The wait seemed to stretch on, the mountain wind intensifying, whipping against their clothes.
Catherine wrapped her thin coat tighter around herself, her body trembling slightly—it was unclear whether from cold or fear. Wright noticed this and took off his trench coat to drape it over her shoulders. Catherine whispered her thanks.
Watson vigilantly kept an eye on the surroundings and the movements of the young orderly inside the door.
Holmes stood silently, calmly observing the details of the porch, the young orderly's posture, and even the angle at which the light from inside was cast.
A few minutes later, footsteps were heard again, clearer and more composed than before. A figure appeared in the halo of light inside the door, walking slowly toward the entrance.
Director Claire Corinna.
She appeared to be around fifty, wearing a well-tailored dark gray wool suit, topped with a matching cashmere cardigan, and a pale purple silk scarf tied around her neck, giving her a dignified and capable appearance.
Her hair was an elegant silver-gray, meticulously pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, revealing a smooth forehead and a well-maintained complexion.
Her face wore an appropriately balanced expression, a mixture of compassion and worry.
However, Holmes's gaze instantly locked onto a pendant on her chest, crafted from a dark red gemstone. It was cleverly designed in the shape of an abstract blood drop, with thorn-like patterns winding around the edges, casting an eerie luster in the light.
Holmes frowned. He felt there was something unusual about Claire, yet when he tried to analyze it, he found no clues.
"Good evening, Mr. Williams, and everyone else." Claire's voice rang out—gentle, clear, and carrying a soothing power, yet it invisibly kept a distance.
Her gaze swept over the four of them one by one, finally resting on Catherine's face, the look of compassion deepening.
"Catherine, my dear child, I am deeply shocked and saddened to hear the news about Joseph. Please accept my condolences." She reached out, seemingly intending to pat Catherine's arm in comfort.
Catherine stiffened, subconsciously shrinking back behind Watson and avoiding Claire's hand. She kept her head lowered, her voice as faint as a mosquito's hum: "Thank you... Director."
Claire's hand paused in mid-air for a moment before she withdrew it naturally, her expression remaining compassionate without the slightest hint of awkwardness.
"Mr. Williams, Sheriff Marcus from the police station has already spoken with me on the phone."
She looked at Wright, her tone conveying an earnest sense of understanding and cooperation: "The Theological Seminary and I are both deeply pained by what happened to Joseph."
"He was a quiet, devout child, although... a bit special. We are willing to fully cooperate with the police investigation and hope to find the truth as soon as possible to comfort his soul."
Her phrasing was watertight, positioning the Theological Seminary as both a victim and a collaborator.
"Thank you for your understanding, Ms. Corinna."
Wright tried to make his voice sound natural.
"We would like to see Joseph's living quarters or perhaps speak with his classmates. Any detail might help piece together his state of mind during the last few days before he went missing."
"Of course, of course." Claire nodded slightly. "Please, follow me. The night air is cold; let us go inside to talk."
She turned to the side and made a gesture of invitation, her posture elegant and composed. The young orderly cleared the way, and the four followed Claire through the wrought-iron gate.
Inside was a spacious foyer. The towering dome was lost in shadow, and white marble Baroque columns supported the space, their surfaces carved with intricate patterns.
Huge oil paintings hung on the walls, depicting biblical stories, but in the flickering candlelight, the compassionate faces of the saints seemed distorted by shadows, exuding an indescribable eeriness.
A massive crystal chandelier hung from the dome, refracting the candlelight. It should have been dazzling, but at this moment, it only cast large, flickering, and grotesque shadows, rendering the entire space even more profound and inscrutable.
The air was filled with a heavy scent, a mixture of old wood, beeswax, incense, and a faint, fishy odor like damp soil mixed with rust.
"This is our sanctuary, the home for the children's souls."
Claire's voice rang out in the silence, carrying a hint of imperceptible pride.
"We are dedicated to providing a safe, tranquil environment filled with the glory of the Lord for souls like Joseph who require special care."
She led them through the foyer toward a wide corridor leading to the interior, with closed doors on both sides.
As she walked, Claire introduced the area, gesturing toward a row of doors on the right inlaid with frosted glass. "This is the front nave, mainly classrooms and the library. The children study the Bible and basic life skills here during the day, and use the evenings for self-study and prayer."
Passing one of the slightly ajar doors, Holmes's sharp gaze caught a glimpse of a figure in orderly attire flashing past the crack, as well as the look of vigilance on their face—a look that was anything but friendly.
"Ahead is the middle nave, our chapel."
Claire's voice seemed to take on a strange enthusiasm as she pushed open the two heavy oak doors at the end of the corridor.
A richer, stranger scent rushed to meet them. Before them lay an immensely grand space, even more towering and spacious than the foyer.
At the far end was an altar decorated with huge stained-glass windows depicting scenes of the Passion and Resurrection. In front of the altar, long wooden pews were arranged neatly.
What truly drew everyone's attention, however, was the group of people currently standing in the choir stalls in front of the altar.
About twenty young people, wearing uniform dark robes, of varying ages, but most had dull expressions, hollow eyes, and movements that carried a mechanical sluggishness.
They were arranged in several rows, chanting in unison under the direction of a middle-aged man who was also wearing a robe but had a fanatical expression.
That singing...
It possessed the solemn melody and grand harmonic structure of a hymn, even mimicking the pronunciation and rhythm of Latin psalms.
But listening closely, every syllable was twisted and deformed, filled with dissonance.
"What is this...?" Wright asked, frowning.
A near-intoxicated expression appeared on Claire's face. "Ah, the children are practicing a... well... newly composed hymn."
"It was composed by a donor with a deep understanding of modern religious music. The melody is unique, filled with awe and... exploration of the Creator's vast power, isn't it?"
"Although some children still struggle to understand it, they sing with great devotion."
"Are any of you interested in joining the choir? We welcome everyone to sing along."
Her voice remained gentle, but it carried a bone-chilling calmness.
Holmes noticed that when she spoke, her eyes were not looking at the choir, but subconsciously glancing at the corner beneath the altar where the shadows were deepest.
At the same time, he keenly caught that when the twisted singing rang out, the dark red blood-drop-shaped pendant on Claire's chest seemed to flicker ever so faintly.
"Awe and exploration..."
Holmes's voice was calm and waveless, betraying no emotion.
"Indeed unique, Ms. Corinna. Forgive me for speaking bluntly, but I seem to have seen similar principles of acoustic application in some ancient ritual texts involving mind control."
He threw out a probing topic, his gaze locked tightly on Claire's face, observing her most subtle changes in expression.