Jenkins froze the mont his hand was taken. He had assud it was his companion, but if he rembered correctly, both Hathaway and Briny were still wearing their lace gloves under their sleeves, as troubleso as that was. The hand gripping his, however, was clearly bare, and its skin was a little cold. As he focused, he realized the size felt wrong, too.
He ntally retraced his steps. Seated directly behind him was a bald, middle-aged critic, the kind of man who looked profoundly conventional just at a glance. He would never pull such a prank. This ant no one nearby could have reached him, which suggested the owner of the hand was not entirely human.
“Well...”
Jenkins figured he now had sothing to do.
He lifted his head and scanned his surroundings, wanting to make sure no one was watching before he acted. He failed to notice that from the black void beneath his chair, where one arm had already erged, another smooth, bare arm was now extending. Judging by its size and thickness, it didn't belong to the sa person as the first.
Within seconds, more and more human hands appeared under Jenkins’s seat, reaching swiftly upward. Most of them clamped onto his legs, holding him fast no matter how he struggled.
Jenkins was aghast, but he didn't see the few hands that continued their upward climb and encountered a cat. The audacious hands, unafraid of people, were certainly not afraid of a cat. They shot straight for Chocolate. The cat, in turn, opened one eye and let out a soft ow.
Psst~
A sound like a leaking balloon was drowned out by the opera on stage, and then all traces of the strange phenonon vanished.
Jenkins had only just registered the feeling of nurous hands gripping his legs when the sensation abruptly disappeared. Even the hand holding his had vanished. He waited a few seconds before daring to pat the air around him, but he found nothing unusual.
Instead, he accidentally brushed against Briny’s hand. She imdiately tried to lace her fingers with his, but thankfully, Jenkins was quick to pull away.
“What in the world just happened?”
Jenkins hadn't had ti to activate his Eye of Reality, so he had no way of knowing that a daring supernatural creature had manifested beneath his chair, only to be grievously wounded for offending a far more terrifying being. It was unlikely to appear again within this epoch.
But regardless of the creature's misfortune, Jenkins had once again lost his focus. He truly had nothing to do. He forced himself to listen to the opera for a while, but he found that even though the troupe had altered so details, he still knew the frawork of the story by heart.
His eyelids grew heavier and heavier. The imnse pressure he’d been under lately had him waking with a start in the middle of the night. Before he knew it, he had drifted into a deep sleep.
For Jenkins, dreams were sotis the beginning of another adventure. Not to ntion the terrifyingly large black cat that often prowled his dreamscape, but dream sprites, star spirits, and all sorts of bizarre things had made appearances in his sleep.
This ti was no exception. He could still vaguely hear the music from the stage and even feel the soft, warm body of the cat on his lap, but his consciousness floated higher and farther away.
No strange visions appeared before him, but a faint whisper reached his ears:
“...God... bless... sir...”
It sounded like a radio with a poor signal—the voice was intermittent, the quality terrible, and it was punctuated by static. He couldn't understand the words, nor could he identify the speaker.
Just as he tried to listen more closely, soone began to shake him gently.
“Jenkins, Jenkins, wake up.”
“Hm?”
He opened his eyes in a daze, a dull ache throbbing in his temples. The music on stage was still playing, and the actors were giving their all. It was likely only the end of the second act; he hadn't been asleep for long.
“Jenkins, wake up. You can’t sleep here, it’s very rude.”
Hathaway’s voice continued to echo in his ear. He raised a hand to his forehead, realizing he’d already forgotten what he’d dread about. He nodded blankly, and she naturally took his hand.
“Didn’t you sleep well last night? You’ve looked pale ever since I saw you today.”
Her tone was filled with concern. Jenkins felt that pulling his hand away now would just make things awkward for everyone, so he let it be.
“A murderer broke into my house a few days ago... Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry.”
He was halfway through his hushed explanation when he saw Hathaway look as though she was about to scream. He quickly added in a rushed tone, “Don’t worry.” The slight commotion must have been loud enough to draw Briny’s attention. She glanced over with a concerned expression, only to see Hathaway offering her a gentle smile.
A blush imdiately blood on Briny’s cheeks, and she decided to ignore whatever was happening over there.
“What murderer? You never ntioned it,” the red-haired young woman pressed on.
“It wasn’t a big deal. You probably read about it in the papers. A while back, Nolan City had that string of midnight serial killings...”
He gave her a brief summary of that night’s events, taking care to emphasize that the intruder was just an ordinary man.
“You see? I wasn’t hurt, and Chocolate is fine, too. Don’t worry. I broke the man’s wrist and leg, and he’s going to trial next month. Given his cris, he could very well be executed imdiately. I saw the photos at the police station...”
Concerned they might be disturbing the others, they fell silent after finishing their conversation and returned their attention to the opera. Hathaway released Jenkins’s hand at just the right mont, making the gesture seem so natural that he wondered if he had been the one overthinking things.
But no matter how spectacular the performance on stage, or how intriguing the events in the audience, every story must co to an end.
As the detective on stage pulled the trigger, firing his pistol toward the sky, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the theater. In the story, this symbolized the detective's desire to capture the criminals, yet his decision to let them go out of a sense of compassion. That single shot marked his fulfillnt of his duty and also served as the opera's finale.
The thunderous applause startled Jenkins from his half-conscious state, and he imdiately began clapping along. Belatedly rembering where he was, he looked around. Mr. Nelly, sitting at the end of their row, was smiling, his face flushed with delight. On stage, the actors stood in a line, bowing to the audience.
A cara, prepared in advance, went off with a loud pop as its flash illuminated the stage. The chemical sll of the burning flash powder was slow to dissipate in the theater, but no one seed to mind. The sounds of applause and enthusiastic praise filled every corner.
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