The card spun through the air, striking Lucas before slowly fluttering to the ground.
Lucas lowered his head, his gaze falling upon the black-and-white card, clearly seeing the pattern upon it.
A Joker.
Just as Russell had described him.
At this, Lucas could no longer contain his anger.
[Malice Points from Lucas +20]
"What do you know..." His voice was low, like the growl of a beast.
"That is my love for her! You don't understand anything at all!
You have never seen her distressed over a design.
You have never heard her sighs late at night when her inspiration runs dry.
You know nothing... so how dare you question me here!"
He took a step forward, his toe stepping right on that Joker card.
"Only I... only I know which coffee she likes to drink. I know she habitually bites her lower lip when reading. I know she waters the flowers at nine in the morning.
She and I can understand each other. You and that detective, you two understand nothing! What gives you the right to defile all of this!"
[Malice Points from Lucas +10]
Russell listened quietly, though his attention was not on the other party at all.
He even took out another biscuit with great interest and popped it into his mouth.
"Finished?"
Russell asked indistinctly while chewing on the biscuit.
"I indeed do not understand you, nor do I get you. You were right about that statement."
He spoke slowly and methodically.
"Because I am not a pervert who would parasitize someone else's home and spy on their life."
"Shut up!!"
Lucas let out a roar of exasperation, then abruptly grabbed a fountain pen from the bedroom, as if that were the only weapon he could use to defend his pathetic dignity.
The nib glinted with a cold light as he stabbed toward Russell's neck without hesitation.
Seeing this, Russell silently stood up, set the bag of biscuits aside, and then placed one foot on the chair in front of him.
Immediately after, he applied a slight force with his right foot, kicking the chair flying outward so that it rushed straight toward the charging Lucas.
Lucas's thigh was struck by the chair, his movements stumbling slightly due to the pain.
Russell seized this instant to close in, raising his hand to grab the wrist Lucas used to hold the pen, and twisted it forcefully without hesitation.
Crack—
The crisp sound of bone dislocation rang out simultaneously with Lucas's grunt of pain.
The fountain pen flew out of his hand, hitting the floorboards and splattering ink.
"Unrefined forehand, powerless backhand."
[Your counterattack caused Lucas intense pain and unwillingness, Malice Points +30]
Russell gave him no chance to catch his breath. His other hand naturally seized Lucas's throat, slamming his entire body ruthlessly onto the ground.
"Loose footwork, slow reaction, not a single part of you is up to standard!"
Thud!
A dull impact sounded as the back of Lucas's head hit the floor, the world before his eyes spinning violently.
The buzzing in his brain drowned out all thought, leaving only the most primitive fear.
He tried to struggle, but that hand remained immovable; he could only feel the oxygen continuously draining from his lungs.
Russell leaned down, kneeling with one knee on Lucas's chest, putting his entire weight onto him.
He naturally didn't intend to kill the guy, but it was necessary to render Lucas incapable of resistance.
Just then, he heard the door behind him being knocked.
It was an extremely violent knocking method, as if the person wished they could smash a hole through the door.
Just as Russell was about to turn his head, the violent knocking behind him suddenly ceased.
Immediately after, a deafeningly loud noise resonated through the entire apartment.
The main door was kicked open.
And in the instant Russell turned his head, a pitch-black gun muzzle was aimed right at his face.
·
·
Twenty minutes ago.
221B Baker Street.
The call was disconnected.
The sound of the receiver being placed back in its cradle was the only movement in the apartment.
Charlotte returned to her armchair and continued drinking that cup of somewhat cold coffee, waiting for Russell's good news.
Then, five minutes passed just like that.
The phone was slow to ring.
Charlotte couldn't help but frown, but she quickly reined in her emotions.
Perhaps convincing the old lady next door took some time; at worst, she would just wait a bit longer.
Thus, another five minutes passed.
The phone still did not ring.
Charlotte clicked her tongue with some impatience.
"Even for something like a report, he needs others to urge him."
She complained once, then stood up, returned to the phone, picked up the receiver, and dialed the number back.
However, the other end was dead silent.
No one answered.
The sound insulation of the apartment Holly Davey lived in wasn't particularly good, so if the phone rang, Russell next door couldn't possibly fail to hear it.
Yet he did not pick up the phone.
There were only two possibilities for this situation.
Either this audacious fellow dared to ignore her.
Or he was unable to answer the phone.
It could be because the phone line was cut, or perhaps because he had been tied up by someone.
But regardless of which possibility it was, this could not be considered a good thing.
"Tsk."
Charlotte put down the receiver, turned to drape her overcoat over her shoulders, and stuffed that gun into her pocket.
It was already fully loaded.
She didn't think about transportation tools, nor did she calculate the time cost.
Her brain had already provided the optimal solution; all her body needed to do was execute it.
The wheels of the hackney carriage crushed over the streets of London. The scenery outside the window retreated rapidly in her vision, blurring until it finally turned into a mass of meaningless color blocks.
By the time she hurried up the stairs to Holly Davey's apartment door, a scream happened to come from inside.
If it were the Charlotte of the past, she might have analyzed whose voice produced that scream based on the timbre.
But the current her did not have that time.
After forcefully banging on the door twice and receiving no response, Charlotte directly adopted the most simple, crude, and effective method.
She took two steps back, then raised her foot.
Bang—!!
The old oak door cracked in response to the sound.
The moment the door was kicked open, time began to flow again.
Charlotte's gaze pierced through the flying woodchips and dust, locking precisely onto that figure who was high and mighty, occupying the advantage.
Subsequently, the dust settled.
Her gun muzzle was aimed steadily at that familiar face, which was written all over with shock and confusion.
She looked at Russell's stunned expression, looked at the man beneath him whose face had turned purple from lack of oxygen, and looked at the broken fountain pen and the Joker card stepped underfoot on the floor.
In just one second, Charlotte's Mind Palace had already completed the reading and analysis of all the information at the scene.
She had been over-anxious.
"Why are you here?" Russell asked curiously, maintaining the action of his hands.
"Because a certain someone kept failing to reply to my message, which forced me to consider whether he was dead."
Charlotte holstered her gun with a huff, walked into the room, and looked down at Lucas from above.
"Is this that ghost?"
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