Randy shook his head as he walked upstairs toward the upper floor of the building where his rented room was located.
Miss Ria's story kept echoing in his mind—the truth about Alia's story, the version that had been circulating among the public all this time.
Randy didn't know which story had actually happened. But if what Miss Ria said was true—if Alia hadn't committed suicide after all, but had been murdered—then the research he'd spent nearly a month conducting had all been for nothing.
After all, when he visited the abandoned house to analyze the data and accounts surrounding the story, Randy had been absolutely certain that Alia's death had happened exactly as the sources had told him.
That meant Alia's murder had deliberately been staged as a suicide, and …
Damn it! Randy didn't want to make wild guesses. It had happened ten years ago, and the luxurious house by the roadside had been unoccupied for a long time.
At least he felt guilty for speculating about the unnatural death of someone who had already passed away, to the point that her spirit was now wandering like that.
There was only one way … he had to find out the truth for himself.
“Randy!”
Randy jumped and turned around. Adi was struggling up the stairs, his hands full of luggage.
“Good grief, I've been calling you forever and you didn't answer,” Adi said between ragged breaths.
“Huh? Really? How come I didn't hear you?”
“That's what you get for walking around lost in thought.”
Randy scratched his perfectly unitchy head and grinned. When he saw how much trouble the young man was having, he helped carry some of Adi's things.
“Hehe, thanks. You always know when I'm having a hard time.”
“It's no big deal. You just got back from your hometown?”
Adi nodded and pulled a key from his pants pocket. “My mom was sick, so I went home for a while to take care of her until my older brother got back from Kalimantan to take over.”
“Is she better now?”
“Thank God, Ran. At least it wasn't as bad as the first day we took her to the hospital. She was having trouble breathing and even had to use an oxygen tank. She's okay now, though.”
“Thank God for that. Hope she gets better soon!”
“Amen, Ran. Oh, just put that over there!” Adi said when Randy stopped in front of his room with a box of Indomie in his hands.
“It's food, Ran. Help yourself if you want.”
“Yeah, Di. I'll leave it here!”
Adi nodded as he stepped into his rented room and swept aside the curtain over the window. Randy merely watched, not daring to go inside.
The incident from that day was still fresh in his mind, and it had made him afraid to sleep in his room.
“Come in, Ran! Don't just stand there spacing out.”
“Nah, I'm good, Di.”
“Why not?”
“I've got a lot of assignments. Sorry!” he lied.
“Oh, all right, then. But take this with you, okay? It's something from home.” Adi handed Randy a plastic bag.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Randy turned and headed toward his room. After opening the door, he set the plastic bag on his desk and peeked inside.
It contained regional snacks. Randy grabbed a piece of Garut dodol and popped it into his mouth. His mind was filled with Miss Ria's words, which still troubled him—especially what she had said right before the two of them parted.
“I only hope you'll finish the story you created, and that this haunting will end. I've endured so many attacks because of the spirit that keeps interfering with my life. I just want to live in peace, Randy!”
He clicked his tongue and tossed the dodol wrapper aside carelessly, lacing his hands behind his head.
Miss Ria's words continued to bother him. Ever since he had written a story about Alia, based on the true story of the woman who was now dead, he'd started being plagued by terrifying apparitions.
Maybe … Miss Ria had been going through the same thing as him.