden understanding. “He took over the entity when the owner died and immediately resumed his crimes. In that case… does that mean that… you were… twins? Was there a third child?”
The silence that follows is heavy, suffocating. Follin doesn’t answer. He simply points his gun at Jenks, tightening his grip on the handle. The barrel is far too close. If he fires, the inspector won’t stand a chance.
But Maya senses something else. A crack in the armor. The man before them hesitates.
“Ask him another question, Inspector,” she orders hastily.
Jenks gives a barely perceptible nod, not taking his eyes off Follin.
“Did Peter know?”
“Yes,” Follin takes a deep breath, then exhales shakily. “He found documents, papers dating back to my birth, after our mother’s death. He figured out that there had been another child. He searched… dug into the past… and he found me. He didn’t reach out to me by chance. He knew something was threatening him… and instead of going to the police, he turned to me. To a brother he didn’t even know. But by doing that, he drew my partner’s wrath upon him… at least, that’s what I thought.”
A sudden realization strikes Maya. A brutal shock, almost physical. A vision crashes over her with the force of an explosion. The world sways. Her hands grip the window ledge, but she feels her balance slipping away. A curtain flaps against her arm as she falls backward, hitting the office floor hard. The images collide in her mind.
Follin standing under a tree.
Follin, shuddering in his bed, trapped in a nightmare… then Follin, standing before that same bed, a grotesque smile stretching his features.
Follin pacing through the gardens, alone, at dead of night.
Follin wandering through the abandoned gamekeeper’s house.
Follin chasing someone through the forest, a silhouette fleeing ahead of him.
Follin attacking a woman by the side of a deserted road.
Follin assaulting a drunken man outside an inn.
Follin facing a mirror…
A mirror reflecting nothing but himself.
Him. Always him. Only him.
An abyssal void opens in her mind. There was no one. There had never been anyone.
“Maya?!” Camille’s voice cuts through the fog in her head.
She opens her eyes, her gaze locking onto the office ceiling. Her heart pounds wildly, her temples throb. She has lost consciousness. The visions are getting worse.
“Maya!!”
She groans weakly, forcing herself upright, dragging herself back to the window. Jenks is there, just a few steps away from Follin. Too close. Far too close. The barrel of the gun points straight at him. Panic floods Maya.
“Inspector, back away!” she screams.
“What?” Jenks blinks, puzzled.
“It’s him!” She clings to the windowsill, breathless, terror in her voice. “It’s Follin!! The entity was in him from the start! He never had a partner! It was him!”
The collective realization seems to hit Follin like a blow. An uncontrollable tremor seizes his arm. Without a word, he suddenly raises the barrel under his chin, his finger slowly pressing the trigger.
“No!”
Jenks leaps, crashing into Harriet with his full weight in a desperate attempt to deflect the gun. A gunshot rings out, violently echoing through the garden. Maya flinches, instinctively pressing her hands to her ears. She feels the shockwave pierce her skull as a piece of stone flies past her. The bullet lodges in the facade, just inches from the window.
She takes a second to reopen her eyes, her breathing rapid. When she rushes to the window, her heart skips a beat. Below, Harriet lies motionless in the snow.
Jenks holds her in his arms, his breath ragged, visibly panicked. He hastily removes her mask, examines her face, her neck, her clothes, desperately searching for any sign of injury. Maya feels her stomach turn. Nausea overtakes her suddenly. A dizzy spell forces her to cling to the windowsill.
Blood… There is blood in the snow.
A little farther away, Camille stands frozen, one hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. Then, another vision emerges. This time, it is not as brutal. Slower, more insidious.
Maya sees Follin, sprawled on the dusty floor of the gamekeeper’s house. His chest barely rises. A dark pool spreads beneath him, seeping into the grooves of the old floorboards. Blood trickles out in spurts, escaping from a gaping wound. He understands. He knows.
The monster… It was never an external entity. It was inside him.
A gurgle escapes as he struggles to breathe. He wanted to end it. Tried to rip this thing from his mind by destroying it along with himself. But he failed. His body gives out too slowly. And Maya sees it.
The shadow, that black, intangible presence, looms over him. Silent. Motionless. Then it bends down, its shifting contours merging with the darkness of the room.
“Tim, Tim, Tim…” A mocking whisper floats through the air. “You think you’ve gotten rid of me?”
Follin’s eyes widen, staring into the void with absolute terror.
“You’re going to die here…” the voice continues, smooth, drawn out. “And me? I’ll just keep moving on… with your dear little brother Peter.”
A strangled gasp escapes from Follin.
“I’ve always hated that little brat, but he’s grown up well, hasn’t he? An accomplished surgeon… Such a fine success. Maybe we should leave for a while to let this blow over, go somewhere else? The south… London, perhaps? What do you think?”
The shadow seems to straighten up, contemplating its own reflection in a cracked window.
“Whitechapel will make a perfect hunting ground.”
Maya feels her heart slow, frozen with fear.
“But I think I’ll change my name. Maybe… borrow his middle name?”
The shadow laughs softly, as if savoring the moment.
“What do you think, Tim? How about… Jack?”
The vision fades, dissolving into a grayish fog. Maya snaps back to reality, gasping for air, the metallic taste of panic lingering on her tongue. Jenks is still there, holding Harriet against him, gently rocking her while calling her name. She remains motionless.
Maya struggles to breathe.
“Inspector… is she…?” Her voice sounds so faint that she isn’t sure he even heard her.
“The bullet didn’t hit her… the blast must have ruptured her eardrum, but… I can’t get her to wake up…”
“The mask… where’s the mask?”
“It’s here,” Camille approaches hesitantly, reaching out to pick it up from the snow.
But before she can touch it, the mask suddenly splits in two. An imperceptible breath floats in the air, a fleeting impression, almost unreal. Maya thinks she hears a faint sigh again, the whisper of something finally set free. Then, as if the weight of a nightmare has just lifted, Harriet stirs slightly. Her breathing quickens, and she instinctively brings a trembling hand to her ear, grimacing from the sharp pain.
Jenks immediately leans over her, his gaze searching her face with restrained concern. But as soon as he sees her eyelids flutter, he lets out a relieved sigh and forces a reassuring smile.
“It’s nothing… Everything’s fine…”
His voice sounds gentle, controlled, but beneath his calm exterior, Maya senses how much he is struggling to keep his composure.
“You will probably feel a blocked ear sensation, intense pain… likely tinnitus, dizziness, and temporary hearing loss…”
He lists the symptoms in an almost mechanical tone, as if convincing himself as much as reassuring her. Then, without hesitation, he takes off his jacket and drapes it over Harriet’s shoulders with infinite care.
The woman’s eyes find his. Her gaze wavers between disbelief and pure emotion. And suddenly, she bursts into tears.
“Oh… Inspector…” Her voice breaks under the weight of her feelings. “I’m sorry, so sorry… I thought that… that I was going to…”
A sob shakes her shoulders. She doesn’t finish her sentence.
“It’s nothing. Everything’s fine.”
Jenks doesn’t need to hear any more. He gently pulls her closer, holding her in a protective embrace. Harriet sobs uncontrollably, letting out everything she has held back until now: fear, shock, guilt.
“Your ear will be okay. Don’t worry.”
He continues to rock her slowly, murmuring comforting words. They stay like that, huddled together, without anyone daring to break the moment.
Camille approaches cautiously, her face overwhelmed, eyes glistening. Maya, still gripping the windowsill, watches the scene with profound relief. She catches Camille’s gaze, and a strange mix of laughter and tears overtakes both of them, unable to decide between nervousness and joy.
Harriet then reaches a hand toward Camille, just noticing her, without letting go of Jenks.
“Oh, my dear… my poor dear… How I regret not believing you…” Her voice is full of remorse as she clasps Camille’s fingers with a fervent tenderness before looking around anxiously.
“And Maya? Where is Maya?”
“I’m here, Harriet. I’m fine. Everyone is fine.”
“Oh, my darlings…” Harriet chokes on another sob. “Forgive me… I should have believed you.”
“It’s over now, Harriet,” Jenks, still holding the journalist, gives a gentle smile. “You were incredible.”
Even from where she stands, Maya senses something else in his gaze. Something beyond simple relief that makes her smile. Quite a night, indeed.
Harriet pulls back slightly, her hands trembling, and frames the inspector’s face between her cold palms. She gazes at him for a long moment, then, through her sobs, her expression changes, becoming extremely serious.
“Inspector… I mean… Frederick,” She takes a deep breath. “If we get out of here alive, I’m taking you on a real date.”
A slow smile spreads across Jenks’ lips. He looks at her for a moment, then, with a genuine glint of amusement, he replies.
“My dear Harriet… If we get out of here alive, I’ll marry you.”
He tightens his hold around her before adding softly:
“But for now… let’s get inside before we freeze. Maya? We’re coming.”
“Got it. See you in a moment, Inspector.”
Maya closes the window slowly, as if her body itself struggles to believe she can finally relax. An immense relief washes over her, so overwhelming that it makes her dizzy. The room seems to sway around her, and she lets her forehead rest against the cold glass, closing her eyes for a moment.
Fatigue, sneaky and relentless, engulfs her all at once. She realizes that, despite the adrenaline still pulsing through her veins, a part of her could almost give in to sleep, right here, against this window. As if, finally, she could feel safe. Ironic.
But reality catches up with her immediately. A bitter taste seeps into her throat, a dull nausea, and she opens her eyes again to focus on the mist her breath forms on the glass. Follin had believed until the very end that he was fighting an external enemy, a monster lurking in the shadows. But from the start, this evil was within him, embedded in his blood, insidious and inescapable. He had died with that terrible certainty: the curse wouldn’t end with him.
A cold shiver grips her. What if… this entity, this link that allowed her to stand between the dead and the living, took control of her in the same way? Was she already merely a spectator of the horror… or an unwitting participant?
The thought hits her like a blow and knocks the air out of her lungs. Her heart races, and tears well up suddenly. No. She had a choice, didn’t she? She had to have a choice. But the longer the night drags on, the more the visions intensify. The more she tries to push them away, the more they impose themselves forcefully, overwhelming, uncontrollable.
The pressure in her chest becomes unbearable. She can’t breathe. She abruptly turns and leaves the room, blindly searching for the bathroom. She pushes the door open, stumbles to the sink, and turns on the tap with trembling hands. Icy water cascades into her palms before she splashes it onto her face. Her breathing struggles to stay even, and the nausea grips her so violently that she fears for a moment she might vomit.
Little by little, the feeling subsides, but an acidic taste lingers on her tongue. Slowly, she straightens up, running her fingers through the loose strands escaping her ponytail, pressing them against her scalp as if it could ground her.
She looks at herself, examining every feature with a clinical detachment. The dark circles under her eyes, her waxy complexion, her features drawn tight with fatigue and anxiety. She searches. Again. A trace, a shadow, something that doesn’t belong to her. But she sees nothing. Or maybe she refuses to see.
Maya closes her eyes for a moment, then turns off the water. She grabs a towel and dries her face absentmindedly. Once this night is over, maybe she can close that door inside her, put her powers back to sleep as before.
Only one spirit remained to be appeased. Simon… and Jimmy.
Jimmy.
A strange pang settles in her chest at the thought. Despite everything, she still hopes to save him.
Follin’s story forces itself into her mind, and a new doubt gnaws at her. The entity did seem to have a will to purify, to eliminate those it deemed weak or impure. She had already noticed this with what happened to Sara. But then… why those hosts, specifically?
It wasn’t just a question of lineage. Otherwise, Jimmy’s aunt would have been affected before his father. And during Follin’s time, the crimes didn’t just serve a thirst for violence: they were also meant to inspire Peter.
What did they all have in common? If an implicit pact existed, even if imposed… what did the entity promise them?
She leaves the bathroom, her thoughts spinning in circles, and her steps lead her unconsciously to the bedroom, where Jimmy had closed the mirror behind her to protect her. Where Hugo had drawn that heart with his own blood.
Maya stops, her gaze fixed on the brownish stain, indelible on the glass surface. A strange feeling rises in her as she approaches, until her reflection appears in the mirror.
She stands still, heart pounding. Then, suddenly, her expression changes. She spins on her heels and rushes towards the exit.
She gets it. At long last!