The attack came without warning.
The detective jolted upright, all traces of sleep instantly gone—but something was wrong.
There was no sound.
Not from the bed. Not from his movement. Not even the faint creak of springs beneath him.
The world had gone completely silent.
The only things he could hear were his own heartbeat—loud, erratic—and the rough rhythm of his breathing.
The room was bathed in dim red light.
The motel's flickering neon sign outside the window painted everything in a sickly crimson glow. Earlier, he had mocked it as cheap and tacky.
Now, it felt like the only thing keeping him from complete darkness.
The curtains stirred.
Slowly.
And in that shifting fabric, something appeared.
A face.
Pale. Lifeless. With blood staining the corners of its mouth.
An old woman smiled at him.
"Detective…"
The voice didn't belong in this world.
It slid into his ears like ice.
His pupils shrank.
Mary Shaw.
Everything Jamie had told him—the nursery rhyme, the killings, the impossible details—crashed into his mind all at once.
Cold sweat drenched his back.
He turned slightly.
Jamie was still asleep.
Completely unaware.
The detective wanted to shout. To wake him. To do anything.
But he didn't dare.
If he made a sound—
His tongue would be torn out.
"Don't speak… don't speak…" he whispered to himself internally, his lips trembling but barely moving.
The figure drew closer.
Closer.
Too close.
And just as his composure finally began to break—
BOOM!
The door exploded open.
A figure rushed in.
Something hit the detective's face—a pillow, forced hard against his mouth.
At that exact moment—
Sound returned.
The world snapped back into place.
Jamie jolted awake, disoriented.
But before he could react, a powerful gust of wind tore through the room.
The detective saw it clearly.
The man who had entered—
Lucien Blackwood—
moved like a shadow.
In the blink of an eye, he was already in front of Mary Shaw.
Even the ghost hesitated for a fraction of a second.
That was all Lucien needed.
His foot slammed into the ground.
Power surged upward from his stance, flowing through his body in a single, explosive chain of motion.
Then—
His elbow struck forward.
It wasn't just strength.
Something else moved with it.
A force.
Invisible, but undeniable.
The impact landed squarely into Mary Shaw's chest.
BOOM!
The sound cracked through the room like thunder.
"Aaaaaaah!!!"
A scream tore through the silence—sharp, furious, and filled with pain.
Mary Shaw's form was blasted backward, slamming violently into the wall.
The entire room shook.
Jamie scrambled to turn on the lamp, his hands trembling.
Light flooded the space—
And revealed the aftermath.
The wall was dented inward, concrete fractured from the force of the impact.
But there was no old woman.
Only a shattered ventriloquist doll.
Its body was broken into pieces, scattered across the floor.
One glass eye rolled slowly… stopping near the edge of the bed.
Staring up at Jamie.
He froze.
Even knowing it was just a doll… he couldn't shake the feeling that something was still looking at him.
"What… what the hell was that?" the detective stammered, his voice shaking.
His earlier arrogance had completely vanished.
"That was Mary Shaw," Jamie said, still trying to process everything.
He turned to Lucien, hope rising in his eyes.
"Did we… stop her?"
Lucien didn't answer immediately.
He stood there quietly, flexing his fingers slightly, as if testing something.
The strike had worked.
Better than expected.
The energy flowing through his body had responded perfectly, reinforcing his movement and amplifying the force of his attack.
It wasn't just martial arts anymore.
It was something beyond that.
His understanding had deepened in that instant.
But—
Lucien exhaled slowly.
"It's not over."
He turned toward the door.
Jamie didn't hesitate and followed immediately.
Behind them, the detective remained frozen for a moment, torn between fear and disbelief—before finally scrambling to his feet and chasing after them.
Outside, the cold night air hit hard.
A car engine roared to life.
Jamie blinked in confusion as he rushed over.
"Lucien… where did you even get this car—?"
"Get in."
No explanation. No pause.
Just urgency.
Jamie climbed in quickly.
Then he froze.
Two figures sat in the back seat.
"Walker? Marian? What are you doing here?!"
The elderly man looked uneasy, clearly unsure how to explain.
But Lucien didn't give him the chance.
The car shifted into gear and sped forward.
"Where are we going?" Jamie asked, gripping the seat.
"Your house."
Jamie frowned. "Why my house?"
From the back seat, Walker let out a slow sigh.
"This town… wasn't always like this," he began.
"There used to be a theater. A lakeside theater."
"Mary Shaw performed there."
His voice grew distant, as if recalling something he wished he could forget.
"One night, during a performance… a child in the audience pointed out a flaw."
"The room went silent."
"But Mary Shaw… recovered. She proved herself."
He paused.
"But she never forgot."
"Not long after, the child disappeared."
Jamie's expression shifted.
"I was there that night," Walker continued quietly. "I saw it."
"The way she looked at that child…"
A shiver ran through him.
"'Who is the dummy?' she asked."
"The question… didn't feel like part of the act."
Silence filled the car.
"The child's family believed she was responsible," Walker said. "They gathered the townspeople."
"They dragged her out."
"And they forced her to scream."
Jamie clenched his fists.
"And then… they cut out her tongue."
Lucien's gaze remained fixed on the road.
Walker continued.
"Before she died… she made two final wishes."
"To be turned into a doll after death…"
"And to be buried with all the dolls she had created."
Jamie's breath caught.
Dolls.
Billy.
The one that had been sent to his house.
The one Lucien had just destroyed.
"After her death… people started dying," Walker said.
"One by one."
"Their jaws torn open."
"Their tongues removed."
"Turned into dolls… displayed like family."
Jamie's face went pale.
"And that nursery rhyme…" Walker finished. "That's where it came from."
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then—
"What does that have to do with me?" Jamie asked, his voice tight.
Lucien answered this time.
"The boy who disappeared…"
"He was your ancestor."
Jamie's eyes widened.
"And your family," Lucien continued calmly, "led the group that killed Mary Shaw."
Silence.
Heavy. Suffocating.
"Do you really think she would let that go?"
Jamie couldn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The answer was obvious.
Lucien's voice remained steady.
"While investigating, I found something else."
"Mary Shaw doesn't just kill randomly."
"She wipes out entire bloodlines."
"Generation by generation."
"From the top… to the bottom."
His grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
"She started with you and your wife."
Jamie felt his chest tighten.
Because now—
He finally understood.