Chapter 222 Stormy Night

Chapter 222 Stormy Night

A taxi with its "Available" light on struggled through the rain, sliding across the slick streets.

I yanked open the door and jumped in, my wet hair sticking to my forehead, water dripping down my cheeks. 

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes showing a hint of surprise.

"Take me here! Please hurry! It's an emergency!" 

My voice trembled uncontrollably as I shoved my phone screen in front of him, the address blurred by the rain's reflection.

The driver, probably startled by my appearance, didn't ask any questions and floored the gas pedal. The car shot forward on the waterlogged road, sending up a spray of dirty water. The tires screeched against the wet pavement, a sharp, grating sound.

I collapsed into the back seat, my body shaking uncontrollably. 

The cold rain had soaked through my coat, clinging to my skin, but the chill was nothing compared to the growing panic inside me. 

The rain and blurred lights outside the window sped past, like a fast-forwarded, uncontrollable reel of fate.

"Ms. Johnson, I think Byron's art style is so unique, there's something indescribable about it."

"Ms. Johnson, it's such a shame about Byron's work, we have to help him!"

"Ms. Johnson..."

Zoey's excited figure as she left now seemed, in hindsight, to carry a tragic, unknowing march towards a sacrificial altar. 

Why didn't I ask more questions? Why didn't I stop her?

I knew we were investigating a deep, dark old case! I knew Kurt was shrouded in so many mysteries! And yet, I let her go alone!

Guilt pricked at my heart like countless needles. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to suppress the surging emotions and force myself to think calmly.

When Kurt talked about the fishing village massacre, he mentioned the surviving children who grew up with hidden identities and hatred. 

One of them became a comic artist, a creator who depicted the world with his drawings. Could he be...

A bold, yet seemingly connecting all the dots, thought struck me like lightning, cutting through my chaotic mind!

Byron is that baby from the massacre!

I snapped my eyes open, my fingers twitching with excitement and fear.

I practically lunged at the front seat, shouting at the driver, "Faster! Please!"

The driver, clearly affected by my urgency, pushed the car to its limits. It roared through the rainy night, weaving dangerously on the slippery roads. 

The windshield wipers flailed wildly, but couldn't completely clear the torrent of water, leaving the view blurred.

Time dragged on agonizingly. Every second felt like an eternity. I kept checking my phone, the screen dark, still no word from Zoey. 

Calling her number only resulted in the cold, mechanical "unable to connect."

Kurt's words, "She shouldn't have gone," and the abrupt end of the call echoed in my mind like a curse.

Finally, the car stopped at the edge of a rundown area, with only a few scattered lights. 

It felt like a forgotten corner of the bustling city, with abandoned factories and warehouses looming like giant skeletons in the rain, casting heavy shadows. The air was thick with the smell of rain, rust, and old paint.

"Miss, it's around here. You'll have to find the exact building yourself," the driver said, pointing to the dark cluster of buildings ahead, his tone tinged with hesitation and concern. "It's not safe here at night."

"Thanks!" I quickly paid, jumped out, and plunged back into the freezing downpour.

The rain swallowed me instantly. I stumbled through the muddy, uneven ground, splashing dirty water on my pants. 

Using the weak light from my phone's flashlight, I anxiously searched for the faded numbers on the walls. The shadows of the warehouses loomed like lurking beasts, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

"B-7, B-7..." I muttered, my heart pounding in my chest. Cold rainwater ran down my face, indistinguishable from sweat. Fear magnified in the darkness and silence.

Turning a corner piled with abandoned containers, I froze.

Ahead, a relatively isolated, modified two-story warehouse came into view. 

A dim, yellow light shone from a window on the second floor, like a lonely, flickering oil lamp in the dark, rainy night.

That's it! Byron's studio!

I locked my gaze on the window with the light.

That faint glow, in the endless darkness and cold rain, brought no warmth. Instead, it felt like a cold, watchful eye peering into the abyss, exuding an indescribable eeriness and foreboding.

Zoey, could she be in there? Is she alright?

Kurt's fear, Byron's identity, Zoey's disappearance—all clues pointed to this silent building in the storm. 

That window with the light was like a giant question mark, the heart of a chilling vortex.

I took a deep breath, the cold air mixed with rain stinging my lungs. Fear soaked through me like icy water, but a stronger determination pushed me forward. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, using the pain to fight the overwhelming cold and unease.

Step by step, I trudged through the mud and water towards the warehouse, towards that eerie, lit window. Each step felt like walking on a tightrope of fate, producing a silent, suffocating tremor.

The cold rain blurred my vision. I wiped my face and finally stood before the heavy, closed metal door. The sign "B-7" was clear in the phone's light. No light seeped through the door's cracks, only dead silence.

I reached out, my fingertips touching the cold, slippery metal. The chill made my fingers tremble.

Should I knock, or...

My eyes fell on the door handle. It was an old-fashioned, turn-to-open metal handle.

Almost instinctively, I grasped it and gave it a tentative twist.

A soft, but unmistakably clear click echoed in the silent, rainy night.

The door wasn't locked?!

A chill shot up my spine to the back of my head! My heart leaped into my throat!

Was the door open when Zoey came in? Or did someone leave or enter after her?

Every muscle in my body tensed. All my senses heightened to the extreme. I listened intently, but inside was dead silent, only the monotonous, continuous sound of rain outside.

No more hesitation!

I pushed the heavy metal door open with force.

The old door creaked loudly, a jarring sound in the rainy night, like a dying groan.

The door opened.

A mix of old paper, ink, dust, and a faint, almost imperceptible metallic tang hit me.

Inside, there was only impenetrable darkness.