"Zheng——"
A huge, teeth-grinding sound of metal clashing echoed through the street.
Many passengers covered their ears and looked in the direction of the sound, only to see a woman in black standing there and a group of crows fleeing away from her.
……
In the evening, the moon is shining brightly.
"Huh...huh..."
Hitzfeld was dragging his suitcase and walking down the street, breathing heavily, his heart full of resentment towards a woman.
What about 28 stops, what about changing trains...
Obviously, you can take the special line train directly from Nanbu Station...
Thinking of the "good-natured ridicule" of the bus driver and a group of passengers, the girl's face turned red, and she didn't know whether it was because of tiredness or anger.
"Iris Street..."
"Is this here?"
Standing at a crossroads, she stopped, wiped the sweat off her face, and looked up at the scenery around her.
The street lights were on, as were the shop signs and chandeliers on the walls.
It certainly doesn't reach the standards of a modern city, but it's much better than Flo Street which becomes dead silent after dusk.
In fact, a minute ago, she could vaguely recognize the road.
Although she had never been here before, she had walked this road once from a primary perspective in that light.
"No. 221... this is it."
Coming to the other side of the intersection, the girl stopped at a well-hidden narrow doorway and saw a sign hanging on the door.
【No. 221-222】
He dragged the box upstairs with great effort, and following his memory, he stopped in front of a brown-black wooden door on the second floor. Hitzfeld compared it and confirmed that it was exactly the same door that he opened in his memory.
The layout of the corridor is the same as I remember - it faces the inner side of the archway, and there is a courtyard below. The corridor side is left empty, with only a row of concrete railings. When the clouds are thin, you can see the moon directly from here, but the downside is that there are more mosquitoes in the summer.
It's almost eight o'clock now.
They said the pace of life in Port Vien is fast and they hope the homeowner hasn’t rested yet.
With a nervous mood, Hitzfeld pressed the doorbell.
No sound at all.
She knocked on the door instead.
no respond.
She waited a moment, knocked again, and repeated the cycle three times before noticing that the mailbox hanging by the door was filled with papers.
I took out a handful and examined them carefully, and found that they were all bills for overdue water and electricity payments.
"No way……"
She took another step back, lowered her head, and saw in the moonlight that there was a thick layer of dust at the door.
The few shoe prints were all made by her just now.
Chapter 29 Alfred
There was no need for Ethan or anyone else to feel that the girl was like an abandoned puppy.
She was sure that her collapsed expression now made her look like an abandoned puppy.
I wonder... Is there no one living in this place?
What about the letter sent by the lady? What about the reply?
The most important thing is - where should she sleep tonight?
"Ahem, ahem!"
Just when Hitzfeld didn't know what to do, a few extremely deliberate coughs suddenly came from behind.
Looking back, I saw an old man dressed like a beggar leaning against the wall.
Looking at the door opposite, it was open and a dim light was coming through.
Obviously, the old man should be from there.
There are two households on each floor of this corridor. No. 221 is a card shop on the second floor. If you go in, you should be able to see the intersection directly through the glass.
In contrast, No. 222 is located more inland and not facing the street, which may have the advantage of being quieter.
"gentlemen."
Hitzfeld thought that this man was coughing deliberately because he was mentally ill, but the lady's teachings these days were still effective. She tried to ask him politely: "Are you living next door? Can I ask what's going on at No. 221?"
"Are you familiar with the owner of 221?"
The old man took a puff of his pipe, with most of his face hidden behind the misty smoke.
"No." The girl shook her head. "It's just that a friend of mine is very familiar with the landlord. My friend wrote a letter to the landlord to introduce me. The landlord was curious and invited me to be his guest..."
Having no relatives to take care of her since childhood made her relatively precocious. Before, she had referred to Xia Yibing as "relatives", but now she changed it to "friends".
...Who knows if the landlord owes anyone money, and she doesn't want to be bothered by debt collectors.
"You've been deceived." The old man interrupted her before she could finish.
"……what?"
"I said you were deceived." He sneered, "No. 221... Humph, no one has been here for at least thirty years."
"Are you serious?" Hitzfeld frowned deeply.
She was totally confused.
"I've lived here for thirty-six years. I can tell you responsibly that, except for the first ten years when people would occasionally come to deliver bills, this place has been like a haunted house ever since. No one is willing to come here anymore."
"So..." Hitzfeld adjusted his expression, walked closer and bowed to him.
"Esun Hitzfeld..."
Then, before she could finish, the old man grabbed one of her hands and shook it hard.
"Hello Hitzfeld, I'm Alfred."
"..." If he wasn't an old man, Hitzfeld would have picked up the suitcase and thrown it into the corridor.
"So Mr. Alfred..."
"No, no! Don't be so formal. I hate it when people address me with honorifics. Who knows what you really think? Just call me by my name, Alfred!"
"Well, then, Alfred," Hitzfeld said, holding back his temper, "where else can I get information like this besides from you?"
"The pork chop shop across the street, the ice cream shop, the clothing store... just ask around. Of course, they've only been here for 20 years at most. If you want to find out about something older than me, you can go to the Bingbo Hotel across the intersection. They have at least a century of history."
"Thank you." The girl nodded politely and planned to leave immediately.
"You don't trust an old man like me?"
Just as she reached the platform on the middle floor of the corridor, Alfred's faint voice came from above again.
"Not really." Hitzfeld tried to sound calmer. "I am naturally more cautious. This is not a prejudice against you. If anyone were in your position, I would still do the same."
"Ha ha ha ha……"
There was a burst of laughter from above.
"then!"
Something with a metallic reflective surface was suddenly thrown down from above.
Hitzfeld dodged reflexively, causing it to hit the ground with a crisp sound.
When I picked it up, it turned out to be a bunch of brass keys.
"This is the key to 221."
"If you get the answer and don't want to stay in a strange hotel, you can clean it yourself."
"But first of all, no one has lived there for at least thirty-six years. Dust, cobwebs, and so on... you'd better be prepared."
He actually has the key to 221?
Why didn't he tell me earlier?
"Alfred!?"
Hitzfeld shouted loudly, dropped the box and ran back to the second floor in the corridor, but only saw a few crows that were frightened and flew away.
The door of No. 222 closed again.
There was no response when I knocked on the door.
Look at the crack in the door.
It was pitch black inside.
As if she remembered something, she looked down at the floor again.
The dusty cement floor had only her shoe prints on it.
……
The next day, Hitzfeld woke up in a bedroom at the Bingbo Hotel.
After washing up, including a nice hot shower, the girl returned to the bed in her underwear and sat down, letting her hair down to dry naturally.
I've inquired about the news.
Alfred wasn't lying.
Both the nearby shops and the person in charge of this hotel assured her solemnly that at least for 38 to 40 years, No. 221 opposite had been uninhabited.
Originally, it should have been a private cultural and creative studio - if I remember correctly, the hotel owner Coleman mentioned the "Dawson Literary Society" yesterday, and that was the sign it had back then.
But now the sign has been removed long ago, and the windows on the second floor are closed all year round. People say that it is "haunted", and no one even dares to enter the doorway on the first floor.
No one dared to go up.
It hasn't been cleaned for thirty or forty years.
Plus, the water and electricity must have been cut off long ago.
Pipelines and other aspects are also aging and in urgent need of maintenance.
All these questions combined are why she woke up here.
The key was also confirmed to be genuine. The girl planned to ask her boss if there was a housekeeping company in the area, otherwise she alone would not be able to make the house habitable again.
As for why the boss would be so patient in answering the questions of a "country girl" like her...
"Dong dong dong."
A knock on the door.
"Is Miss Hitzfeld here?"
"I would like to continue consulting you about the formula of your perfume..."
……
Hitzfeld didn't know that at this moment, the sloppy old man from last night was sitting in a coffee shop diagonally opposite.
"Refusing to spend the night with spider rats, huh, pretty smart."
"The investigation is clear."
A tall man sitting opposite knocked on the table.
"Aisun Hitzfeld, lost his memory, was picked up by Lilith about seven days ago. He is kind, cautious, and vigilant. He lacks common sense and has just started using a gun. His shooting skills are between poor and excellent. He once worked with Ethan to deal with the artificial corpse puppet 'Nightmare Man' that had troubled Team 17 for a long time..."
"The intelligence provider is Xia Yibing, the captain of Team 17... This means she is fully responsible for the accuracy of the intelligence."
“So it’s weird.”
The man stared at Alfred.
