[Exorcism] Parallel Trap

"Alan Walker confirmed that he has gone out, the time is between 11:00-11:30." Link reported to the general word by word, standing upright.

"Where did you go?"

“Snack Street in South District.”

"one person?"

"Yes." Link thought for a while and added, "No contact with suspicious people has been found yet."

Rubelier nodded and said nothing.

"General," Link asked, "do you want to bring him back to the church?"

"No," Rubelier raised the pen in his hand, "Let him go, continue to follow."

"Yes, General." The young inspector didn't ask any more questions, and finally bowed before taking the order and leaving.

Link felt strange about his boss's attitude just now.

Since the general has always been wary of Allen Walker, he should try to reduce the scope of his free activities as much as possible, but now he is not restricted from going out, but only sent to follow him.Could it be that he is so confident in his intelligence network.

As a soldier, you shouldn't guess what your boss thinks, so these are just temporary emotions, which pass in your mind in a flash, not to mention that what really puzzled Link should be the matter at hand.

After deploying the following tasks, he took the documents in his hand and walked towards a certain room.

Allen stood at the door for a long time, he didn't know whether he should come or not.But thinking that the mission is over, and he is just an ordinary person, he no longer worries about that much.

Finally he reached out and pushed open the wooden door of the hut.

The furnishings inside are the same as when he came last time, all kinds of oil paintings are everywhere, there is still a piece of unfinished drawing paper sandwiched on the easel by the wall, and some painting utensils are randomly placed on the side, which is within easy reach.

It's just that the owner doesn't seem to be there.

Allen hesitated for a while, but still walked in.There was some dust on the ground, and there was a faint smell of paint in the air.There was probably not much ventilation in the room, and it seemed a bit dull.

He stepped forward and opened the curtains, and the bright sunlight quickly came in, casting a few squares on the wooden floor.As soon as the window was opened, a gust of warm wind and fresh air rushed in, quickly adding a bit of refreshing air to the room.

Allen looked at the curtains swaying gently in the wind with satisfaction, took a step back, and then seemed to be leaning against something, he looked back, it was the easel.

On the easel is an unfinished street scene in the rain.The whole picture is blue-gray and slightly blurred. There are only cars parked on the side of the street, no pedestrians, and the surrounding buildings are only sketched randomly, and the pen has not been drawn yet.

No, it seems to belong to someone?Allen noticed that the rain curtain near the car was drawn incoherently, as if there was a small area left, and the outline looked a bit like a human figure.But this doesn't seem to be in line with the order of painting. Even a layman like Alian knows that if you want to draw a person, you must have painted it early in the morning, and the rain curtain must be painted last, otherwise the overall sense of hierarchy will be wrong.That uncle also said that he doesn't like drawing people, so it seems that this is also the unfinished part?

Allen was thinking, when he heard footsteps, and then the door creaked open.As soon as he turned his head, he saw the owner of the house who was stunned just after entering the door.

"You... hello," Allen straightened up in surprise, saw the open window, and quickly explained, "Suddenly want to take a look. Seeing that you are not here, let the room breathe."

"Oh, it's okay, just sit down wherever you want." The painter brushed off his shirt and closed the door, "As I said, you can come over anytime."

The owner of the house cleaned up casually, pulled a chair for Allen to sit on, turned around and saw the paintings on the shelf, paused, then took them down, crumpled them up, and threw them into the wastebasket.

It turned out that it wasn't that the painting was not finished, it was that the painting was wrong.Allen thought as he looked at the wad of paper that had turned into waste.

"These are much more than last time. Do you draw every day?" Allen looked at the paintings in the room, thinking about how long it would take to complete them.

"No, it depends on your mood." The painter spread his hands, "It's pretty fast if you go by hand. If you like it, I'll give you one?"

"Eh? Is it okay?" Allen turned his head to look at the other party.

"Of course, I'm idle anyway." The painter asked generously, fiddling with several paintbrushes of different thicknesses, "What do you want?"

"Anything is fine." Allen smiled, "It's all very pretty."

"Then I'll paint casually." The painter sat down and began to color the paint.

Allen watched the other party finish fiddling with the painting tools and adjust the drawing board, and suddenly remembered something.

"By the way, I never asked, what's your name, uncle?"

The painter stopped what he was doing, turned his head to look at Allen, and then resumed what he had done before.

"Izzy." The painter wiped the first ray of color on the white paper, "Call me Izzy."

"Izzy..." Allen repeated this rare name, not knowing whether it was a first name or a last name, and didn't ask much.

"Or you can call me Uncle Izzy." The painter joked with a smile.

If you take a closer look, you can see that although this painter is not trim, he should not be too old. Thinking of the title he used just now, Allen suddenly felt a little embarrassed.

"It's okay," the painter said again, as if seeing what Allen was thinking, "I don't care."

A gust of wind came in from the window, and the curtains were swaying, and the sunlight also swayed, flickering across the corners of Allen's eyes.Looking at the simple furnishings in the room, he thought to himself that this painter named Izzy seems to have been walking alone, and the scenes he painted were almost empty and deserted.

"Uncle Izzy, do you have any friends?"

"Friends?" The painter thought for a while, "Yes, but I have no fixed place all year round, and I rarely keep in touch."

"Yes." Allen nodded.

The painter turned his head and glanced at the boy.

"Someone asked me this question before." He added lightly, dipping in paint.

"Then he is your friend now?" Allen looked at him.

"No." After a brief silence, the other party replied.

The wind died down and the sun returned to its original position, leaving the two of them in the shadows again.

"What about you?" the painter asked again, "How many friends?"

"Well, there are many, I have known them since I was a child."

"The relationship should be very good. Have you ever fought?"

"I have fought." Allen suddenly remembered the one who fought the most outside of training, "There is a man, almost every time he calls me bean sprouts, we will fight once."

"Bean sprouts?"

"The nickname he gave me." Allen frowned displeased.

The painter glanced at him, and suddenly laughed out loud.

"It's pretty similar."

"Hey……"

"You should eat more, look at your body."

Ya Lian stared at the other party, with a look of unwillingness but did not refute, wondering if I haven't eaten enough?

The other party was still smiling, and seemed to be happy to see his reaction.

"Are you in a better mood now?" the painter asked suddenly.

"Eh?" Allen was taken aback.

"When you first came in, I saw that you didn't look energetic," the other party explained, "You fought with your friends again?"

"No..." I didn't expect this slovenly-looking person to be so careful, and Allen was a little grateful.

"Is there something on your mind?" The other party's voice slowed down a bit, and the atmosphere also settled down.

Allen looked at the lines on the floor, but didn't answer.