"Of course, I understand what you did, Mr. Charles."
Russell nodded, speaking at just the right moment to soothe Charles's emotions.
"No one here is going to blame you. Tell me about your work—what did you usually do?"
"Work…" Charles repeated the word, his eyes suddenly turning somewhat hollow, as though he'd sunk into a long-buried memory.
"Most of the time, it was work that couldn't be done in the light of day," he said.
"Cracking open some rich man's safe, or helping them open crates of dubious origin. Sometimes they'd need me to repair certain… special tools."
He didn't spell it out, but both Russell and Charlotte understood exactly what he meant.
"Pilsen thought highly of me," Charles went on. "He said my hands were the steadiest in all of London—a gift bestowed by God himself."
"He wasn't wrong," Russell agreed. "Your hands truly are skilled. I doubt many could match you."
At his words, Charles gave a faint smile.
"You must have opened a great many locks, then?" Russell asked.
"O-of course." Charles nodded. "Just about every kind of lock on the market—I've opened them all."
"And foreign ones?" Russell pressed. "Those imported locks—have you opened those too?"
"Those too," Charles nodded. "Plenty of nobles and big merchants use imported security locks in their homes. But to me, there's no real difference between any of them."
"Impressive," Russell praised sincerely.
If Russell could have seen Charles's status panel, he was certain the man's [Sleight of Hand] level would be far from low.
Quite possibly a B-rank.
"So then…" He paused, then asked with pointed meaning:
"Among all those locks, did you ever come across one that gave you real trouble?"
Russell said.
"Something like… an imported security lock from Switzerland, perhaps?"
Hearing Russell's question, Charles furrowed his brow, his slightly relaxed expression tensing up once more.
Charlotte and Doctor Vanessa held their breath at the same moment, watching Charles intently, observing what his next reaction would be.
Having finished his question, Russell said nothing more, simply sitting quietly in his seat, quietly watching Charles, waiting for his answer.
The ward was very quiet—so quiet it seemed one could hear every person's breathing and heartbeat.
"There was…" After who knew how long, Charles finally spoke slowly, forcing a dry syllable up from his throat.
"There was one."
He said, his voice very low.
"That must have been a very difficult lock to deal with?" Russell asked softly.
"Yes… it… it was complicated," Charles lifted his head, a glimmer of professional pride kindling in his clouded eyes.
"A double-lock structure, a six-digit combination dial, and every gear meshed with absolute precision."
He said.
"Whoever designed that lock must have been a genius. I'd never seen a lock so complex."
"So then—did you open it?" Charlotte couldn't help but ask.
Charles turned his head, looked at her, and after a moment's silence, said slowly:
"I… I opened it," he said. "It was difficult, but I opened it."
He spoke, his tone growing gradually more feverish.
"I got that lock open!"
"Congratulations," Russell clapped his hands. "So then—what was behind the lock?"
He asked.
"After you put in all that tremendous effort and finally opened that lock, what was waiting for you?"
"It was…" Charles's pupils trembled, his mind racing through recollection and thought.
"It was a whole pile of safes," he said.
"I remember now—Pilsen wanted… wanted us to open that door, and then open one of the safes."
"Which one?" Russell asked.
"I don't know… but I had the combination. We just had to try them one by one."
"The combination?"
"Right… the combination…" Charles murmured to himself, that pair of clouded eyes flickering with light and terror intertwined, like a candle flame wavering at the edge of an abyss.
"It seemed to be… a six-digit combination…"
"Do you still remember what the combination was?" Charlotte asked softly, afraid of disturbing Charles's train of thought.
"I remember… I remember…" Charles nodded, beginning to unconsciously trace something on his knee with his fingers, his lips parting and closing as if performing some silent calculation.
"I remember there was an 8," he spat out a single digit, his voice dry and hesitant.
Russell and Charlotte exchanged a glance, and the latter swiftly jotted the number down in her notebook.
"Was the first digit 8?"
"No… no… that's not right, I can't remember clearly. I only remember the numbers…"
Charles continued, his breathing beginning to quicken. "There was also a… a 9, but I've forgotten what order they went in…"
He suddenly shook his head in agitation, clawing at his own hair, seeming to have sunk into some quagmire of chaotic memory.
"It's alright, Charles, take your time."
Doctor Vanessa gently reminded him from the side, trying to steady his emotions.
"Think back—when Pilsen told you the combination, what expression did he have? Did he make any particular gesture?"
Russell spoke up as well, guiding Charles, trying through his questions to shift Charles's attention away from the "combination" itself and onto the scene of "being told the combination," so as to steer clear of that most sensitive trigger point.
The method seemed to have some slight effect.
Charles's breathing calmed just a little.
He raised his head, gazing blankly at Russell, those clouded eyes searching for something in that young face.
"I remember… he was smiling then," Charles said. "He… he was very happy."
"Very happy, smiling—and then?"
"Pilsen told me… as long as we opened that door, we'd strike it rich."
Charles said haltingly.
"He didn't say what was behind the door. He only said that once we opened that safe… we'd be set for life, never wanting for food or clothing."
"And then?" Russell continued guiding him.
"And then… he told me the combination… he… he… his voice…"
Charles stared fixedly at Russell's face, at that visage that was gentle yet carried a trace of urgency.
All at once, his pupils contracted sharply.
An inexplicable, overwhelming sense of déjà vu drowned him in an instant, like a cold and rising tide.
The face before him and some blurred figure in his memory began to overlap and merge in an eerie way.
Not the features—but that feeling.
That air of effortless mastery, as if everything were within his grasp; that gaze carrying a hint of mockery and amusement…
So alike!
Just like… just like…
"Just like him!"
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