Kesalahan atau Pembunuhan?

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

------------------------
Prolog
------------------------
EBlliwe
Oxfordshire
Sabtu 17 Agustus 2019. Sebuah tanggal yang akan selamanya terukir di hati saya, meskipun saya tidak mengetahuinya pada saat ini. Saat ini, hari itu hanyalah hari musim panas yang terik, seperti yang diperkirakan oleh para peramal cuaca. Roger dan saya memiliki sisa hidup kami di hadapan kami. Itulah yang dikatakan konselor pernikahan ketika dia menandatangani kami. Anda telah setuju untuk memberinya awal yang baru. Ini adalah batu tulis yang bersih. Jangan melihat ke belakang.
Tetapi meskipun saya mencoba untuk menerima nasihatnya, saya tidak bisa mengabaikan bekas luka tak terlihat yang saya bawa-bawa. Rasa sakit yang terus menerus mengomel di dalam diri.
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'Big Issue,' kata wanita yang berjongkok di trotoar di luar Boots. Dia berbicara dengan suara penuh harapan yang sama, tetapi tanpa aksen seperti beberapa tunawisma lain yang pernah saya lihat di sekitar sini. Saya secara teratur membeli majalah darinya dan dia bisa tampak agak mendadak, meskipun dia cukup menyenangkan.
Dia tiba di jalan raya kami sekitar delapan belas bulan yang lalu dengan 'celana panjang hippy' ungu (jenis yang menggelembung di samping dan kemudian meruncing ke pergelangan kaki), bersama dengan bintang-bintang tato perak dan emas di lehernya, jaket biru laut longgar, anting-anting colokan, kepala gundul, dan wajah usang yang bisa membuat usianya berkisar antara empat puluh ke atas. Setelah melihatnya beberapa kali, saya mulai memberinya sedikit tambahan untuk makan, yang segera dimasukkannya ke dalam salah satu kantongnya yang tebal. 'Ta,' dia selalu berkata. Kemudian dia menyikat kedua tangannya seolah-olah membersihkan kotoran yang tak terlihat dari uang itu. Kebiasaannya yang lain, saya perhatikan, adalah bersenandung pelan-pelan, meskipun sulit untuk mengetahui nada yang tepat.
Suatu hari, saya mendapati diri saya bertanya sudah berapa lama dia menjadi tunawisma. 'Sambil lalu,' katanya dengan samar-samar. Itu adalah awal dari serangkaian percakapan singkat setiap kali saya membeli majalah. Dia bahkan mengatakan kepada saya bahwa namanya Jo (meskipun cara dia mengatakannya membuat saya curiga bahwa itu bukan nama lahirnya), dan bagaimana dia 'tidak bisa diganggu dengan sekolah' sebagai seorang anak. ('Ingat, saya sering membaca di penjara,' katanya.) Saya bertanya-tanya apa yang telah dia lakukan, tetapi saya tidak ingin bertanya. Suatu kali kami berdiskusi menarik tentang apakah pedoman baru pemerintah tentang tunawisma benar-benar akan membantu orang-orang di jalanan.
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Sejak saat itu, saya akui saya telah mencoba menghindarinya, terkadang menyeberang jalan dan berpura-pura tidak melihatnya. Tetapi pada pagi yang terik di bulan Agustus ini, entah mengapa saya merasa perlu berhenti.
'Terima kasih,' katanya, sambil menatap telapak tangannya yang kotor. Ini adalah uang kembalian yang benar untuk majalah. Kekecewaannya membuat saya merasa tidak enak. Ada sesuatu tentang wanita yang berwajah persegi, kurus, dan berkepala gundul ini yang memberinya aura rentan dan tangguh pada saat yang sama. Saya merogoh tas saya untuk mengambil uang tambahan.
Dan kemudian aku melihatnya. Carole.
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Lengan Carole telanjang, aku perhatikan - dia lebih muda dariku dan tidak membutuhkan lengan baju untuk menyembunyikan lemak longgar yang menyelinap di tubuhku beberapa tahun yang lalu, di usia pertengahan empat puluhan. Saingan saya memiliki rambut panjang berwarna cokelat (tidak lurus dan kusut seperti rambut saya), yang berpura-pura bersarang secara alami di bawah bahunya, tapi saya tahu pasti bahwa rambutnya dikeringkan setiap hari Kamis. Saya mengetahui hal ini karena salah satu teman saya pergi ke penata rambut yang sama. Ini adalah jenis kota Oxfordshire yang berukuran sedang, kota madu - hanya dua puluh menit dari kota itu sendiri - di mana semua orang tahu bisnis orang lain.
Saya berharap kepada Tuhan bahwa kami tidak pernah menginjakkan mata di tempat ini. Atau dia.
Carole sekarang berjalan di sepanjang jalan raya lurus ke arahku dengan langkah penuh percaya diri, tas tangan berwarna biru tua berayun di bahunya. Kacamata hitamnya bertengger dengan indah di atas kepalanya seolah-olah untuk memamerkan merek desainer daripada untuk penggunaan praktis. Dia mengenakan lipstik oranye koral yang cerah. Warna yang sama yang saya temukan di kemeja Roger tepat setelah Natal. 'Milikku!' itu telah berteriak padaku.
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Melihat wanita itu membuat lutut saya gemetar. Saya mengulurkan tangan saya untuk menenangkan diri tetapi dengan begitu menjatuhkan dompet saya. Koin-koin bergemerincing di trotoar. Apa yang dia lakukan di sini? Terakhir kali aku melewati pondok batu bata dan batu api Carole yang cantik dengan honeysuckle di sekitar pintunya, di luarnya ada tanda SOLD. Roger bersumpah dia akan pindah kembali ke London. Namun di sinilah dia, langsung menuju ke arahku.

'Itu milik Carole,' suamiku akhirnya mengakui pada hari Natal ketika aku mengkonfrontasinya tentang lipstik itu. 'Maafkan aku, Ellie. Ini adalah barang asli. Kita sudah meletakkan deposit untuk sebuah tempat di Clapham. Kemudian ia mengerang seolah-olah ia kesakitan. "Masalahnya, aku mencintainya.
Tidak. Dia tidak bisa. Saya tidak akan mengizinkannya. Tentu saja, Roger telah memiliki hubungan sebelumnya tapi dia tidak pernah menyebutkan kata 'cinta'. Itu milik kita. Keluarganya.
Aku menarik kerah bajunya, menariknya ke arahku. Suamiku masih mengenakan jaket wol coklat di dalam rumah, seperti yang dilakukannya selama masa kuliahnya.
'BagaQimanWap JbiMs(aL kcaHu xmeFmXbuang dXupa XpAuólFuh idbelapDaDns tWaVhuWn& perdnTik_ahaInumu?O *SWa*ya* tBer.isqaqk.Z 'SUaAya piukigr fk*itca YaAkan ,mbenjiaTdi tJuar bersamua. WDman ^ba'ga*im'anda^ dengIannq saSnkaLk-aLnak?
'Demi kasihan, Ellie,' katanya, mendorong saya menjauh seolah-olah ia tidak tahan dengan sentuhan saya. 'Anak-anak sudah dewasa.
Tapi anak-anak membutuhkan orang tua mereka, berapa pun usia mereka. Bukankah saya tahu itu semua dengan baik?
Ketakutan kemudian berubah menjadi kemarahan. 'Lalu bagaimana dengan Josh?' Saya meludah. 'Apakah kau benar-benar ingin kami memberitahunya bahwa kakeknya telah meninggalkan kami demi wanita lain? Apa yang akan dia pikirkan tentangmu ketika dia tumbuh dewasa?
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'Kamu tidak bisa melakukan ini! Aku tidak akan membiarkanmu!
Dia mengambil langkah lain, menatapku seolah-olah aku orang asing. 'Mari kita hadapi itu, Ellie. Sejak aku mengetahui apa yang kau lakukan, aku tidak bisa melihatmu dalam pandangan yang sama. Kita belum terlalu tua untuk memulai lagi. Jadi ...' Dia tampak ragu-ragu. 'Saya ingin bercerai.'
Hanya ada satu hal yang harus dilakukan. Bertahun-tahun yang lalu, saya telah berjanji untuk menyerah. Tapi kebiasaan lama sulit dihilangkan. Untungnya, gunting dapur sudah dekat.
'_Duem!i TuhanT,P jEDllxie.!'_ iac QbneOrRtenrziakq,S *megrTarih hh*anPdukb $tehB NuPntuk meóncekapn Upe)rgWelangan DtManjga'nkHu yanFgf .bFermdxarOafh.l X'Ad$a ap^aQ ldNengan'muF?
Tiba-tiba saya teringat suara ibu tiri saya. 'Ada apa denganmu, Ellie?
Tulang-tulangku terasa dingin memikirkannya.
Setelah mereka menjahit saya di Radcliffe, Roger mengatakan kepada saya (dengan raut wajah sedih di wajahnya), bahwa mungkin, setelah direnungkan, saya benar. Dia tidak bisa memecah belah keluarga. Dia akan tetap tinggal. Dan ya, dia akhirnya setuju untuk konseling jika saya benar-benar berjanji untuk tidak menyakiti diri saya lagi. Dia mengatakan bahwa dia telah memberi tahu Carole dan dia 'menerimanya'.
'&Ijn,iA diaN,! s^anyFangr'.,
Suara si penjual Big Issue menerobos masuk ke dalam pikiran saya, membawa saya kembali ke masa kini. Di kakiku, dia mengambil koin-koinku yang berserakan di trotoar. 'Semuanya ada di sini. Jujur.
Dengan malu, saya mengulurkan tangan untuk menerimanya. Saat saya melakukannya, saya melihat sekilas stiletto berwarna krem. Mencium aroma sakit-sakitan yang sangat menyengat. Lalu aku mendengar Carole di atasku. Cukup keras sehingga hanya aku yang bisa mendengarnya. Dia memiliki salah satu suara gadis kecil yang sangat menjengkelkan pada wanita usia tertentu - namun yang membuat beberapa pria jatuh cinta, setiap saat. 'Aku pikir kau harus tahu, kami masih saling bertemu,' desisnya.
Aku mengintip ke arahnya, jantungku berdebar-debar.
'Ryo)gevrG ingi!n BaDk!u ómqeBnUja*di $balgJiUaÉn dari Pkseléuargkaé. HNjgomCongi-nJg!ogm'oqn.gU, apDaCkamhu cucduQmuu menikmagtmid drumQah ÉbCerFmaiJn baZrujnyay?
Bagaimana dia tahu tentang itu? Roger telah membelinya untuk taman kami sebagai hadiah untuk Josh. Dia pasti telah melihat Carole tanpa memberitahuku dan menyebutkannya dalam percakapan. Mulutku menjadi kering. Atau mungkinkah dia ada di sana ketika Roger memilihnya?
Aku merasa mual memikirkannya. Mungkin staf toko berasumsi bahwa dia adalah neneknya yang asli ...
'Tinggalkan aku sendiri! Kamu pembohong,' kataku gemetar.
DPia$ ,mnennarkuDh keMpaHlga*nyra di isatbu, sisiZ,É seolaCh-iolahh FmZe.nCayntyahirkup., 'BTeqn^adrka.h?M DTahrUi Ya_pBac ymavngy gkaudeRniglar, KkaulFaqh xyangF *tel,ah Tm$elakuk^an Ni&tFu! sleApanjangr hÉiUdupmud. ByeCberapaM voYrdaMng$ QmJuyngékJiNnh HmeunGgfatjaUkmatn bahwaé ,kamu tnidaXkO cocozkU untuuku mOeIrNawat RannaHkd-HadnaAk U.b..'
Apakah Roger telah mengkhianati saya? Atau apakah dia tahu dari orang lain? Mungkin dia telah mencari nama saya. Pasti ada catatan di suatu tempat. Apa yang akan saya lakukan jika itu keluar?
'Beraninya kau,' aku mencoba mengatakannya, tapi kata-kata itu tercekik di mulutku. Sebelum aku bisa mengeluarkannya, Carole telah menghilang, ditelan oleh para pembeli di jalan raya dengan tas-tas pengangkut pintar mereka.
'Aku kembali,' aku berseru. Aku mengunci pintu di belakangku, tanganku masih gemetar, lalu meletakkan kunci-kunciku dengan hati-hati di mangkuk Wedgwood biru-putih di atas meja aula, di sebelah set Roger dengan fob 'Granddad' yang diberikan oleh putri kami untuknya pada Natal lalu. Selama setahun terakhir, kami menjadi semakin sadar akan keamanan setelah serentetan perampokan di daerah itu, termasuk serangan fisik terhadap tetangga. Tetapi sekarang, saya merasa lebih kesal karena terkejut melihat Carole.
EnGt&a,h bagaimafna sa$ya mFewm,aZkdsra suFaXra^ zska*yaV Dt,exrdengPar$ gnYoFrzmlaGl(.P FTQehta_pki mulHut rsaPya wkeArinxg karena DkehtaOkrut.aYn. Say)al NmeOnuj$u Plemari esN XuntuZk BmenfuangkanS se&geKlGasB ,kro,rdiaClr bucnTg$as eSldeArNfrlofwer. qAéku Smlesmb!uZat tsFeTnHdiwri Qs,etziJaxpk mguZsinm pp_aYnas dariN ^sevmaHkh-Ns.em!aZk Ddin tamavnm. TaamsanC yanHgn kgaFy!a kakaÉnz pt$a*namaQn herba Gdani yhZalhamÉan pryumupBuPt yaknTgg luas) adalah seébagHia*n óala$syan ka'mHir membÉel'if Prum'ah RinQiZ,W s.ebfuabh )QuÉexern AYnneÉ ykaUng iznJdaqhJ di p_iFnsgJgiraDn& kobtmaD cdóeCncgapns deksUtuermioQr b.e*r$waDrna puc,at, JjedndXela GsmelNemLpangm,^ d'an cerobNon&g asap vyangl aÉnagg&un.J Di sana Kj_uguaS daBda gsebuóah hau&t'anQ kectil TdUiv mDa$nal saya _mLeónManBam rbzuKnbg,a PpaoypptyL danh .forgaeat-Mmei-nKotsP unqtMubkx mIelnpgegnansg Mumxmy.
Anda tidak pernah terlalu tua untuk membutuhkan seorang ibu.
Bahkan setelah bertahun-tahun, saya masih bisa mengingat wajahnya yang cantik, penuh perhatian, baik hati, dan kulitnya yang lembut yang berbau mawar. Saya masih bisa merasakan pipinya menempel pada pipi saya. Dalam ingatanku yang jauh, aku berlutut di sampingnya di taman kesayangannya, berdampingan saat dia menyiangi rumput sampai dia terlalu lelah dan perlu istirahat. Aku berjalan bersamanya di kepalaku di sepanjang jalur pedesaan. Dialah yang telah mengajariku nama-nama semua bunga liar dan tanaman pagar. Kami akan memetik dan menekannya di antara halaman-halaman Ensiklopedi Britannica Anak-anak sebelum mengeluarkannya, mendatar, dan melabelinya dengan bantuan buku bunga-bunga liar yang sudah saya robek-robek.
Dia paling menyukai bunga forget-me-nots. Favorit saya sendiri adalah cow parsley, yang juga dikenal sebagai Queen Anne's lace. Saya biasa meraba bunga-bunga putih yang lembut dan menangis ketika bunga-bunga itu hancur berantakan di tangan saya. 'Tidak apa-apa,' kata ibu saya. 'Masih ada bunga-bunga lain yang bisa kamu petik'. Itu adalah salah satu dari sedikit kenangan yang saya miliki tentang masa kecil saya, jadi saya menggenggamnya erat-erat, takut merusaknya. Betapa ibu saya sangat mencintai cucu-cucunya. Dan bagaimana dia akan memuja Josh ....

'Aku akan segera menyusulmu dalam beberapa menit,' Roger sekarang berseru dari ruang kerjanya.
Radio 4 terdengar dari dapur dengan saran-saran untuk membuat souffle keju yang sempurna. Saya selalu membiarkan radio menyala bahkan ketika saya keluar. Saya merasa nada-nadanya yang terukur menenangkan, selain dari berita, yang saya matikan. Sudah cukup banyak yang perlu dikhawatirkan.
Saya mencuci tangan dengan sabun lavender Neal's Yard favorit saya di wastafel keramik ganda dan menaruh ketel di atas Aga. Tapi di dalam, kepalaku masih berputar-putar. Haruskah aku mengatakan pada Roger bahwa aku melihat Carole di jalan raya - meskipun dia mengatakan padaku bahwa dia sudah pindah? Aku sangat ingin. Tapi konselor mengatakan tidak boleh ada tuduhan. Aku harus bersikap seolah-olah aku mempercayainya. Saya bahkan berpura-pura senang ketika dia memberi saya gelang perak bulan lalu secara tiba-tiba. Apakah dia benar-benar berpikir bahwa hadiah rasa bersalah bisa membuat segalanya menjadi lebih baik lagi?
'AjyaVhé bZeérKpjeTriQlafkCu msa$nLg_aét GbaurufkÉ teStzapi qdia ómGen.yes&al,z'a Éka&t)ak Dputrim saQyya Wkepadqa sBa!yZah Nketikas semuxanSyal vtGerBubngkaqpY.h 'YTUiOdaIks ZbiUsaukaQh kzamdu memaaRfkannygaC?x SVaya tifdZak &inYg(ién émzenNjadi ÉsaqlahA saTt^u kYeluaargaX zyLasn&gK kakÉetk-nMen$eknyya' tWidaLk beZrdb.icaÉrlaX.) Tweman-tewman vsaAya teYrauMsV-zmQenecrzuMsz zmSen*gat)akan bBeXtacpa_ lbUedr*ucnLtungFnBy'a Zki$t,a.é JYosWht sanqgatS &menciTntaqi kahlian kbRer_duja.
Josh! Alasan saya yang sebenarnya untuk melanjutkan. Kadang-kadang saya tidak percaya bahwa cucu laki-laki saya satu-satunya telah bersama kami selama empat tahun - hampir lima tahun. Mustahil membayangkan hidup tanpa dia. 'Ganny!' dia memanggil dengan penuh semangat ketika dia datang berkunjung, menggunakan nama bayinya untuk saya, yang telah melekat.
Secara resmi, hari Senin adalah 'hari Josh' saya, ketika saya menjaganya sementara putri saya bekerja. Secara tidak resmi, saya melihat cucu saya yang berharga setiap hari. Cobalah menjauhkan saya! Dari saat mereka meletakkannya di pelukan saya, saya merasakan lelehan di ulu hati saya dan aliran cinta yang intens yang membuat saya benar-benar terkejut. Itu - berani saya katakan - bahkan lebih kuat daripada cinta yang saya rasakan untuk anak-anak saya sendiri ketika mereka dilahirkan. Bagaimana mungkin?
Seiring dengan bertambahnya usia Josh, saya menjadi semakin terpesona. Tidak ada hal lain di dunia ini yang sama berharganya dengan ciuman bayi yang jorok di pipi saya: lengan balita yang lembut, gemuk, dan hangat di leher saya; ketakjuban yang menggembirakan di wajahnya saat kami meniup jam dandelion dan membuat jejak kaki di salju; ekspresi konsentrasinya yang intens saat dia mengeja kata-kata flashcard (M... U... M), atau membuat kue cokelat renyah sambil berdiri di bangku kecilnya yang istimewa di dapur kami.
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'Ajaib, Ganny!
Cucuku telah membuat hidup ini layak untuk dijalani lagi. Aku tidak akan membiarkan Roger atau janda yang berkeliaran seperti Carole menghancurkan hidupnya seperti ibu tiriku menghancurkan hidupku.
'Kau selalu dipersilakan untuk datang ke sini, Bu, jika kau butuh waktu untuk berpikir,' tawar anakku melalui Skype setelah aku menceritakan tentang perselingkuhan Roger yang terakhir. 'Di sini' adalah Australia - tempat terjauh yang bisa dia dapatkan dari ayahnya, yang 'perselingkuhannya', seperti yang dia katakan, 'membuat saya sakit'. Tetapi pikiran untuk tidak melihat cucu satu-satunya selama berminggu-minggu, mungkin berbulan-bulan, tidak tertahankan.
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'Hai'. Suamiku muncul dari ruang kerjanya, menyapukan mulutnya ke mulutku. Aku mencoba untuk tidak berpikir bahwa mulut yang sama ini ada di mulut Carole belum lama ini. Tangan-tangan itu membelai bagian paling rahasia dari tubuhnya. Suaranya mengatakan bahwa dia mencintainya. Mungkin masih begitu. Tapi itu tidak masalah, aku memutuskan, asalkan dia tetap tinggal.
'Hai'. Aku melangkah mundur, merasa seperti karakter kecil dalam sebuah drama. Sebenarnya, Roger akan menjadi pemeran utama yang cukup baik, dan bukan hanya karena dialognya sangat meyakinkan. Dia adalah pria yang tampan, suamiku. Masih banyak rambut, bahkan untuk usianya (enam puluh lima). Semacam bonhomie yang berasal dari kawanan siswa yang menawan selama bertahun-tahun. Kebutuhan akan penonton ditambah dengan bakat alami untuk membuat orang tertawa, meskipun ia biasanya menyimpannya untuk orang banyak daripada menyia-nyiakannya untukku. Sosoknya yang menarik dengan tinggi badan enam kaki tiga, yang ia tampilkan dengan baik dalam seragam Home Counties-nya yang berupa celana chino krem dan kemeja berleher terbuka. Hari ini terlalu panas untuk jaket wol.
'Apakah kamu bersenang-senang di kota?' tanyanya.
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'Ya, terima kasih. Kesopanan kami yang terpotong-potong terasa tidak wajar, tapi setidaknya itu lebih baik daripada barisan lama.
'Apa yang telah kau lakukan? Saya bertanya.
Dalam hubungan biasa, ini mungkin pertanyaan yang bisa diterima, tetapi setelah perselingkuhan, seperti yang telah saya pelajari dengan baik, semua yang Anda katakan, tonton di televisi atau baca di koran ditumpuk dengan makna baru. Jadi, pertanyaan saya 'Apa yang telah kamu lakukan?' dapat dengan mudah diterjemahkan sebagai 'Dengan siapa kamu tidur hari ini?
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Roger selalu menjadi orang yang praktis. Itu adalah salah satu hal yang menarik bagi saya ketika kami bertemu bertahun-tahun yang lalu. Jika dia bisa memperbaiki banyak hal, pikirku yang masih berusia delapan belas tahun, maka mungkin dia juga bisa memperbaiki diriku.
'Dan tetangga baru datang untuk memberitahu kami bahwa mereka sedang menata ulang taman,' tambahnya. "Mereka ingin memastikan bahwa kami tidak diganggu. Kami mengobrol dan mereka mengajak saya minum kopi, tetapi kemudian Amy menelepon. Ada beberapa krisis dengan tenggat waktu dan dia bertanya-tanya apakah kami bisa memiliki Josh selama beberapa jam.