Sunflower Florist was right across the street. Its red sign glared under the scorching sun, making her eyes swim. Looking out from this height, she could vaguely make out a figure busy inside the shop.
But she couldn't make out any finer movements; Bai Ci's eyesight was only so good.
Bai Ci took two steps back and moved to the other side of the window. Her gaze landed on the exterior wall of the office building diagonally across. Using the office building as a reference, she counted the floors between herself and the ground: one, two...
When she reached the thirteenth floor, her line of sight was perfectly level with the thirteenth-floor windows of the office building opposite.
Thirteen.
This number was considered unlucky in Western culture. Moreover, if her memory served her right, the female protagonist in the story of Mary on the phone lived exactly on the thirteenth floor.
Was it a coincidence? Or had she walked into a dead end right from the start because of her DM mindset?
Bai Ci didn't dare think too deeply about it. The most urgent matter right now was to go downstairs. Whether Mary was down there or not, she couldn't stay trapped in this room forever.
But when it came to actually leaving, she couldn't help but hesitate. Mary had just said she was downstairs. Whether she took the stairs or the elevator, she couldn't avoid the first floor. If she went down now, she would just be delivering herself on a silver platter.
In a situation like this, Mary would probably say, “I don't even know what happened. I was just standing downstairs, and the food literally jumped into my mouth.”
Bai Ci took a deep breath. She decided to wait for Mary's next call to confirm she had gone upstairs before taking the elevator down. As for now...
Instead of agonizing over it here, she might as well explore the rest of this “home” first. No matter what the situation was, looking for clues was always the right move.
She pulled open the bedroom door. Outside was a hallway carpeted in light gray. Directly opposite was another door. One end of the hallway was a dead-end wall, while the other opened up into a wider space, which, logically speaking, should be the living room.
Bai Ci first tried pushing open the door opposite her.
This was a larger bedroom. Its decor was much more subdued and mature than the small bedroom where Bai Ci had woken up. A dark brown wardrobe stood against the wall, and a picture frame sat on the nightstand. The photo inside had been taken out, leaving only empty black cardstock.
After scanning the room's furnishings, Bai Ci's gaze finally settled on the wardrobe. The “box at the very top of the wardrobe” mentioned in the diary wasn't in the small bedroom; it had to be this one.
She dragged over the chair by the nightstand, stepped onto it, and stood on her tiptoes. Her fingertips finally brushed against something hard.
It was a black wooden box with simple patterns carved on its surface. It felt somewhat heavy in her hands. There was a latch on the box, but it wasn't locked.
Opening it, she found only a white urn inside—likely a cremation urn. A small label was stuck to the urn, with the words “My Wife” written on it in black ink.
My Wife... This must refer to the little girl's mother from the diary.
So that was indeed the case. The mother wasn't “tired” or “refusing to come out of her room.” She was dead, and her ashes were sealed in this box, hidden at the very top of the wardrobe.
But what about the little girl? The diary stopped on July 15th, and today was July 16th. Where did the little girl go? Where was the father? And what was her own identity, suddenly appearing here like this?
Bai Ci began searching the rest of the bedroom.
In the nightstand drawer, there were a few blank notebooks and a dried-up pen. A few women's clothes hung in the wardrobe. The space under the bed was empty, save for a few tangled strands of hair.
There were no more clues. Aside from the urn, this bedroom held nothing but a cold, desolate silence.
Leaving the master bedroom, she entered the living room. It was fully furnished with a sofa, a coffee table, and a TV stand. A glass with half-empty water sat on the coffee table. On the TV stand was a vase holding a few long-withered white roses. Their petals were dried and shriveled, crumbling at the slightest touch.
White flowers... Were they these roses?
Bai Ci walked over and picked up the vase to examine it closely. She discovered a small white card tucked inside the withered bouquet. On it was printed text, likely provided by the florist:
“1. Flowers must be replaced before they wither;
Replacements must be ordered from the florist one day in advance;
Do not wear red clothing when replacing flowers;
If you forget to replace the flowers, come to the shop and wait until the next day to bring fresh flowers back.”
The first two rules were somewhat normal, but when combined with the latter two, they sent a shiver down Bai Ci's spine.
Weren't the flowers in the vase right in front of her already withered? So, had the father taken his daughter to the flower shop because of this?
Just then, the phone she had slipped into her pocket rang once more. The familiar ringtone sounded exceptionally grating in the silent apartment. Bai Ci pulled out the phone; the screen still displayed that same unsaved number.
With a racing heart, she pressed the answer button. As before, she remained silent, waiting for the other side to speak first.
“Drip, drop. Drip, drop.”
The dripping sound was clearer than the previous two times. She could even faintly hear muffled footsteps in the background, as if someone was climbing the stairs.
The next second, the distorted female voice rang out again, carrying a nearly bizarre cheerfulness: “Hello there, I am Mary.”
“I'm on the third floor now.”
The dial tone of the disconnected call buzzed, but Bai Ci suddenly let out a sigh of relief. This was the most opportune moment to go downstairs. Mary was on the third floor, while she was on the thirteenth. As long as she took the elevator down right now and walked straight out of the first floor, she could avoid Mary on the third floor and prevent a head-on collision.
As for the possibility of a high-rise building not having an elevator... If this bizarre place insisted on its own architectural standards, she would be completely helpless and could only slide down the stairs to feed Mary.
Fortunately, this place adhered to standard building codes. She walked to the elevator lobby and pressed the down button. The indicator light was on, showing that the elevator was currently on the fifteenth floor and slowly descending.
Every second of waiting felt stretched out. Leaning against the wall, Bai Ci could clearly hear her own heartbeat, as well as a faint whimpering sound echoing through the stairwell, like the wind blowing through.
With a ding, the elevator arrived at the thirteenth floor, and the doors slowly slid open.
It was empty. No one was inside.
Bai Ci stepped inside immediately, pressed the button for the first floor, and stared intently as the doors closed.
The elevator began its descent, the numbers changing from 13 to 12, then to 11...
With every floor it dropped, her heart beat a fraction faster.
When the number changed to “3,” Bai Ci instinctively held her breath, her eyes glued to the doors, terrified they might suddenly open.
One second, two seconds, three seconds...
The elevator didn't stop. The numbers continued to count down: 2, 1.
With a ding, the elevator reached the first floor, and the doors slowly opened.
Outside was the residential building's lobby. It was brightly lit, with several property notices posted on the wall. A woman holding a child sat on a nearby sofa, looking down at her phone. It seemed no different from any ordinary residential community.
Bai Ci quickly stepped out of the elevator and practically jogged out of the building's entrance. The sunlight beat down on her, carrying a scorching heat, yet she still felt a chill down her spine, as if eyes were still following her from behind.
She didn't look back. Crossing the street directly, she walked toward the Sunflower Florist opposite.
Rate on N.U.
