Doomsday Wonderland

Doomsday Wonderland Chapter 1402: The First Story

Chapter 1402: The First Story

The constant wailing of the baby next door was driving her insane

Was the baby hungry? Needed a diaper change? It cried incessantly, yet its parents seemed indifferent to the disturbance they were causing the neighbors.

She found herself fantasizing about smothering the baby with a pillow. After tossing and turning in bed, her drowsiness was completely overtaken by rage — it was just her luck to end up in a cheap, old apartment where even a midday nap was impossible.

The door of the neighboring apartment swung open and a roar filled the hallway. “Shut it up with a pacifier! It’s deafening!”

‘Yeah, same,’

Marigold thought. As her husband, Jetson, walked past the bedroom door to the far end of the apartment, she quickly shut her eyes, feigning sleep.

Although she was no longer sleepy, at least the baby had stopped crying.

According to the character description, Jetson had recently taken a long leave from the hospital. He was now home every day, claiming he was exhausted and needed a break. She had wondered how someone could be so capricious even after returning to work.

However, when she saw her objective, she understood.

Simply put, she needed to survive the next 30 days. Why wouldn’t she survive? In most murder cases, the spouse was the prime suspect. Who else in this building had a motive to kill her? The couple had been having numerous problems lately, according to her character description. Instead of distancing themselves by going to work, he insisted on staying close 24/7, which was very suspicious.

The pressure on her life seemed immense. Her immediate goal was to convince others to believe her and help her survive the 30 days. With that in mind, the suspect could only be her husband—she needed to persuade others precisely because he was the prime suspect.

Jetson peeked in and whispered, “Are you awake? I’ve made lunch. How’s your appet.i.te today?”

Marigold inwardly sneered. Slowly, she turned and replied, “I’m not hungry yet. Just leave it in the microwave. I’ll heat it up when I’m ready.”

He looked her up and down, perhaps suppressing his disappointment, then smiled. “Alright, don’t wait too long. You have to take your medicine after eating. By the way, you’re running out of medicine. I’ll ask my colleague to bring some over this afternoon.”

Unbeknownst to him, she had been flus.h.i.+ng those pills down the toilet and the garbage disposal, taking them two at a time, twice a day.

This information was also doc.u.mented in the character manual.

She was almost certain that her husband’s objective in this role-playing game was to kill her. The real question was how and when he intended to act. There were many nosy neighbors in this building, most of whom were idle and had irregular routines. If he acted rashly within their apartment, it would be hard to find an appropriate time to dispose of a body afterward.

Marigold sat motionless on the bed for half an hour when she heard a knock on the door. Jetson went to answer it, and from the conversation, it sounded like the quirky pseudo-psychic from upstairs.

Amid the overlapping voices, she clearly heard Jetson ask, “Are you inviting some neighbors over? Well… You might not be aware of Goldie’s condition.”

‘Here we go again.’

In her character description, it was clearly written that she had recently discovered her husband was spreading lies about her among the neighbors, suggesting that she wasn’t mentally well and needed to rest. None of these claims were true. Essentially, it all boiled down to, “Don’t believe anything she says.”

Was he deliberately trying to isolate her? What good intentions could he possibly have?

“Perhaps a bit of social interaction might help,” the psychic suggested, undeterred.

An epiphany suddenly struck Marigold. Establis.h.i.+ng her mental stability first was crucial, as it would enable her to expose her husband’s dark intentions, thereby gaining the trust and support of others. With external oversight and pressure, surviving 30 days would be significantly easier. This moment presented a perfect opportunity to show everyone the truth of her situation.

She abruptly opened the door and hurried into the living room, startling the psychic. “Elizabeth, what do you want from us?”

“Just to sit, have some tea, and chat,” Elizabeth said. “Today at half-past three, others will come too.”

True to Elizabeth’s style, she had specifically chosen a time that wouldn’t necessitate offering a meal.

“Who else is coming?”

“Those two college students, Mr. Grant, and Ivy,” the psychic listed. “Ms. Chen and Pink’s grandma too. I haven’t seen Barbeque Brow, and there was no answer when I knocked.”

He might have drunk himself into oblivion again. Pretending to ponder, Marigold said to her husband, “I’ll go too. I don’t want to be cooped up at home all the time.”

Jetson glanced at her, hesitating to speak. If she hadn’t read the character manual and known about his behind-the-scenes plans, she might have been fooled by his seemingly sincere concern. If she didn’t act now, everyone would start believing his lies.

“What time is it now?” Marigold glanced at her watch. “There’s still over an hour left. How about this? I’ll go up with you now. I’ve always been interested in that crystal ball and would like to have my palm read as well.” She turned to her husband and said, “We’ll meet at her place at half-past three.”

As long as she could momentarily shake off her husband, getting the word out would be trivial. However, Jetson immediately shook his head, saying, “Don’t go out alone. Wait for me.”

Marigold’s face twitched. Jetson watched her like a hawk, his eyes never leaving her. She suspected that if she rested for an hour, he would probably pace the corridor.

“It’s just upstairs. What’s there to worry about?” she said coldly. “Either you come with me now, or I’ll leave without you.”

Jetson gave the psychic an apologetic smile, looking helpless. Marigold felt a pang of regret, realizing she had given him an opportunity to play the understanding partner and make her seem unreasonable. But at least he couldn’t insist on accompanying her now.

Jetson nodded, saying, “Elizabeth, please take care of Goldie. If there are any issues, just call out to me.”

Once she was out the door with Elizabeth, Marigold leaned back and pressed her ear against the door for several seconds. It seemed that Jetson was not in the living room. When she turned, she found the psychic looking at her with surprise.

She weighed her options. Elizabeth, in her thirties and always alone with seemingly no family or friends, seemed like someone no one would miss if she disappeared.

“Have you had lunch?” Marigold asked. “I just remembered we have a lot of food at home. Would you like some?”

Elizabeth, in her role, never turned down a free meal. “That would be so kind of you. It’s so late, and I haven’t even had breakfast.”

“Okay, wait for me.”

Marigold slowly and silently opened a crack in the door and looked around. Jetson wasn’t in the living room, probably in one of the rooms. She sneaked into the kitchen, dumped all the lunch into a container, and swiftly exited.

Once the door closed behind her, she immediately handed the container to Elizabeth.

“Have you eaten?” Elizabeth asked.

“I have,” Marigold replied. She hadn’t felt hungry for a while. “If you want, you can come to our place for lunch and dinner every day.”

Elizabeth’s face lit up. As if afraid Marigold might change her mind, she quickly said, “Sure, that’s great. Does that include breakfast too?”

She really didn’t care about politeness. However, Marigold knew she would accept the offer. After all, what spiritual powers did this woman truly possess? Her greatest talent might just be mooching off others for meals. Marigold needed Elizabeth to do just one thing: eat the food Jetson prepared for her every day.

Holding the lunch box as if it were a treasure, Elizabeth was about to head upstairs when her gaze briefly wandered to Barbeque Brow’s house.

“Don’t bother looking. He’s probably drunk by now,” Marigold said. “He won’t be out for tea.”

Barbeque Brow’s character description noted he was a heavy drinker, often intoxicated before noon. When drunk, he had a bad temper and had argued with neighbors several times because of the baby’s cries.

Elizabeth gave a noncommittal hum, barely paying attention. Adopting a more serious expression, she said, “Let’s go.”

On the way to the second floor, they came across Pink from apartment No. 6 playing a war game. Elizabeth greeted him and, as she led Marigold to apartment No. 7, rambled on about her psychic abilities and the inconveniences they brought. Inwardly, Marigold couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Her intention was too obvious. Who would believe she had real psychic powers?

Reaching apartment No. 7, Elizabeth tucked the lunch box under her arm before rummaging in her pockets for keys. Marigold stood by the floor-to-ceiling window near the door. All the apartments were similarly structured with curtains drawn. Bored, Marigold’s eyes casually scanned the scene but then paused suddenly at the bottom of the curtain.

Something was not right.

The door finally unlocked with a click. As Elizabeth invited her in, she said, “Not just these; I’ve faced ghosts too.”

Marigold tuned out Elizabeth’s chatter. As soon as she entered, she turned her gaze to the window by the door.

Should she tell Elizabeth? If she did, would it confirm the rumors that she was mentally unstable?

“What’s wrong?” the psychic asked.

Marigold stared at her for a few seconds before scanning the room again. Elizabeth seemed oblivious to anything amiss.

“Do you live alone?” Marigold asked.

“Yes.”

“Then… d-didn’t yousee it?” Marigold said, pointing to the curtain. “Just now… whenyou opened the door, there was a pair of feet standing under the curtain.”