Chapter 6: The Confession
The lively pitter-patter of drops falling from the sky onto the nearby lush foliage filled the air as Zenos and Liz walked along the mountains towering over the outskirts of the western part of the slums.
“Been a long time since I last came here,” Zenos mused as he stepped onto the moss-covered stone stairs, each step rousing a certain feeling—not quite nostalgia—in him.
“I’m sorry to make you come all the way here,” Liz said.
“If it helps jog your memory, it’s worth it,” he replied, turning to her. “But Liz, the Dalitz Institute is already...”
“Yes, I remember that much. But I feel like going there may help me remember something.”
“That’s fine, then, I suppose.”
The building was located halfway up the mountains, deliberately away from prying eyes. Naturally, there was no form of entertainment nearby, and the tall trees only added to the feeling of solitude. In the dim daylight, the two proceeded along the mountain path in silence.
“Hey, look,” Zenos said as he crouched down to pick up something that looked like a reddish-black stone.
“Oh, a hagul nut,” Liz said. “How nostalgic.” They looked like rocks at a glance, but were actually the nuts of hagul trees.
“We used to pick these when we had free time.”
“Yes! We had to, back then.”
Hagul nuts tasted faintly sweet when kept in the mouth for a long while. The ever-hungry children had always carried some in their pockets.
Zenos bent forward and picked several of the nuts up. “Here, for you, Liz.”
“For me? I don’t really need—”
“Come on. These were lifesavers back then. Maybe they’ll help trigger some memories.”
“Th-Thank you,” Liz stammered, staring at the nuts in her hand for a moment before tucking them away.
The two moved further up until they stopped at a rusted gate. They paused for a spell, then started slowly moving forward once more, crossing the iron gate as it swayed forlornly in the wind. Soon, a somewhat open area came into view.
“We’re here, huh...” Liz murmured.
“Yeah, but—”
“Yes. I know.”
In the thin rain, the only traces that remained of the Dalitz Institute were a few pillars and something that barely passed for a roof, surrounded by scattered, blackened debris.
“Do you remember that day, Liz?” Zenos asked.
“I do,” Liz said. “There was a fire, and the place burned down.”
“And that was when we all separated.”
A single fire incident had been enough to bring down the orphanage which had once seemed like an eternal prison. He remembered the instructors desperately trying to put out the flames as screams echoed in the building. In the midst of all the chaos, the children had all run in different directions to avoid being caught. Now he didn’t know where those with whom they’d shared so many sorrows and joys had gone.
“I thought I’d seen you taking Gina with you through the smoke, so I assumed you two were still together,” Zenos remarked.
“Gina is—”
“Did you remember something?”
Liz brought a hand to her forehead, wincing. “It’s...vague. Still unclear.”
“I see. Well, we’re already here. Might as well take our time.”
“I appreciate it.” The pair moved underneath what remained of the roof, avoiding the rain. “By the way, Zenos, what did you think of me back then?”
“Hmm? What did I think? You were like a big sister to everyone.”
“Was I?”
“You were kind and reliable, and sometimes you got mad and that was scary, but I’m pretty sure everyone in our group liked you.”
“Did they?”
“I mean, yeah.” Zenos scratched his cheek. “I particularly remember that one time when the director’s safe was cleared out.”
“Oh! Yes, that happened, didn’t it?”
“Fingers got pointed at me, and the instructors almost had my hide.”
Even the adults of the orphanage had their own monster to fear: the orphanage’s director, Dalitz. The man was like an amalgamation of sadistic tendencies, and his presence had terrified not just the kids, but the adult instructors too. An accusation of messing with that man’s money was no simple matter. There had been talks of selling Zenos’s organs to pay him back, and it would’ve been no exaggeration to say the boy had prepared for the worst.
