Chapter 367: Extra 6: Charles Jennings & Serena Sutton

Aethelburg. A hint of warmth already tinged the early summer air. Unseen, the trumpet creepers that had slumbered for a year bloomed anew upon their branches, their orange-red blossoms blanketing the gray stone roof tiles.

A few boisterous students passed by, startling a blossom loose. It fell onto a sleeping tabby cat.

“MEOW!” The startled cat shot several meters away before finding a new spot to continue its nap.

CREAK… The door to the antique shop behind them opened. Morning sunlight spilled into the room, casting a layer of light over the well-worn interior.

Charles Jennings stood in the doorway, staring at the distant trumpet creepers for a long time. At last, he withdrew his gaze, his eyes cast downward as he became lost in thought.

This was the third month since his release from prison. More than two years had passed since the accident.

On the first day of his release, Charles Jennings did nothing. He used the last of his money to buy a ticket—a ticket to the town of Oakhaven.

When he first arrived in Oakhaven, Charles Jennings felt he had come to the wrong place. It was different from his memory—wide asphalt roads and renovated buildings. On the mountainside that had once buried so many lives, workers were now busy at their tasks.

Everything was thriving, everything was peaceful, as if it had always been this way. No one remembered the accident that had cost him everything.

‘So it’s true… I’m the only one who remembers.’

Charles Jennings let out a sneer and pulled a few white chrysanthemums from his pocket. Wilted from the long journey, they looked even more desolate as the wind blew past.

White chrysanthemums are pure and beautiful, yet their symbolism is often taboo: death and mourning. They are flowers best suited for a graveyard.

Charles Jennings didn’t know why he’d bought these white chrysanthemums. ‘Maybe it was just to spite someone.’

‘If she knew I’d brought white chrysanthemums, who knows how furious she’d be. She’d probably glare and slap me right across the face.’ Charles Jennings chuckled softly. ‘God, I’m so fucking pathetic.’

A few small, rolling pebbles knocked against the chrysanthemums, making them sway. Charles Jennings packed some dirt around them to hold them tight. Still not satisfied, he picked up a stick and carved a name in front of the flowers—Joanna Kennedy.

When he was done, Charles Jennings looked at his “masterpiece,” an unprecedented satisfaction in his eyes.

‘Yes, Joanna Kennedy is dead. She didn’t disappear, she didn’t go back to her own world. She’s just… dead. That’s all.’

‘She died in Aethelburg, is buried in Aethelburg, still breathing the same air as me. And now, no one else can ever have Joanna Kennedy.’

‘This is great,’ Charles Jennings thought. ‘Joanna Kennedy is dead. This is just great. So stupid and foolish. She should have died long ago.’

Charles Jennings wanted to leave, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move an inch. He stared intently at the name, his eyes gradually turning bloodshot. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly bent over, gasping for air in a posture of extreme agony.

It was as if he would die if he didn’t.

‘Unrepentant, a doer of evil deeds… You go to hell for that when you die.’ Charles Jennings let out a low laugh that looked more painful than a sob.

The sun set, and the miners began to leave work one by one. A gust of wind carried the faint, distinctive smell of dynamite. Numbly, Charles Jennings squatted down and carved two more words beside “Joanna Kennedy.”

Against the gray, dusty rock, the white chrysanthemums were starkly out of place. In front of them, a few words were crudely carved, looking strangely eerie from a distance. It was as if… the entire mountainside were one giant burial mound.

‘He would never come back. He was burying himself here, together with that same fool.’

Charles Jennings reopened the antique shop his mother had left him. He fell into a routine, and the shop brought in enough to support him.

One day, he was closing up late when he saw someone standing under the trumpet creeper trellis across the street. Charles Jennings’s pupils contracted, and he almost forgot to breathe.

When the person turned their face and he saw who it was, Charles Jennings was taken aback, a wave of immense disappointment washing over him.

“I thought you’d die in prison.” Serena Sutton tilted her head, a smile on her face as she used that once-familiar address: “Charles.”

“…Sorry to disappoint you.” Charles Jennings wasn’t angry. In fact, his face was completely devoid of expression.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Do as you please.”

Serena Sutton went inside, her gaze sweeping slowly around the small antique shop. She took her time looking.

The shop hadn’t changed. The faint, familiar scent of sandalwood reminded Serena Sutton of a time long ago, during elementary and middle school, when this place had been her most frequent haunt besides home and school.

“Do you remember where we first met?”

Charles Jennings didn’t answer, so Serena Sutton continued on her own, “It was right here, in this antique shop.”

“You had just moved here back then. All the kids in the alley were saying a really handsome older guy had arrived, so I followed the crowd to come see. You were wearing a white sweater, and you always had a smile on your face. You were different from everyone else here.”

A hint of a smile touched Serena Sutton’s eyes as she seemed to recall the scene. The chasm between the past and the present was too vast for her to accept. Her smile vanished. She looked up at the man who now seemed like a stranger and asked, puzzled,

“Charles Jennings, when did you change?”

“What about you?” Charles Jennings looked back at her. “When did you change?”

“…”

“I don’t know,” Serena Sutton said.

“Neither do I,” said Charles Jennings.

The two of them stood facing each other. Serena Sutton asked him, “If it hadn’t been for that so-called ‘mission,’ would you still have hurt me?”

Charles Jennings shook his head. Serena Sutton held her breath, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. Then she heard his voice, slow and cruel: “I don’t know.”

“…”

Serena Sutton closed her eyes for a moment, as if finally accepting reality. “You really are…”

‘He wouldn’t even grant her a simple lie.’

It was like a knife stabbing into her heart, letting out all the stagnant, bruised blood that had collected over the years. The pain was sharp, but it was also liberating. Serena Sutton actually managed a small smile. If she was going to suffer, she’d make sure Charles Jennings didn’t get to live so easily either.

“Have you found Joanna Kennedy?” She always knew just where to stick the knife to make it hurt the most.

The motion of Charles Jennings polishing an antique faltered for a second. The momentary pause was so brief it might have been Serena Sutton’s imagination. He said, “Joanna who?”

“She was a figment of my imagination,” Charles Jennings said.

The first time he had gone to see Serena Sutton, he had asked if she remembered Joanna Kennedy. Her answer had been, “It was all a figment of your imagination.”

Two years had passed. Charles Jennings had come to accept that answer, but now, Serena Sutton couldn’t. “Then why are you keeping her things?!”

A shattered bracelet was carefully arranged under a transparent glass cover, which was locked. Serena Sutton had seen this bracelet when it was whole, once worn on Joanna Kennedy’s wrist.

Charles Jennings followed her pointed finger. Even shattered into pieces, the bracelet’s former elegance was still faintly visible. He had found it at the foot of the mountain back then—or at least, a few of the pieces.

Serena Sutton’s questioning voice continued in his ear. When she had finally said her piece, Charles Jennings looked at her, his eyes as calm as still water. “I’m closing up.”

“…Charles Jennings,” Serena Sutton said after a long silence, her body trembling slightly. “Why?”

Why? The single word hung in the air, vague and without context. Not even Serena Sutton knew what answer she wanted to hear from him.

She didn’t know why she was questioning him, nor did she know the source of the resentment, indignation, and sorrow in her heart.

After a long moment, she turned around, her petite frame looking even more frail in the darkness. “…Charles Jennings, I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“Fine.”

Serena Sutton’s figure receded into the distance until it disappeared. Charles Jennings withdrew his gaze.

‘No need to see anyone ever again. There were still many days ahead. He would just live his own life.’