Footsteps in the Dark

It wasn't that Avery was intimidating. In fact, the impeccably polite and strikingly handsome butler made a good impression. Dick just didn't feel at ease.

The room, opulent and filled with expensive furnishings, felt vast and silent. By now, Dick's emotions had somewhat stabilized. Although he still felt sad about his parents' deaths, new thoughts had started to take root.

He wanted to be like Batman.

He wanted to personally see the person responsible for his parents' deaths being put behind bars.

But now came the real question—where could he find Batman?

Dick had originally thought Bruce Wayne might know how to contact Batman, but now that assumption seemed shaky.

...

Click.

The soft flame of a lighter flickered to life, illuminating Margaret's face as she brought a cigarette to her lips. She inhaled deeply before exhaling a long stream of smoke.

The room, dimly lit by only a few ambient lights, felt somber. Although it was enough to illuminate the space, it cast shadows around the lavish, European-style sofa where Margaret sat, smoking alone.

Ever since the court declared her not guilty, Margaret's life had been far from easy. The orphanage had been shut down completely, and people she once mingled with in high society now pretended not to recognize her.

On top of that, those who had lost their children because of her often loitered around her neighborhood. If it weren't for the 24-hour police patrol in the wealthy district, those "common folk" would likely have stormed in to tear her apart.

This drastic change had left Margaret feeling an enormous sense of loss, unlike the glamorous days of the past.

Still, despite everything, her life remained comfortable. The wealth she had illegally amassed over the years was never confiscated.

But Margaret was still not satisfied. What she desired went far beyond mere wealth. If her remaining years were to be spent hoarding a few dollars in isolation, she might as well be dead.

So, not long ago, she decided to once again use the secret she held to blackmail Thompson.

Although she was almost fifty and with wrinkles beginning to appear, Margaret still maintained a certain allure. She curled her red lips into a smile, fully aware of the risks. She knew there was a chance she might be silenced for good.

But Margaret wasn't easily intimidated. She had already taken precautions, storing the secret in various places. If anything were to happen to her, the information would automatically be released online for the world to see. It might even land in the inbox of the U.S. President.

If Thompson didn't meet her demands, all of this would come to pass. And he could look forward to plummeting from the heights of his power, shattering upon impact.

"Hahaha."

The thought made Margaret chuckle. She even found herself eagerly anticipating the scene.

It was already late at night. After finishing her cigarette, she extinguished it in the ashtray, then turned around and made her way toward the stairs to head up to bed.

Her footsteps echoed dully against the dark wood of the stairs.

The house had a high ceiling, and from above, the staircase seemed endless. She ascended one floor, then another, but soon noticed something was off.

The mansion had only three floors—why hadn't she reached the top yet? Why did there always seem to be another level ahead of her?

Click, click, click…

The sound of footsteps echoed clearly in the silence mansion, and this sudden noise ignited a deep fear in Margaret.

She knew instantly that these footsteps weren't hers. It was as if someone else was following her, or perhaps descending the stairs, slow and deliberate, like a drumbeat pounding in her chest.

Margaret felt both startled and anxious, but she wasn't young anymore. She wouldn't scream out in fear like a younger girl might, knowing full well that such a reaction would do nothing to help. Even if someone heard her, no one would intervene. The patrolling officers were only concerned with keeping outsiders from entering the area; whatever the wealthy did in their own homes was none of their business as long as it didn't get out of hand.

Making a swift decision, she turned around and began descending the stairs, trying to escape.

Click, click, click…

The footsteps followed her, as if they were right on her heels. Margaret didn't dare look back; she just kept running down the stairs. Yet, no matter how many floors she descended, it felt like the staircase had no end.

She collapsed against the banister, utterly exhausted. Looking down from this angle, she realized that what should have been a clear view of the ground floor was instead an endless spiral of stairs, one level stacked upon the next, disappearing into infinity.

Cold sweat dripped down her forehead. This nightmarish scene, something she had only ever seen in stories or movies, had now become her reality, trapping her within its twisted confines.

Click, click, click.

The footsteps continued, but suddenly, they stopped.

Margaret, sensing something, slowly turned around. There, standing before her, was a figure cloaked in white.

The white cloak was embroidered with mysterious golden patterns that could daze anyone who glanced at them. Margaret quickly averted her gaze and began to look around nervously, only to be terrified to discover that the cloak was empty!

Beneath the cloak was a hollow space, yet it felt as if there were an invisible, intangible presence examining her from within.

"Who are you?"

She stammered, trembling as she asked.

No one answered her question. The emptiness of the stairwell echoed her words repeatedly until they faded into inaudibility, leaving only her voice resonating in the silence.

"What do you want from me?"

She pressed again, fearing that if no one replied, the almost breaking-point Margaret might collapse completely.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Margaret."

This time, her words did not go ignored. A cultured male voice suddenly spoke from behind her, politely greeting her.