I looked at Will seriously, almost wanting to etch my words into his face. I'm about to undertake something extraordinary and dangerous, and the reason I'm taking this risk is entirely due to your foolishness. Therefore, you must exercise complete self-discipline. If I fail, you will regret it deeply, perhaps even without a chance to regret it. This situation is so serious, there's no room for negotiation.
"I'm going over now. You stay here and don't move or make any noise," I said to him. "Hide behind the tree. I'll come back to find you when I get the light."
He nodded nervously, his eyes widening dramatically. I don't know if he truly understood what I meant, but time won't wait. I can only hope that the innate human instinct to seek profit and avoid harm will kick in. Something concerning his own safety should be something he takes seriously.
Like a stranded fish returning to water, a soft glow suddenly enveloped me, as if the very composition of the air had changed. I stepped into the realm of light and approached the cabin as quickly as possible. The old man at the second-floor window still hadn't opened his eyes. The mushroom greenhouse emanated the scent of decomposing vegetation. The source of the smell lay in a semicircular mound of earth, like the soil that had been raised by some underground creature. This mound contained a mixture of various culture media, providing the nutrients the mushrooms needed to grow. The cabin door was right next to the greenhouse. She hadn't closed it, perhaps unprepared for intruders deep within the forest.
The brightness of the light inside was comforting, especially after a long, dark walk through the woods. It felt like returning to a warm sanctuary. As soon as I entered, I could hear the sound of water running upstairs. The first floor was plainly furnished. On the brown wall facing the door, there was a simple landscape painting and a photo. The photo showed a gray-haired, yet energetic, elderly man and a young girl, most likely the two people living upstairs. Written below the photo were two names: Irving Cotman and Dolly Eugene.
The dining room and kitchen were connected, and the living room lacked a sofa; at most, it had a few blankets padded on wooden chairs. The walls were a monotonous dark brown, giving the house a look of unfinished living. The owner likely hadn't considered creating a comfortable suburban farmhouse. It seemed as if this cabin was built solely to meet basic living needs.
The cloth bag the girl had brought back lay on a simple table, the lantern beside it, and a tape recorder in the corner. I suppressed my excitement and tiptoed over, moving as quietly as I could. At times like these, the clearest sound is the imaginary voice in my head, echoing stubbornly in my ears like the devout chanting in a church.
I silently took the lantern in my hand. Out of curiosity, I opened the bag and took a quick look. Inside were several bright red apples, a bag of salt, a towel, two cans of food, and a cassette tape.
I quickly grabbed the tape, stuffed it into my pocket, and ran out without looking back. My heart was pounding like never before. My body's reaction was faster than my mind. Without a second thought, my hand instinctively reached into the bag. My goal was clear: I had to get that tape.
Because my father's name is written on it.
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