The Memorial Shrine in the Orphanage
Lauren said: Then what is this?
I didn't understand either.
I stepped inside and found that the shrine also had incense and an incense altar.
Nearly twenty sticks of incense stood in the altar, all burned down to their bases.
I couldn't say why, but the shrine struck me as profoundly out of place.
I lit three sticks of incense and bowed to Serena.
I looked at the young face in the photograph and said silently: Serena, nice to finally meet you. I'm the man you'll grow up to marry.
The girl in the color photo was quiet, smiling gently.
Smoke drifted into my left eye. A sharp sting.
I rubbed it, but it only hurt more.
When I looked up again, my eyes went wide.
On the color photograph, behind Serena, a shadow figure had appeared. It was a younger version of Dr. Ashmore. A white line extended from his body, connecting to Serena.
Shadow figures and white lines again—appearing suddenly after my left eye was harmed. The difference was, this time there was only one figure. I studied it carefully and noticed that Dr. Ashmore seemed to be in motion, yet frozen in place—like a live photo that hadn't been pressed to play.
Lauren Vance stood behind me and asked cautiously: Ian, what's wrong?
I said: How do you play a live photo?
She said: What?... I think, you press and hold the screen.
The shrine photograph was displayed in an ordinary frame. The only thing here that could be called a screen was, perhaps, my own eyes.
I raised the incense and let the smoke drift into my left eye. Tears streamed down my face, the pain piercing my retina. Even my left ear began to ache. My vision grew blurrier and blurlier until I couldn't bear it anymore and set the incense down with a cry.
I looked at the color photograph.
The entire image blurred for an instant, then pulled back and expanded.
Serena's full body came into view—she wore a little white dress. A camera flash went off, and she lowered her head.
Dr. Ashmore, a camera around his neck, walked under the tree and offered Serena a piece of candy. She hesitated, then took it and placed it on her tongue. He said something to her, and her face twisted in pain as she bit down hard on the candy.
He grabbed Serena by the hair and slammed her head against the tree, again and again.
Her small hands covered her head. Her teeth clenched the candy. She made no sound.
He dragged Serena into the storage room. The door was shut. She pushed against it—nothing. Locked tight. She stood alone in the storage room, her expression detached, as if she'd long grown accustomed to this.
She found a box of thumbtacks in the storage room and scattered them around herself, fashioning an infinitesimally small safe space.
She crouched down slowly.
I watched her hug her knees, bury her face against them, squeeze her eyes shut. Her lips moved in a repeating pattern, forming the same two words over and over.
Those were the only words I could read from her lips.
Mommy.
I watched tears stream down her young face.
The dryness faded from my eyes. The photograph returned to normal.
Across the years between her childhood and mine, I stood before the shrine, fists clenched, my whole body trembling.
I said: I know who hurt Serena now.
Lauren said: What?
I said: Help me. Take a photo of this picture of Serena.
I pulled the Polaroid from my pocket and handed it to her. She noticed for the first time that every muscle in my body was rigid.
She carefully adjusted the lens and took the photo. It slowly slid out. Seeing my silence, she opened her notebook and tucked the photo inside.
The storage room contained many other items. She was about to photograph more when a voice stopped her.
Dr. Ashmore stood in the doorway and called out: What are you doing?
I slowly turned around.
In an instant, I lunged at him. A wild punch exploded against his face.
He let out a muffled groan and fell to the ground.
I pinned him down, gripping his head.
He said: Mr. Ashford? What's wrong with you?
That harmless expression, those polite words.
When he grabbed Serena by the head, he had worn this same gentle voice, this same placid smile.
I raised my fist and let out an incoherent roar.
A sudden warmth on my shoulder.
Lauren Vance had grabbed me from behind, wrapping her arms around me.
I thrashed violently. Her whole body strained. She stumbled but refused to let go.
She said: Ian Ashford, calm down.
---
Dr. Ashmore brushed off his suit.
I sat under the old tree, breathing hard, spitting.
Lauren Vance handed me a bottle of water.
She touched my forehead and said: You don't think you're having heatstroke, do you?
Dr. Ashmore said from across the yard, his voice mild: Dilated pupils, inability to regulate emotions. At first glance, likely a response to intense stimuli—excess thyroid hormone secretion.
I only stared at him, coldly.
Lauren Vance looked at me, confused. I wanted to tell her what I'd seen in the photograph, but back in the elevator, I'd already told her I could see things, and she hadn't believed me.
She was right. I needed to calm down.
A truth only I could see—no one would believe that.
What mattered more was that this still wasn't enough evidence to convict him of killing Serena.
If I wanted him to pay, I needed more proof.
I said: The shrine.
Lauren Vance addressed Dr. Ashmore: Please explain the memorial shrine in the storage room.
Dr. Ashmore adjusted his tie without giving a direct answer.
He said: As a police officer, you broke into someone's property...
I said: I broke in.
I said: Whatever Lauren saw in the storage room can be used as legal evidence against me for breaking and entering.
I held up the hair clip and locked eyes with him, defiantly.
Lauren Vance said: Dr. Ashmore, why is there a shrine for Serena in the storage room?
Dr. Ashmore said: Serena was a child of this orphanage. She has passed away. I wished to honor her memory.
Lauren Vance said: Why lock it inside a storage room?
He said: The children would be frightened to see a memorial photograph.
Lauren Vance said: It's a color photograph.
He said: Children may not see it that way.
Lauren Vance said: Dr. Ashmore, you're contradicting yourself. If it's locked away, how would children see the photograph to be frightened by it? Or let me put it another way—does the photograph in the storage room hold some special significance for you?
He said: That's enough. I'm not a suspect. I have no obligation to answer your questions.
Lauren Vance smiled.
She said: As a police officer, I have the right to demand the truth. Your eyes shifted multiple times just now, which strongly suggests you're lying.
Dr. Ashmore fell silent. His Adam's apple bobbed as though suppressing some emotion.
Finally, he lowered his gaze.
He said: Serena... was my wife.