CHAPTER ONE — The Wall That Shouldn’t Exist part 2
1039 Words
A heavy silence settled over the room.
The rain thickened, drumming hard enough to echo.
Theo, apparently unable to endure silence, whispered, “This is so cursed.”
“It’s not cursed,” Quinn said absently. “Curses are culturally specific constructs. This is just—”
“A body in your wall?” Mara supplied.
“Anomalous,” Quinn corrected.
Mara’s mouth twitched — not a smile, but something like respect trying not to be seen.
Quinn’s gaze fell back to the green residue under the nails. The color gnawed at her memory. She could practically feel its texture in her mind: sticky, viscous, earthy. Resin-like. Almost…
Sap.
But too bright. Too wrong.
She leaned closer, eyes narrowing.
This wasn’t random. This wasn’t accidental.
Whoever put this person behind her wall had left a message. A signature. A flaw. Something Quinn would see when others wouldn’t.
Her heartbeat dipped into a slow, focused rhythm — the same one she fell into when working on a sculpture that mattered.
Her thoughts spiraled inward.
The green is familiar…
It’s not mineral pigment… too organic… too saturated…
Not plant paste… not algae… unless—
“Ms. Sato.”
Mara’s voice snapped her back.
Quinn blinked. “What?”
“Step away from the body,” Mara said. “Please.”
The “please” was new. Not encouraging — more like Mara had noticed the trance and wanted to break it gently.
Quinn stepped back.
A flash of motion caught her eye — something small, metallic, wedged near the cavity’s interior corner. Half-hidden under debris.
Not part of the wall.
Not part of the body.
Something left behind.
Before she could step closer, Mara caught the shift in her posture. “Quinn. No.”
Quinn pointed. “There’s something—”
“We’ll let forensics handle it.”
“But—”
“No.”
Quinn clenched her jaw — not in irritation. In frustration. She was built for precision, details, reconstruction. Being told not to look felt like being told not to breathe.
Theo noticed the tension and stepped closer. “Hey. Deep breaths. Preferably the kind that don’t land you in jail.”
“I wouldn’t go to jail,” Quinn murmured.
“You absolutely would,” Mara and Theo said at the same time.
Quinn looked between them, unsure if she should be offended or impressed.
The distant wail of sirens began threading through the rain-soaked streets — the forensics team.
Mara’s gaze flicked back to Quinn. Something thoughtful. Something calculating.
“We’re not done,” the detective said quietly.
Quinn wasn’t sure if Mara meant the investigation…
or Quinn herself.
Either way, she was right.
Somewhere in that dried cavity, in that unnatural green stain, in the too-new wall and too-old plaster, a pattern was waiting.
And patterns were Quinn’s specialty.
10 minutes late, The forensics team clogged the hallway with plastic cases, clipped voices, and the faint odor of disinfectant. Mara guided Quinn into the corner of the studio that didn’t contain a corpse or a structural crisis and flipped open her notebook.
Theo lingered nearby like an anxious ghost.
Mara pointed a finger at him without looking. “Sit.”
Theo sat.
Mara turned that sharp, assessing focus onto Quinn. “Okay. Walk me through your day.”
Quinn folded her arms, trying not to feel like a misbehaving student. Her hair, still half-escaped from its knot, brushed her cheek with a soft wave. A reminder to stay anchored.
“I woke at six,” she began. “Not on purpose. My neighbor upstairs dropped something heavy. Again.”
Mara jotted a note.
“I spent the morning sketching a new piece. I went out around eleven for supplies. I came back at three, unloaded, and noticed the wall.”
“Noticed?” Mara asked.
“It sounded off,” Quinn said. “When I touched it, the plaster felt brittle and wrong.”
Mara raised an eyebrow. “You just walk around touching walls?”
“Yes.”
Theo muttered, “She really does.”
Quinn ignored both of them. “Then I started clearing the tools off the rack. The panel cracked. The body fell.”
Mara paused her writing. “Did you hear anything unusual before that? Anyone in the hallway besides me and the missing-person caller?”
Quinn hesitated, then nodded. “Two nights ago. Footsteps around midnight. Slow. Dragging.”
Mara’s eyes flicked up. “Dragging?”
“Like someone moving… unwillingly. Or carrying dead weight.”
Theo made a strangled noise. Mara didn’t react.
“And last night,” Quinn added, “I heard knocking.”
Mara leaned forward. “From your door?”
“No.” Quinn met her gaze. “Inside the wall.”
Mara didn’t blink. Didn’t write. She just stared a moment longer than necessary, like she was deciding whether Quinn was a witness or something more.
“Alright,” Mara said finally. “I’ll note it.”
Quinn breathed out, relieved and unsettled in equal measure.
The downstairs door slammed open hard enough to rattle the stairwell. Footsteps ascended with sharp, clipped precision — the cadence of someone whose authority enters a room before they do.
“Oh no,” Theo whispered. “She’s here.”
Yara Laval swept in like she owned the building. Because she did.
Early 40s, tall, sharply dressed in deep charcoal and dark wine-red — her whole aesthetic screamed curated austerity. Her black hair was coiled into a sleek bun that could probably deflect bullets. Her heels clicked like metronomes of judgment.
Her gaze hit Quinn first.
“What,” she said, voice perfectly cool, “have you done to my property?”
Quinn opened her mouth.
Yara held up a hand. “No. Don’t answer. I’m not emotionally prepared.”
Mara stepped forward. “Ms. Laval. Detective Ishikawa. I need you to stand back.”
“I am standing back,” Yara said. “This is my ‘standing back’ stance. I reserve the right to upgrade to ‘mild fury’ at any moment.”
Quinn watched her landlord’s eyes flick over the broken wall, the shattered plaster, the body. Her mask cracked. Just barely.
Yara looked… shaken.
- Writer
