Derek pulled out his phone and began searching for something. Meanwhile, Rachel tilted her head, her expression clouded with confusion. Eileen? The name sounded hauntingly familiar. Where had she heard it before…?
‘Eileen…’
In that instant, scattered fragments of past memories flashed through her mind. Silas, in the heat of their passion, thrusting into her roughly as he moaned the name “Eileen.”
Back then, she had dismissed it, assuming it was the name of an ex-girlfriend. Perhaps he isn't just a psychopath, but a sociopath as well. Who calls out an ex's name while sleeping with someone else?
‘Eileen?’
She had even heard him say it during meals. She remembered thinking to herself, 'Isn’t that the name he shouted in bed? Am I remembering wrong?'
She hadn’t dared to ask him directly, terrified of how he might react. But now, the realization struck her like a physical blow. That was her name.
‘Which means… he already knew I wasn’t Rachel Winston all along!’
Not only that, but she had degenerated to the point where she couldn't even recognize her own real name when spoken aloud. Shock and terror cascaded through her body, raising goosebumps along her skin.
She tried to deny it—No, that can’t be…—but her resistance was futile. Derek finally located the profile for Eileen Bennett on the missing persons database and turned the screen toward her. An official ID photo stared back at her, erasing the last shred of doubt.
“Isn’t this you? Eileen Bennett.”
“……”
Should she try to run away before Silas returned? He already knew she was an impostor. For weeks, she had lied to his face, masquerading as his wife, even attempting to gaslight him into believing he had always loved her.
If he decided to kill her right now, it wouldn't be out of character. In truth, the only anomaly was that she was still breathing at all.
“Why are you here? I’ll call for a patrol car, but you need to come with me—”
Derek subtly attempted to guide Rachel—no, Eileen—toward the mansion's exit. Now that the missing person case was effectively solved, separating her from Silas and returning her to safety would allow him to cover up his unauthorized entry and illegal search.
Ring, ring—
Yet, with the cruel timing typical of a horror game, the phone screen flashed [Battery Depleted] before shutting off completely. He had explicitly checked to ensure it was over 70% before entering, intending to reserve most of the charge for documenting evidence.
Against the game's rigid mechanics, however, precautions meant nothing. Under normal circumstances, he would have scoured the vacant mansion for a portable charger to contact Noah Cruz, but…
“For now, follow me.”
“Huh? W-where?”
“To the station first. I have a lot of questions.”
Derek took Eileen by the wrist and strode toward the main entrance.
When she stumbled, he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. Yet her difficulty in walking wasn't just physical exhaustion.
She knew, with absolute certainty, that she was bound to this mansion. If she attempted to step beyond its threshold, the system would trigger an error message once again.
Despair settled heavy in her chest. All that remained was to await the moment Silas formally confronted her true identity and ended her life.
“What…”
“After you went missing… or rather, do you even know who owns this property? Silas Blackwood.”
“Of course I do.”
Eileen doubted anyone in this game understood Silas better than she did. She knew precisely how he murdered his victims, how he would inevitably kill her… The only problem was that she was now slated to die by those very same methods.
“Have you noticed anything suspicious?”
The man was suspicion personified. Yet within the mansion itself, she hadn't uncovered a single concrete piece of evidence. Unless one counted his unnerving, boundless stamina that kept her trapped in bed day and night…
Or how he managed to maintain a luxurious lifestyle without ever appearing to hold a job…
Or how he would materialize out of thin air whenever she approached the staircase…
Or how he somehow picked the bathroom lock to join her in the shower, no matter how securely she bolted the door…
Or how, despite weeks of him finishing inside her, she hadn't displayed the slightest sign of pregnancy…
If dictated by the rules of a game system, it made sense. But if this were "reality," absolutely nothing about him added up.
“He’s the primary suspect in an ongoing murder investigation.”
Eileen’s eyes widened at Derek’s revelation. It was finally happening. Yet Derek assumed her shock was merely beginning.
After all, he had entered the house believing that Eileen Bennett—the woman currently standing before him—had already been murdered by Silas.
That was the exact claim made by the anonymous informant who had tipped off the NYPD. But with her standing here alive and unharmed, that testimony lost its credibility. Still, Silas Blackwood remained an inherently dangerous individual.
A confirmed psychopath and sociopath. Naturally, he was their prime suspect—they simply required hard evidence.
“On the 23rd of last month, a murder occurred in Central Park.”
“April 23rd? On a Wednesday?”
“Yes. Do you know something about that date?”
“That’s impossible. Silas was severely ill and collapsed that day. He couldn't even move. He stayed in bed the entire day without stepping outside once.”
“What…? Are you serious?”
Derek’s eyes widened in disbelief, but Eileen was equally stunned. She had assumed Silas was simply following the game’s predetermined plotline—killing others while sparing her.
Now, a realization washed over her. It had been days since he first uttered the name “Eileen” in her presence, yet he hadn't harmed her. Perhaps he had no intention of killing her at all.
And if he had been bedridden and incapacitated, there was no way he could have committed a homicide that day. She knew better than anyone, having stayed by his side through the entire night.
“Yes. I’m positive.”
Derek’s eyes shifted rapidly as he processed the information. A cohabitant's testimony held little legal weight on its own. Without medical records or a 911 dispatch log, it wasn't definitive proof.
Yet, hearing Eileen Bennett’s direct account, Derek could tell she wasn't fabricating a story. Her voice lacked the awkward, hesitant cadence from earlier when she had muttered, "Maybe… ah, guess not?"
“…Regardless, let’s head to the station and sort out the details there.”
“W-wait a minute! No, I can't…!”
Derek firmly supported her, ushering her toward the front entrance. Eileen tried to pull back, terrified of how he might react when she inevitably failed to cross the threshold, but her strength was no match for a trained detective.