C15 (1/2)

I seem to have heard those words somewhere, where on earth …. Ah, yes, it's that Gypsy.

On the first day they moved in, she had once pulled Lina along and said a bunch of strange things.

”… ….” The hunter of the forest you are spying on, because you are his prey. ”

I opened my eyes. The cold wind made me shiver. I was already half out of the window. I subconsciously grabbed the window frame and looked down — —

There was nothing. On the street opposite the window, there was only a trash can that had been blown down by the wind. There was no Lina, nor was there any corpse.

The old gypsy woman, standing on the opposite side of the street, looked up in my direction. In her hands was the stray cat.

I shrank back into my room, my heart pounding, and pushed open the bedroom door.

”Lina?” I called softly.

Lina was still sleeping on the bed, but when she heard my voice, she gently turned her body over.

Was everything just an illusion? Or was I just dreaming?

I went back to the window and looked down.

Fear spread from the bottom of my feet. I almost fell off the sixth floor. I sat down on the sofa, my legs weak.

The dream was so real that the tears on my face hadn't dried yet. I still had the monster in my hands, its wet and slimy touch.

His head was in a mess. After sitting for a while, his throat felt dry and uncomfortable. He stood up and went to the kitchen to get a cup of water.

Because he was in a panic and didn't even wear a pair of slippers, his feet were stabbed by something and he almost fell over.

It was a colored pencil.

Lina and Alpha would often sit on the carpet to draw, and when I finished drawing, I would place the brush and paper directly on the carpet.

I squatted down and put the pencil back into the pen case. Beside the pen case, there was Alpha's painting book that was still open.

What he drew was a sketch of Lina's side.

Alpha's drawing was very moving, with just a few strokes, Lina's outline was outlined, it was extremely vivid.

I picked it up and flipped through a few pages, then drew some sketches of the kitten.

Suddenly a painting caught my attention. It was a sketch, and Lina sat on a chair with a child in her arms. The child even had a pacifier in his mouth.

It could be Lina asked him to draw it, or it could be his imagination.

This drawing paper is folded in half, I can only see the upper half of Lina and the baby. The lower half is folded over and nestled behind.

I opened the half-folded sheet.

The infant in Lina's arms, from the moment it was folded, drew the other body that was growing in the opposite direction.

Taken together, it was the monster I just saw.

The picture book fell to the ground with a thud.

”... Lei? ” Lina's voice came from the bedroom. She was sleeping very lightly, and my movements had woken her up.

”No ….” ”Nothing.” I quickly picked up the picture book, tore it out, and put it in my backpack.

Who exactly was Alpha?

I decided that she would definitely know something when I look for that Gypsy tomorrow morning.

February 21, 1988

I made a pot of espresso early in the morning.

”You don't look like you slept well.” Lina heated up two breakfasts in the kitchen. I forced myself to smile. In reality, I hadn't slept for the entire night. After what happened last night, how could I dare to sleep again?

”Do you still remember that litter of kittens? That tiger skin has a spot on its head, and it's too weak. It can't get a nipple every time. There were a few times when I thought it was going to die.” Lina took some hot milk from the stove and poured it into a plastic bowl as well. ”Try to feed it today, let's see if it drinks.”

I recalled that the one with spots on its head was the cat that Alpha touched before. At that time, its eyes were covered in feces and it had been isolated by other cats in a corner of the box. Alpha seemed to have named it Peter.

”I'll go back to the research room and give a report.” — an excuse I had come up with last night.

Lina did not ask any further. I finished my coffee, picked up my bag and rushed out.

Today was the weekend, so the wholesale markets around were not open. There were only plastic bags and newspapers flying around.

Walking out of the building, I looked around. There was no direction in the concrete forest, so I could only search along the side street.

The street was empty, and after a few steps I saw an overturned trash can facing the window on the sixth floor. That's where the old gypsy woman stood looking at me last night.

After passing through the small street, they arrived at the street park in the downtown area. Los Angeles is a mix of luxury metropolises and squalid slums, both a paradise for the rich and a habitat for the homeless. Under the colorful neon lights, there were at least 6,000 homeless people. More and more trash cans appeared on the roadside. There were dehydrated perfume and small ads stuck to the lampposts and cement ground. All of the shops, without exception, pulled the iron gate which was sprayed with strange patterns of graffiti. The tramps leaned against the iron gates in their tattered clothes, covered with tarps, and rested their heads on their belongings and plastic cans.

A black man pushed a shopping cart from the supermarket and spoke to himself as he walked past me. I frowned as I smelled strongly of urine.

”Do you have any change?” He suddenly stopped me.

I gave him a dollar. ”Have you seen a gypsy?”