Chapter 112 “Rundown Street”
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Shirley walked cautiously alongside Duncan, acutely aware of the heavy silence that enveloped them both. The quiet did little to soothe her growing tension; instead, it intensified her feeling of being trapped and afraid. She could sense that this unease wasn’t solely her own—much of it emanated from her canine companion, Dog.
The two shared a unique, symbiotic bond that allowed emotions to pass between them. Dog was clearly scared, and its feelings were seeping into her, making the atmosphere feel even more stifling.
Desperate to break the silence, Shirley ventured a soft-spoken comment, “You know, there was a time when I didn’t have to worry about tickets. Dog had a way to make sure we’d be overlooked.”
Duncan quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you referring to the ‘disguise’ that Dog creates for you? Some sort of cognitive manipulation that makes people not notice you?”
He recalled how Shirley had once infiltrated a secretive cult’s hideout using a similar technique granted by Dog. But he quickly dismissed the idea, “It can’t be that reliable. Last time, someone saw through it, and today you were caught by a ticket inspector.”
Shirley felt a pang of resentment at Duncan’s words. It wasn’t that Dog’s abilities had failed them. Rather, they’d been spotted by this malevolent entity that was powerful enough to break through Dog’s disguise. However, she swallowed her complaints and mustered a fake laugh, “Haha, you’re probably right.”
Duncan shook his head, seemingly unconcerned with her internal turmoil. What intrigued him more was her current line of investigation. “Why are you so interested in the ‘incident’ that took place eleven years ago?”
At first, Shirley hesitated. Something within her cautioned against revealing too much, but she soon dismissed the feeling. Trying to keep secrets from someone as enigmatic and otherworldly as Duncan would be futile. Finally, she replied softly, “I’m just trying to find out what happened to my parents back then.”
She added quickly, expecting him to find her concerns trivial, “I realize that someone of your nature might find the emotional attachments of mere mortals like us insignificant, but—”
“No, I get it,” Duncan interrupted her, anticipating that she would fill her sentence with unnecessary elaborations. “It’s an important reason to look into the past.”
His eyes then met hers with a penetrating gaze. “Were your parents connected to that gas leak eleven years ago? Or were they victims of cultists?”
The question took Shirley by surprise. She wondered why someone like Duncan would be interested in her personal history. Still, she answered honestly, “They disappeared eleven years ago. ‘Disappeared’ might be putting it lightly; they’re dead. The circumstances of their deaths are unknown. Since then, it’s just been me and Dog navigating through life.”
The tone of Shirley’s voice was notably subdued as she recounted these memories, clearly indicating that they were a source of discomfort for her. Duncan chose not to push her further. “Some followers of the Sun Cult suggest you’re aligned with the Annihilation Sect. They argue that only members of that sect have the ability to summon shadow demons. But you don’t seem to see it that way,” he observed.
“I don’t belong to any ‘sect’! The only thing I believe in is myself,” Shirley responded almost reflexively, her voice tinged with irritation. Realizing her tone might be too sharp, she quickly modulated her voice to sound more composed. “I encountered Dog eleven years ago.”
Upon hearing this, Duncan halted abruptly in his tracks and locked eyes with her intently. “Eleven years ago? That means…”
“Yes, it was after the incident involving the ‘factory leak,'” Shirley also stopped walking and looked downward as she spoke. “The details are blurry for both me and Dog. Dog might’ve been summoned by someone from the Annihilation Sect, but if that was the case, that individual was likely killed by the guardians of the Storm Church. Somehow, after that, Dog and I became connected… became ‘bound’ to each other.”
Duncan sensed that Shirley was holding back; her account was purposefully brief and lacking in details. She was operating on a self-preservation instinct, even when facing an entity as powerful as Duncan against whom she had little to no defenses. Her inclination was to protect herself by not divulging all her secrets.
Duncan pondered briefly about using intimidation to extract more information from Shirley but dismissed the idea. Such a tactic would not necessarily yield the complete truth, especially given the existing lack of trust between them. For now, he decided to let the subject rest.
As they resumed walking, Duncan’s eyes scanned the somewhat rundown streets, noting the aimless pedestrians who were predominantly middle-aged or elderly. “It’s unusual to see almost no children around,” he mused. “Most people on the streets are either elderly or middle-aged, and even the young adults are scarce.”
“That’s typical for these older neighborhoods,” Shirley answered, sounding quite matter-of-fact. “Anyone who can afford to has relocated to more prosperous areas. The ones who remain are often either elderly or those who lack the means or ambition to move. Moreover, the absence of community schools in neighborhoods like this means that children usually relocate with their families.”
Duncan listened to Shirley’s well-informed explanation and hummed in noncommittal agreement. While he could conceptualize the demographic shifts that led to the aging of such neighborhoods, the atmosphere of stagnation and decline seemed even more palpable than he would have expected.
Lost in these thoughts, his eyes settled on an elderly man with graying hair who sat outside a small shop, seemingly basking in the sun. The man looked slightly disoriented, almost bewildered, as he observed unfamiliar faces passing by on the street. It was as if the man’s confused gaze was a microcosm of the larger sense of decline and uncertainty that pervaded the area.
Walking purposefully, Duncan approached the elderly man who was sunbathing at the entrance of his small, weather-beaten shop. Shirley was a mere shadow, glued to his heels.
“Good morning,” Duncan greeted warmly, extending the veneer of polite interest. “We’re visitors from the fourth district, looking to pay our respects at the local chapel. Know where we might find it?”
In reality, Duncan had little interest in the chapel’s location. His inquiry was merely a pretext to initiate a conversation with a local resident who might provide insights into the community.
Jolted from his languorous state by the question, the elderly man sat up and scrutinized Duncan and Shirley with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “The chapel? Ah, that place has been shuttered for some time. Heaven only knows where the nun has disappeared to,” he said, shaking his head. “Strange, we don’t often have outsiders venture into this part of town. What brings you here?”
“We’re just visiting a friend,” Duncan replied nonchalantly, not wishing to delve into their actual mission. “So, this place doesn’t get many visitors? Why do you suppose that is?”
“It’s all the fault of that accursed factory,” the old man grumbled, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Ever since the disaster years ago, the vicinity of the factory has become a blighted wasteland. They say the chemical leaks were never properly cleaned up. Even folks from adjacent districts give this area a wide berth. Who’d be foolhardy enough to come near?”
Duncan and Shirley exchanged a quick, meaningful glance before he spoke up again. “I came across an old newspaper article that claimed the area around the factory has been decontaminated and is now safe.”
The old man snorted and spat to the side in derision. “Newspapers? They’ll tell you all sorts of lovely stories. They even claim our new governor is going to rejuvenate the entire western industrial zone! But what’s the reality? The west side deteriorates more each day, and this factory here remains a decaying husk. I tell you, back in the day, this place, the sixth district, was one of the most prosperous areas in the lower city. Look at it now.”
Seizing the opportunity presented by an attentive audience, the elderly man seemed re-energized, his previous lethargy replaced by a passionate desire to air his grievances. Duncan, sensing a prolonged lament was imminent, quickly redirected the conversation. “I couldn’t help but notice that there are very few children or young people around here. Have they all relocated?”
“No, it’s not about moving. Our houses may be old, but at least we can afford the rent. In other districts, good luck with that,” the old man shook his head in dismissal. “The reason you’re not seeing young people is simple: we’ve all gotten old. And as for children…”
Here, the man paused and let out a heavy sigh as if weighed down by the words he was about to utter. “In the past eleven years, not a single child has been born in this neighborhood.”
Duncan’s eyes widened in genuine astonishment. “Eleven years without a single birth? Can that really be true?”
“Do I look like I’m lying? I’ve spent most of my life in this place,” the old man said, rolling his eyes in evident frustration. “If you ask me, it’s the factory’s fault. The pollution from that place has cursed the land.”
Duncan processed this troubling revelation, pondering the unsettling implications it held for the entire community. If what the elderly man said was true, then the neighborhood—and perhaps even broader areas—were in a state of unprecedented decline, attributable to a legacy of environmental ruin.
Duncan remained silent for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the distant outline of the derelict factory that he had pinpointed earlier on a map. The looming structure seemed to cast a spectral pallor over the entire street as if its decaying presence had bled into the very atmosphere of the community.
Meanwhile, Shirley, ever curious and never one to let an opportunity for information gathering pass by, continued her line of questioning with the elderly man. She delved into various topics, including the history of the factory, the lives of the residents who had elected to stay in this withering sixth district, and the number of people who had been compelled—or were fortunate enough—to relocate over the past eleven years.
Yet, it seemed the old man’s reserves of patience had been depleted. Perhaps he had grown weary of recounting the dismal tale of his neighborhood, or maybe he simply found Shirley’s questions too intrusive. Regardless, his hand waved in a dismissive gesture, and his words turned brusque, providing curt and perfunctory responses to her inquiries.
“Let’s go,” Duncan abruptly interrupted, sensing the tension and deciding to steer Shirley away before her own patience ran out and the situation escalated. He cast a final look back at the elderly man, who had already shifted his attention back to his sunbathing and gave him a slight, respectful nod. “Thank you for your time.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome,” the old man responded, barely looking up from his sun-soaked spot as he waved his hand again, this time in a vague gesture that seemed to hover between dismissal and farewell. “Take care of yourselves.”
Duncan and Shirley proceeded to walk away, but as they did, the weight of the old man’s revelations seemed to settle over them. It was clear that the problems plaguing this community ran deep—perhaps deeper than they had initially suspected—and were likely symptomatic of greater issues that extended far beyond the boundaries of this crumbling district.