Interlude
Rain.
It had all begun on a rainy day. The falling drops were the only ones who knew the whole story, but they had burst against the ground and disappeared.
He could hear many people.
He could hear many voices.
Even through the sound of the cold rain, he could hear them.
A group of irritated men were talking to one another.
Find him? Not here.
He has to be here. That can’t be right.
Look over there. Check over here. Find him.
It’s just one lousy brat. Let’s leave him. There’s no time.
If he’s not here, that means he didn’t see, right?
Even if he saw, what can he do?
He’s just a kid. True. He didn’t see our faces, either.
They reached his ears along with the rain: irritated voices, anxious voices, relaxed voices.
As he hid in the closet, all the boy could do was listen.
He couldn’t hear the one voice he wanted to hear—his mother’s.
Could the faint scream he’d heard earlier have been hers?
That day…
…robbers had taken away the boy’s mother from him.
The first attacker ran a small speakeasy.
The second owned a real estate office.
The third was an active police officer.
The fourth operated a rental warehouse.
And the fifth was—
—a young reporter.
Nearly two years passed, and then…
…a boy who’d sworn vengeance met an immortal monster…
…and a reporter who feared death was reunited with a killer.
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