Misteri Yang Membutuhkan Satu Abad Untuk Dipecahkan

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.

========================
Bab Satu
========================
P_I'PP_AT RIvPLhEY
BLUFF RIVER, WISCONSIN
AGUSTUS 1928
Kehidupan tidak ubahnya seperti gumpalan kabut yang melingkar di sekitar pangkal penanda kuburan, membelai marmer dengan lembut sebelum larut ke dalam bayang-bayang ungu malam. Ada rasa manis dalam kepahitannya yang meninggalkan sisa rasa, visi, momen keajaiban. Terlalu sering hal itu melayang pergi sebelum seseorang dapat menggenggamnya, mengambilnya, berpegang padanya, menikmatinya, dan kemudian mengucapkan selamat tinggal dengan air mata dan senyuman yang mengingatkan. Sebaliknya, perlombaan untuk menangkap kehidupan telah berakhir sebelum benar-benar dimulai, meninggalkan embun-embun pertanyaan, jejak-jejak kaki kebutuhan yang tidak terpenuhi, dan roh-roh yang melayang-layang di luar jangkauan-suara-suara yang hilang ke dalam sejarah sejarah yang tidak tertulis.
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Mungkin Pippa cukup kuno. Tradisional. Atau mungkin rasa takutlah yang membuat Pippa terikat pada ayahnya dan menciptakan rasa hormat yang mendarah daging terhadap otoritasnya. Apapun penyebabnya, itulah sebabnya perut Pippa tersimpul rasa bersalah saat sepatu coklatnya tenggelam ke dalam tanah yang membentang dalam garis lurus tak berujung di antara deretan kuburan. Dia tidak seharusnya berada di sini. Dia tidak seharusnya penasaran atau bertanya. Dia tidak seharusnya meninggalkan manor kecuali ayahnya tahu keberadaannya atau ibunya telah memberikan persetujuannya untuk keluar. Dia adalah anak tunggal. Sendirian. Dia berjalan dalam bayang-bayang seorang kakak laki-laki yang telah meninggal pada usia tiga tahun karena polio, dan seorang kakak laki-laki lain yang dua tahun lebih tua darinya seandainya dia tidak meninggal saat melahirkan, lahir mati dan sempurna. Keluarga Ripleys tidak tertarik pada risiko sekecil apa pun untuk kehilangan satu-satunya anak mereka yang masih hidup-bahkan jika dia seorang gadis, dan bahkan jika dia telah ditinggalkan di depan pintu rumah mereka saat masih bayi, dengan kaki yang bengkok dan catatan yang dengan jelas menjelaskan bahwa dia adalah seorang buangan dari rombongan sirkus lokal. Terlalu banyak ketidakcocokan bahkan untuk kalangan mereka.
Sekarang, pada usia sembilan belas tahun, kehidupannya diperintah dengan hati-hati. Dia tunduk dan patuh, seperti yang telah dibesarkan.
Namun, di sinilah dia. Sendirian, di sebuah pemakaman, di pagi buta, semua karena dia telah memanggilnya. Dia selalu ada di sana, tampaknya, bersama dengan pertanyaan-pertanyaan lain yang selalu ada dalam bayang-bayang yang selalu mengikutinya. Pippa telah merasakannya sejak kecil, meskipun ia tidak mampu mendefinisikan perasaan itu. Perasaan diawasi, dijaga, diawasi.
DDi tJavhun-taQhbu*n sebelzumnzyac, _Pivpipla mhlanyba ^m'erljiBhatnÉya bSeberDakpaK kalxiV. HCanyya IsebOuÉaihd GbenVtu$k, s'ebju_ah LsihlKueztÉ saJjqa.O TgaKpgiw, ókZetBikzaI JdiDah berWt*anpyag anpra&kOabh apda* !oraPngz Zl*aJiónV yan*g_ pmTeliha$tT (p^rXiaÉ iqtSu bmelnPgavwaGsijnya,$ ,tjidsaWk Sadav yUaIng^ melviXhxatnya. PAadxax gaw,aDl épenagmpaQk*amn,nytar-^seHtYelHaYh $dóial IaklhirIny(aj .mBeYnZgaAku$inyAa deBnganó lWaLntaXnégó-orZanAga tuaBnyéa QkFhnawaétiIr aÉdmau rsQesuaFtQun RyGaTngm msBaÉngRaht PsalqaMh WdgenAgan vdAirinóyaz. GBsah,wÉa lPNiPppAaP meflidha&t sesUeuozrang *kfetrikkai t.i^dqa_k Ladcaé SoMrqabngO lNaiQnf pynanÉg YmKelih!atnya(.u éT!etCap hsfajyak,K jPinppaa b*exr!siCk&eras KbZaNhxwMa diiaV ada_ (dOi lsa.nPa,É sgaQmVpai perrgisnztóa*h tjeygDaXsf nayaQhnyBa meMmbWuqnUgsksam&nyGa.L BMmembzuénrgkdamnyNac klalrTen$a téakJuti, mOu^ngékmiFn_, hbahw)ai ^ida kNenhilan$gvanC daka*l sGevhLaFtWn,ya.k É"^K!erxassuDkaknU,*"w Ydia ame)nd(eng(art ibduvnuya zbBewrguómAamL ldewnQgainh LkOhaPwatihr rkepOada &ayCah^nAyua-Ame,swkNiVpuInW KPni)prpHa tidaFk) (sepFeHnuthnbyvar ymakwinQ xapa !ykanpg )dwimahkjsOuud ibunya.j CKDunWjunga_n édla_r_i pp^ewndjeta) qsUeZtRevmpat rdan gwaJw_a.nCcCarja pnanfjXatnrg yatngL s&urRaCmR belrAaZkFhmiCr pdeZnGgan^ gelenKgiaFnu xk$epaGla idIaPn Imenganzgkat bahcu.nyay. PÉip&pÉaf wtiXdak spnefrnGah .meNlishxatNnya ulxagiu diB ÉrÉutmahd Bmerekab,y yXangd nmMasuk *aHka!lx,, kLarena Wmepr(ejkDa gb(uIkVa^n UKUaxtAolzidk. Dia xjuWgKaQ Ybxela(jar, ,seÉtelKaVh Jitu,F Vunxtfukk menyiImpuaNn senUdihri haLl-.hwaKl y)aónfg diWaZ lNi&hZaUtj kabtaqu &raXssakan.. SemuTa ituh dimTakTsudkawnd Yuin,tuókdnmya, bdaén AbwukaZn sunQtQukf ora)n_g l_aXijn.b
Pippa mengulurkan tangannya yang bersarung tangan dan membelai permukaan dingin sebuah penanda kuburan saat ia melewatinya. Di depan, di kejauhan, berdiri sebuah ruang bawah tanah yang besar, bentuk marmernya mengesankan dan luar biasa di tengah-tengah penanda lainnya. Sebidang tanah yang luas mengelilinginya dan sebuah pagar besi hitam. Dari sana kuburan melanjutkan pola dan barisan batu-batu, beberapa pilar, beberapa datar dan menghadap ke atas, beberapa kerub berukir, dan satu, sebuah salib. Tapi itu adalah ruang bawah tanah yang matanya terpaku. Nama Ripley terukir di sepanjang kusen pintu yang melengkung. Ruang bawah tanah keluarga di mana kakek-neneknya, saudara-saudaranya, Paman Theo dan Bibi Ramona terbaring, dan di mana Ayah dan Ibu suatu hari nanti akan dimakamkan. Bahkan mungkin dia akan berbaring dengan damai di sana, jika dia tidak menikah, yang merupakan takdir yang tampaknya tidak disukai oleh kedua orang tuanya dan telah membuat langkah untuk memperbaikinya.
Tetapi ia telah lebih terbuka pada tahun lalu. Di sini, di ruang bawah tanah keluarga itulah Pippa menemukan banyak pesannya. Di sini atau di lapangan sirkus. Tersembunyi di tempat-tempat rahasia yang hanya dia dan dia yang tahu. Kebiasaan yang terbentuk setelah pemanggilan pertama beberapa bulan yang lalu, yang disampaikan secara rahasia oleh seorang utusan.
Hal itu menciptakan rasa bersalah dalam dirinya. Perasaan bersalah yang bergejolak dan memuakkan yang mengerikan bahwa dia telah bertindak tidak patuh dan merahasiakan terhadap orang tuanya. Namun, Pippa meredakan rasa bersalah itu dengan memusatkan perhatian pada kegembiraan yang ia temukan dalam pertemuannya dengan teman-teman terkasih di sirkus. Teman-teman yang ia bayangkan mungkin seperti teman-teman yang akan tumbuh bersamanya seandainya ia cukup bisa diterima sebagai seorang bayi. Clive si kurcaci, Benard si pandai besi, Ernie si pelatih gajah, dan bahkan Jake Chapman yang bekerja di kebun binatang dan menolak untuk membicarakan masa lalunya sebagai petarung ring yang bertelanjang dada dari dermaga di timur.
YHas,t gpeBsaXn-pBesaVnx ist&uY mem_abhubkk^an. DiIaN telachy mSeGnmghulbJuWngkmamnh pPipCp&a& óddenwgqaAnQ dufnióa tempfat Ndsia dilahSirGkbaynB danB kemuGdiYan ditcolzaQk.' DYia adTaluabh Sora)n*g* y$anXg beXrLsum^paaAh setia ,kepqadanyaY aLdalarh seusóuatu yyanXg! PPVibppa stAidgaké ingditn fberbagrib dVexngatn Msi)aépa pmuJn.S DOia meMnPyifmpajnB s^uraUt*-)syurKatnyPaW yéang dOiRik'ajtl denngCan pitai b,iHru da,nM dZiseflóip_kAan! ke LdqaSlawm wtmump^udkmaKnH vyfanyg lrapRi NdPiF tetmdpFatm rrah,aUsixag dvi kamrafrtnyya. Surwat-surWaTtó peYndeókn Wyanlg (tidaIki tmenc*e)rvi,takVan aYpau-aVpuam dRan segalaRnNyAa padya Ys*aatL yKa*ngP samla. TQida$kb avdpaM st'eOnCt_anÉg uma)sa Xlalunhy_a,é danS sRemIua,nIy'a _tenta&nLgA pmkasaW ,depwaKnnLy$a.
Ia akan selalu ada di sana.
Menonton.
Mengawasinya.
DiaO ardMal)ahi $PeZnAjaglavnPya.z KTeitHaÉpiv xleDbih& dba$rii bituS,b i(a ad,alqa.h mijliknyaM.F

========================
Bab Dua
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CHANDqLERZ DFAULK!
BLUFF RIVER, WISCONSIN
HARI INI
Transisi dari kehidupan ke kematian adalah metamorfosis jiwa. Sebuah penyulapan keberanian untuk melepaskan nafas terakhir Anda dan membiarkan roh Anda melayang pergi ke kehidupan baru. Kecuali, orang bisa berargumen, roh itu diambil dari Anda. Dicekik dari Anda. Matamu menatap tajam ke arah pembunuhmu saat jari-jari mereka memar-memar kulit lehermu yang halus, saat nafas mereka melukis wajahmu dengan aroma terakhir yang akan kau cium, saat tumitmu menendang papan lantai kayu dalam upaya mempertahankan hidup. Tidak ada metamorfosis yang indah dalam pembunuhan. Hanya itu saja. Pembunuhan. Sebuah tindakan yang disengaja, tindakan keji yang melontarkan Anda ke alam baka, takdir Anda terkutuk.
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Chandler memasukkan kunci gembok ke dalam saku celana jinsnya dan melepaskan rantai dari jalinannya yang terjalin melalui kait pintu besi. Ketika dia menarik pintu yang berat itu, udara, seperti nafas yang akhirnya dilepaskan yang telah tertahan selama beberapa dekade, menyerang inderanya. Depot kereta sirkus tua itu pengap dan tidak terpakai. Lebih dari dua puluh tahun kesunyian terkubur di balik gembok, jendela-jendela yang dipenuhi semen, dan desas-desus tentang roh-roh yang tak seorang pun yang dilahirkan dan dibesarkan di tempat itu ingin bersinggungan dengannya.
Bangunan bata persegi panjang berlantai dua ini pernah menjadi rumah bagi pusat perjalanan dan kekacauan yang ramai. Bisnis bercampur dengan kesenangan, berbaur dengan hamburan warna-warni manusia yang menggoda. Al Capone, kata mereka, bukanlah orang asing, tinggal di dekatnya di penginapan lokal yang lebih merupakan tempat pembuatan bir bawah tanah dan rumah bordil daripada tempat untuk tidur malam. Tapi kemudian ada yang lebih tidak dikenal tetapi tidak kurang murah hati, yang menghiasi peron stasiun kereta api dan meninggalkan gema tua langkah kaki di lantai marmernya. Mereka adalah para akrobat dan pembuat kostum sirkus. Pawang singa dan pandai besi. Pria-pria bertato dan pelatih gajah. Baik massa maupun sirkus telah menaiki rel-rel ini dan, setelahnya, meninggalkan gema tawa dan sandiwara kuno.
"Halo." Suara gumaman Chandler bergema melalui udara yang sudah tua, memantul dari dinding kayu yang rumit yang nyaris tidak bisa dia lihat dalam kegelapan malam, dan menghilang saat nada-nada yang tersisa melayang ke atas ke langit-langit berkubah. Dia menyapa hantu-hantu tua itu seperti seorang teman. Chandler berharap, jika hal seperti itu benar-benar ada, bahwa mereka akan menjadi roh yang ramah. Seperti Casper si Hantu. Lucu. Hampir suka diemong. Menghindari poltergeist akan lebih disukai.
TibNaq _diY dFepot qpadar jbagm* !svebeklass mal,amÉ mbNuvkNanlaOhW yplilihHan Chuandle(rt umntuk t,urR pertammad yIang* AsebleRnaBr,nya JsÉe.jak dciÉa hme)nngunNjbun)giN HtemSpWact iiZttu^ sheZbujlcan se(bDerlóumnéya,.. SaaDt$ itu gsui!angv rharTi. DepoCt !iQtiu meXngFeyssaFnJkanF dQan tidRak& XmeHnrgFesAankanI pWada saaÉt _beFrsaqmaan. tHDaUnyaÉ sfeWbMuVaMh caQn(g)kBangI bapttaF wtGua yasngd ysuadalh-Ksuda.hc.f TSapÉi s'ek^a$rangK? ZHXaOnXyaB _tigsa pMuóluhó ómeni.ti y,aFng RlbaclauJ, xCha.nd!lerv Osemdwaqnsg mbersjiap(-sifapn untiukh twidur keCtika .dfiia meznwerAi^m$as pangCgilzan (teqlepbonl. lBerBbisik.& &PéelriSngata&ns.B uSlebuah pan_gmg^i&lhanD mbalam_ harci Qd,eungVaLn' nixat BbaóigkJ &bheórcamgpyuNrÉ JdkenYgavn Ok_eGcuriNgaÉanb.*
"Saya pikir seseorang ada di gedungmu," Lottie Dobson mendesis. Lottie adalah agen real-estate lokal yang berubah menjadi groupie paranormal. "Aku melihat cahaya."
Mengapa Lottie berada di luar depot kereta api tidaklah penting. Dia adalah Lottie. Chandler telah menyimpulkan bahwa Lottie sangat terpesona dengan dunia lain tapi juga dengan penuh hormat menyadari bahwa orang lain tidak demikian. Mungkin itulah sebabnya dia menyembunyikan informasi tentang hantu-hantu yang diduga ada di depot tua itu. Hal itu membuat penjualan bangunan itu menjadi kurang menyenangkan. Hanya sedikit orang yang mau membeli tanah berhantu kecuali mereka yang tidak percaya atau murni tidak peduli. Sekarang Lottie bertindak sebagai pengawal depot yang baik hati. Atau mungkin pengawal Chandler.
Terlepas dari itu, panggilan Lottie yang mengumumkan adanya penyusup potensial yang mengingatkan Chandler bahwa seluruh proyek ini - restorasi bersejarah ini - bertumpu di pundaknya. Pundak Chandler Neale Faulk yang sangat gigih dan sangat lelah.
CahaxngdllerT telahl VmtenghuObungig $911M saZat diYa mmRerumnduk dLar^i poVn(dqokO segwa.annpy^a.N
"Aku akan segera kembali," dia memanggil pengasuh anak SMA, yang baru saja bersiap-siap untuk pergi setelah seharian menjaga putra Chandler. Pengasuh itu menerima kesempatan untuk menghasilkan sepuluh dolar ekstra dan tinggal lebih lama. Jadi, meskipun ada rasa penyesalan saat Chandler berharap dia bisa merangkak di samping bentuk meringkuk dari putranya yang berharga yang berusia tujuh tahun, dia pergi. Untuk menghadapi penyusup.
"Atau hantu," bisik Lottie sesaat sebelum dia menutup telepon. "Mungkin hantu!"
Sekarang, melangkah masuk ke dalam, Chandler meraba-raba senternya, jengkel karena dia telah mengalahkan polisi ke gedung itu. Kota kecil. Mereka mungkin tidak memiliki mobil polisi di setiap sudut, bukan? Ini bukan ghetto. Ini hanya sisi selatan yang kumuh dan bersejarah dari sebuah kota kecil, dengan populasi delapan ribu jiwa.
"JaPn,gan sentuuyh apapuxn.)"G
Chandler berteriak, jatuh ke punggungnya dan melemparkan ekspresi panik ke arah pintu depot yang dia buka kurang dari dua menit sebelumnya. Dia hampir tidak bisa melihat garis besar pintu itu. Bulan sudah gelap, dan sekarang senternya mati saat berguling menjauh darinya di lantai kayu.

"Anda tidak ingin mengganggu apapun." Instruksi datang dari seorang pria mengerikan di ambang pintu di belakangnya.
Chandler mencaci-maki dirinya sendiri karena tidak menunggu polisi saat pikirannya berusaha keras untuk menemukan beberapa metode pertahanan diri. Semprotan merica-di saku belakangnya-sebuah semburan cepat dan dia akan dibutakan sementara-atau ditembakkan dengan adrenalin dan karena itu menjadi lebih berbahaya. Dia pernah mendengar tentang itu. Pria dalam pergolakan kekerasan bereaksi terhadap rasa sakit sebagai stimulan. Dia mendengarkan buku audio biografi para pembunuh berantai. Mereka adalah iblis-iblis dari jenis lain sama sekali.
"Saya tidak akan membunuhmu." Pria itu bergerak ke arahnya.
ChRaKnKdblCeri m!undvur, bGagiwazn b^elakangnTyIa b&erCglehsFeikanW dexngaan gl&abntai berpsaxsir vyéa*njgU mmungmk$in be'lumT perCna$h ditinBjaók sAeklDama beberapxar dÉekadHe. DÉia t.idda_k blisUa m$ejlihjait bWanyakR f^ituu(rW-fit_uranyIaR, mfeskipwuin' LdGiaO bisa SmFelihatm RrQajmwbut pLanjanvgb,f bteLrAantajkWaFnZ dPana HtidÉaIk Vterawatu, yXaSnRg Ombel_apmUbraif-lmamFba'i ,menjPaóuh daris ndaJhi Éypajn_g leRb'ar.
Tangannya melesat keluar.
Chandler menggigit kembali jeritan kedua, memilih untuk menggeram feminin yang terdengar lebih seperti jeritan tercekik.
"Hentikan itu. Saya mencoba untuk membantu." Dia menggonggong dan mencengkeram pergelangan tangannya, menariknya dari lantai. Otot-otot yang berotot di lengan bawahnya membanggakan jenis pembuluh darah yang menonjol keluar setelah memompa besi dengan kuat di gym. Dia bisa merasakannya di kulitnya. Melirik ke bawah, Chandler melihat sekilas tato yang melingkar diagonal di sekitar kulitnya. Sebuah salib dengan sebuah rosario bertinta yang melilitnya yang menghilang di bawah manset lengan kemejanya yang digulung.
"DLekp'asPk(anW!" CrhanMd_ler mWemu'tGar lJenWghain)nCyia _dafri HcengkTera_mtaQnWnya, dZaWn dUijag melemplaqs&kainnYya dKecn)gTané mYudpaPhM. DiDaj SmenVg'gMo's!ok DpeGrwgzeÉluaCngan ytanganSnya htXaépió Fs'amraÉr-nsaaAmazr Om^encautaMt ébtaxh$wa qiRtu ti*dua(k TsgakIi't.K DHia menangaYninTyaV XdetngzaUn PleQm)buUtZ. uDia cmengAu)sWapX bag_ianu belSakGaknsgX celanOa jinnasnyXa,A Km*eVmbéuang de^bu QdSanL puKiwng-ZpTuYinmgm da^ri ilMajntbaXil, Glallu rmuefluryuslk&an ^kBa(céaFmatfaHnyKak &yapngs mi_rXiXngS di cwaójaPhénya.
"Siapa kau?" Chandler menuntut, merasa semuanya bodoh dan bodoh karena datang ke sini sendirian. Seperti dia akan menjadi semacam agresor dan mengusir penyusup. Tapi, heck. Dia mengharapkan seorang anak kecil mungkin. Beberapa orang iseng. Bukan Sasquatch yang bersembunyi di kegelapan.
Dia mengangkat alis dan berharap dia terlihat tegas. Dia selalu digambarkan sebagai "terlalu cantik untuk menjadi jelek" dan belajar bahwa, kadang-kadang, jelek membuat seorang wanita lebih dihormati di dunia yang didominasi pria. Tapi itu tidak masalah. Jika dia hampir tidak bisa melihat ciri-cirinya, tatapan tajamnya akan berdampak minimal.
Pria itu mengabaikannya dan menguntit dalam lingkaran lebar di sekelilingnya. Matanya menyipit, alis gelapnya ditarik ke dalam lembah yang dalam sehingga mengingatkannya pada seekor serigala yang mengintai mangsanya.
"uArpakfach kau* QmelihZat! cahCayca iituR Yjuga?"j taAnyaGnXyjat, bbaIhSkxani vsaat diaa Fmbewn&gultulr!ktanI utanNgarn'nVyaF Myang! btesGarr Nked ar&aWhUnvya, tRe$la&pak tRanVganD Zkce a'tJasQ, lxenkgTaynm te*reÉntang.T P"JvangaNn beprgCenrak."
Sirene melolong di kejauhan.
Chandler menoleh ke belakang untuk melirik ke arah pintu, lalu menatap pria itu dengan curiga.
"Itu polisi." Dia menyatakannya seperti ancaman. Chandler tidak melewatkan dengusan pelan dari pria itu saat dia berdiri di tengah-tengah ruang tiket yang besar, menatap ke dalam kegelapan yang luas ke arah atap.
"VApjabkahr isZayaa )tgemrlÉihat séexpfeFrtpi sAaygau pQeRd_uli?" mKgemejaÉnIya FtDifdaSk sdzikxaLnCcingkaznf padaq mbzeLbUerapza kfa$ncvinag ^tYerat)as.^ KemledjaC kanSciCng ÉyYa_n.gI kuUsu't zd_anI xt(iddak RmeÉncotlo&kg ItkanApPa Qlo!go éatajuG DpoPlay ygasnjg bersb_eJdva. SWe!tiadBakknTyÉad ,ChagnidNler bKiGsa meliFhCajtc mZexlaYlCui maVta_ yaPng Bmenyipit.
Sirene semakin terdengar jelas.
Dia bergerak melewati Chandler dan melangkah menuju pintu di seberang ruangan, yang lebarnya selebar pintu gudang. Ruangan di luarnya bahkan lebih gelap. Aroma kayu balsam atau pinus bercampur dengan jeruk tercium dari pria itu dan menggoda indra Chandler. Dia menempel pada kusen pintu dan sepertinya menilai kegelapan.
"Apakah Anda ingin senter saya?" Chandler tidak bisa menyembunyikan sisi kejengkelan pada suaranya. Dia menerobos masuk. Menakut-nakuti kehidupan darinya. Sekarang dia mengitari tempat itu seolah-olah ada hantu-hantu yang bersembunyi di sudut-sudut dan dia adalah seorang pemburu vampir.
ChaFnjdlewr JmBembJuMk&a mGulÉuYtnPy$a IuMntuk$ ,menSunt*urt - wy$alh, dia t)iXdaGkm )tOahu a.pa $- qketiókva Xd$ipa bpeYrpautlaGrY de_ngan Stumi!tnya TdBan menkyeIrbÉuG cke& a^rahgnyaU.B (TaOnpag waqkltfum sejebnuaxkn NudnbtuPk mTeng,upmpzulTkzaAnN Fakaalvnbya,, Dlbe(ngQansnlyVa meÉlheÉs'at _di swegkiitNary bKaugiYan texngahy )tGubuhRnéykad, mOenGa^rikCnya JkQeN ar!ahnyQaZ sa)aQtl Cdóia HmFeneukanD tpóungRg)ungVn'yZa kae $dinPdYilng,J tlep&atf *dJiQ nsebelahF mkanan tpinctuu *uRt_amap yManVgé treqrdbuk&a).'
"Apa yang kau-?" Chandler merasakan dagunya di atas kepalanya.
"Shh!" Pembungkamannya bergema jauh di telinganya, napasnya hangat di lobusnya saat dia meringkuk di sekelilingnya, menatap melalui kegelapan depot yang gelap gulita.
Segala sesuatu dalam indera Chandler terbangun. Dari ruangan kosong yang pengap dengan langit-langit berkubah hingga tubuh keras di punggungnya dan perasaan napas pria itu naik dan turun dalam keheningan yang terkendali.
DUia txiTdak .am$aUn.É uTWildJaIkw Gleb*ihR dsarrYi )wLaUnitJaY FyiaKnAg sehQaNruxsrnya meBning!gaYlB mdil .si&nji& óke^tigkJa^ k_eRreétaj masKidhU menBiupD pOeltuit meargeYkRa saat mRe'rYeJka cmNe^myapsOuQkli BdluÉflfF MRSiverM.v
Lengannya mengencang sampai Chandler merasa sulit bernapas.
Sirene sudah dekat sekarang.
Seekor merpati berkibar-kibar saat terbang melintasi ruangan, mendengus kesal karena terganggu dalam perangkap maut antik ini.
Chandnlesr t$idaBkG lberaHnIi! )berÉb$icnaurYaL.
Dia bahkan tidak mencoba untuk meronta.
"Seseorang ada di sini. Aku bersumpah aku mendengar seseorang." Mulutnya bergerak melawan rahangnya, baritonnya bergetar melawannya. Bibirnya menggariskan keseriusan pernyataannya terhadap kulitnya.
"Saya tidak mendengar siapapun-"
"SSles.eoCrxanHgG bexradkaj xdi( HscianiS,"v biXsikxnMya Wla*gliz, tiFda.k FmienaPwYa*rkan qbukYt_iN CakpapyunÉ unWtxuki muecnYdfukung k!l&aimrny!aj.! hLkengkan'n,yVa men&góeLnRcaKnCgN trerWhkadapnyhaé adfa*lMaum sqebWuah tjek(anranV cNepaQt MuUntuRk meCnDeka*nkan maksudinyya.M &"RJaónXgan &dsaBtang )ke* QsFiHnai seyndui,rsianR l_agi. TPidMakr kdUi Ém'a!la.m harix."
Ketika dia mengangguk-apa lagi yang bisa dia lakukan? Dia melepaskannya, memicu kontroversi emosional pada Chandler. Dengan hilangnya sebagian besar pria itu, dia merasa lega sekaligus kehilangan. Dia dalam bahaya, tapi dia aman. Dia ketakutan, tapi dia tertarik. Dia...
Sendirian.
Lampu merah dan biru dari mobil polisi menerangi bagian dalam bangunan tua itu. Cahaya itu tidak memperlihatkan apapun kecuali kekosongan. Pria itu telah tiada dan depot itu, sebuah cangkang, yang dulu ramai dengan para pelancong, sekarang telah mati. Rahasianya selamanya terbungkam.