Holly continued narrating.
"That feeling, you know… it's almost like… the feeling when you leave your house. Someone crawls into your bed and uses your body heat to warm themselves up, and once they're warm, they turn around and use their own heat to warm your bed... Can you understand that feeling...?"
Holly's voice suddenly stopped. She couldn't say anything more—only a stifled, faint sob escaped her lips. Listening to her explanation, Russell couldn't help getting goosebumps.
That's kind of perverted, he thought. Instinctively, he glanced at Charlotte.
Charlotte had gotten up from the sofa. There was no laziness left in that movement; her deep, bluish-gray eyes looked like they were burning with fire.
"That's fascinating…" she said gently. "Congratulations, Miss David. You've piqued my interest in this so-called ghost."
"I'll take this case." She paused for a moment, then glanced at Russell. "Watson."
"Hm?" Russell raised an eyebrow and looked at Charlotte.
"You'll go with Miss Holly to her house. Now is the time for you to make a difference."
"No, I'm not going." Russell refused without thinking.
"This is no time for tantrums. Don't you realize that this poor lady is being tormented by a perverted ghost?" Charlotte said. "Now is the time to show your chivalry."
"What's the point of that ridiculous chivalry? It disappeared thousands of years ago," Russell sneered. "In any case, I wouldn't go alone anyway."
With that, he brushed past Charlotte and Holly, walking straight into Charlotte's room. A while later, Russell came out holding a coat, and, seeing Charlotte's bewildered expression, threw it at her.
"Get changed," he said, pointing at the coat, then at the door. "Let's go."
…
Two minutes later, the three of them climbed into a carriage to Holly's home. Russell and Charlotte sat on one side facing Holly, who nervously fiddled with her fingers while occasionally glancing at the girl on the opposite bench, who seemed to be resting with her eyes closed.
"Miss David," Russell decided to break the suffocating silence. "Can I ask about your work?"
"Ah…" Holly was startled at first, but quickly composed herself. "I'm a designer at a fashion design studio," she explained simply.
"Are you single?"
"Yes... I used to date someone, but it's over now. But it absolutely had nothing to do with him," Holly said confidently.
"Why?" Russell asked.
"Because he dumped me and never tried to get back together." Holly answered, looking a little uncomfortable.
"In that case, has anyone been pursuing you lately, or shown interest?" Russell probed again. He wanted to approach the case from an emotional angle.
"Um… no." Holly shook her head. "Everyone at the studio gets along well. There are a few, but… nobody's gotten to that level."
"I see." Russell nodded, leaning back on the cushion, quickly sorting through the information he'd gathered. Coffee cup, perfume, watering can, bookshelf, and a warm bed... The fact that the intruder stole nothing valuable indicated that theft or intimidation wasn't their goal. This was more… pathological.
He sensed no malice in the ghost's behavior, only a sort of pure, obsessive emotion. Pathological infatuation.
"So, how's work?" Russell changed his perspective. "Any enemies at your studio? Or anyone who idolizes your talent?"
"There shouldn't be any grudges between us…" Holly considered carefully. "Everyone just wants to design better clothes. Sometimes we disagree, but it's never come to anything serious. People who admire my talent…" She gave a wry smile. "Every designer thinks they're Van Gogh or Monet, that nobody else can understand their art. In our work, there's far more envy than there is admiration."
"That's true," Russell said vaguely.
After ruling out colleagues, ex-boyfriends, and suitors, the pool of suspects seemed to have both shrunk and expanded.
Before he realized it, the carriage had come to a stop. They'd arrived.
Holly's apartment was a typical London red-brick building—somewhat old, but well-kept.
"I live in a studio apartment on the third floor," Holly explained as she walked toward the door.
"Miss David," Charlotte, who had been silent all this time, suddenly spoke. "Has there been any construction or large-scale renovation happening near your home recently?"
"Eh?" Holly felt the question was a bit sudden, but still answered after a moment of silence. "No, most people living here are elderly and don't like crowds. That's why I moved here, too—I needed quiet space to think."
"Got it," Charlotte nodded. "Lead the way."
"Alright… okay." Holly nodded and opened the door.
Holly's apartment was a cozy, compact one-bedroom on the third floor, serving as her bedroom, study, living room, and with a separate bathroom. The entire layout brimmed with a designer's ingenuity, every piece of furniture and decoration exquisitely positioned, and the air faintly scented.
Yet beneath this warmth and elegance, a sense of unease lingered.
"This is my home," Holly said, her voice tinged with nervousness.
Charlotte entered silently, visually inspecting the beautiful decorations, rapidly surveying the room. Russell, guided by his thief instincts, began checking for points of entry or weaknesses—such as the lock on the door.
As Holly had said, the lock was new and there were no signs of forced entry. Then he went to the window and checked the latch—also untouched.
With a slight frown, Russell instinctively checked the house as a professional would, looking for any stealthy way someone could have gotten inside. One by one, any method that would leave obvious traces was eliminated.
Too clean. It was so clean, it felt as if nobody had ever even set foot there—utterly unreasonable.
Unless the ghost's stealth and dexterity vastly exceeded his own, Russell was sure he would have found something.
Also, if the culprit had such abilities, why would they use them for perverted mischief in someone else's home? Isn't that just pitiful?
On the other side, Charlotte approached the vanity and picked up the perfume bottle.
"Is this the one?"
"Yes." Holly nodded and stepped up to take it from Charlotte. "I bought it last week. I spray a little every time I go out. See? Like this…"
She sprayed a small amount in front of Charlotte, and the faint scent instantly dispersed through the air.
"It's not very expensive," Charlotte said, glancing at the bottle. "But at least a third has already been used."
….