The Crime Leveling System

The Letter from the Dead

Victor stared at the unfamiliar number on his phone screen. His thumb hovered over the answer button for half a second before he finally lifted the phone to his ear.

The wind on the street felt dry and the sun was gradually shifting towards midday, its glare reflecting off the pavement and stinging his eyes.

He had been planning where to buy gifts and how to make his budget go further over the next few days, but this unexpected call threw his plans into disarray. He frowned, his tone polite yet distant. "Hello, this is Victor."

A young girl's hoarse voice came through the line: 'Hello, Victor. I'm Claire, Miles's sister.'

Hearing the name instantly conjured an image in Victor’s mind: a face smiling too brightly, like a faded photograph from an old album bleached by the sun. It wasn’t his memory, but a remnant left by his predecessor.

Miles had been his predecessor’s best friend at school. Later, inspired by detective novels, Miles had become a private investigator. They’d lost touch after college, but still exchanged holiday texts. Victor even recalled Miles mentioning that he had a sister who had studied in England from a young age. Victor had half-jokingly tried to set them up, although the two had never actually met.

This thought suddenly tightened Victor's chest – strange numbers and tearful sisters rarely brought good news. He didn't rush to speak, instead matching Claire's tone:

'Claire, I'm here. I just suddenly remembered what Miles used to be like.' He paused, then lowered his voice. 'Is he okay?' The moment the words left his mouth, he knew the answer. But when faced with bad news, people instinctively allow themselves a moment to prepare.

Claire fell silent for a moment, then seemed to break down, gasping for air.

'No, he's not okay at all.' Her voice shattered instantly. 'My brother died two days ago. He was shot.'

The words struck Victor's mind like a heavy iron bar. He didn't immediately feel sorrow; strictly speaking, he was an outsider who had inherited this body and fragments of its memories, so his connection to the previous owner's friendships felt veiled by frosted glass. But a sense of foreboding sharpened sharply.

Miles wasn't just some random passer-by. He'd been involved with the previous owner's father in an old case, even offering to help with the investigation. And now he was dead. This wasn't just bad news; it felt as though a string had suddenly snapped taut.

Victor watched a bus slowly pass across the street. His Adam's apple rolled slightly as he lowered his voice deliberately.

'I'm sorry. When is the funeral? I'd like to pay my respects.” His tone was calm, as though he were accustomed to handling bad news.

Claire, however, completely broke down. She began sobbing at the other end of the line. Her voice came through the receiver in broken gasps. 'He hasn't been buried yet... The body is still at the coroner's office. They said we can't take him until the autopsy report is ready.'

Victor didn't respond immediately. He knew what an autopsy meant for the family, not only confirming death, but also involving the re-examination and stitching up of the deceased before returning them to their loved ones in a stark, clinical manner.

While it was a necessary part of the investigation, for the family it felt like losing him a second time. Hearing Claire's sobs, Victor pressed his lips together. Once she had calmed down a little, he tried to keep his voice steady. 'I'm so sorry about Miles, Claire. Tell me what you need. I want to do something for him.'

Claire sniffed. Her voice still trembling, she forced herself to continue. “Actually, there's no need to trouble you, Victor. I called today because, while sorting through my brother's things, I found something he left for you, along with an unposted letter addressed to you.”

She paused, as if gathering her courage. 'If you'd like, I can mail it to you, or you could come and pick it up yourself.'

The moment those words left her mouth, Victor's premonition was confirmed almost instantly: the items Miles had left for him and the unsent letter were almost certainly connected to his father's death. In other words, Miles's death might not have been mere bad luck.

Victor sighed, his gaze falling on the mottled shadows at his feet. You can't escape what's meant to happen by simply hiding. Since he'd taken on this body, he'd also inherited the relationships and troubles that came with it. Rather than waiting passively for news, he would go and collect the items himself and figure out the next steps later.

'Claire, is Miles still at his old address?' He listened as she gave it, quickly mapping out the route in his mind before deciding, 'I'll go myself. It's about time I paid him a visit anyway.'

After hanging up, Victor wasted no time in dialling Luna. She answered quickly, faint sounds of a juicer and clattering spatulas in the background revealing that she was clearly busy in the kitchen.

Luna’s voice had that familiar, slightly fierce domestic edge. “Let me guess—you're calling to say you won't be home tonight? If that's the case, I'll come find you myself, whip in hand.' Victor nearly laughed at her bluntness. He increasingly felt that his mother's temperament was like an unreasonable warm breeze — forceful when it hit, yet somehow endearing.

“Mom, it's a bit complicated.” Victor briefly explained the circumstances surrounding Miles's death, his tone neither exaggerated nor evasive.

After a brief silence, Luna gasped audibly. 'God! Miles? The guy you always used to hang out with in high school?”

Her tone softened instantly. 'I never would have guessed. All right, sweetheart. I'll forgive you for not coming home this time. If you need it, I can lend you my car.” Victor seized the moment, deliberately lacing his voice with a hint of resignation. 'I do need the car. Could you spare me some cash while you're at it?”

Luna first cursed and said, 'Get lost,' but it felt more like a routine reflex. She quickly asked Victor where he was.

Before long, she pulled up in her car and tossed the keys to Victor with the precision of a tool while shoving a paper bag into his arms. Inside were some still-warm smoked meats and a thousand dollars in cash.

'Don't starve on the road, and don't make yourself look like a fugitive.' Her words were sharp, but her eyes betrayed hidden concern.

Victor stood by the roadside, watching her retreating figure. The long-empty space in his heart felt as if someone had gently placed something inside it.

This must be what family feels like, he thought. He hadn't understood the meaning of those two words before, nor had he ever had the chance to learn what they meant. After being taken from the orphanage in his previous life, he had only learnt obedience, execution and survival. Family, love and friendship had always seemed too fragile to him — so fragile that he had dared not touch them.

But when Luna gave him the car, money and food, the memories behind the barrier in his mind suddenly warmed. The awkwardness vanished quickly, like fog meeting the sun and dissipating before it could resist.

He tore open the paper bag, broke off a piece of bacon and popped it into his mouth. The salty aroma and warmth flooded his senses, making him smile involuntarily. 'So this is what it feels like to be remembered by someone,' he murmured.

At around ten in the morning, Victor drove out of Los Angeles. The highway to Nevada stretched like a scorched grey ribbon under the sun, vanishing into the white horizon.

The scenery outside the window gradually shifted from wilderness to billboards, gas stations, sparse towns and vast stretches of bare land, each passing by in succession. The temperature climbed steadily and the air was parched and dry, even his breath tasting of dust.

Victor drove while mentally processing Claire's earlier words. He was increasingly certain that Miles's letter was not a sentimental farewell, but rather a key that could unlock a door that had once been firmly shut.

By a little past two in the afternoon, he finally reached Las Vegas, a city that was vastly different from Los Angeles. It seemed as if it had been constructed from blueprints, its streets exaggeratedly wide and its vistas expansive.

Tourists swarmed everywhere, and vacation resorts and casino signs dotted the landscape. Crowds dressed in light clothing filled the streets. The sun beat down on the ground, baking the asphalt until it gleamed.

Victor's first sensation upon stepping out of the car wasn't opulence, but heat — pure, dry and relentless, as if the entire city had been placed over a fire.

As he squinted, taking in his surroundings, a girl approached him. She wore a plain T-shirt and jeans, her brown hair tied back, and her face speckled with light freckles. Though her eyes were red and puffy from crying, her naturally sweet features were still visible.

Victor recognised her almost instantly. She stopped a few steps away and called out cautiously, 'Victor?' Her voice was soft, as if she was afraid of being mistaken for someone else, or afraid that speaking would stir up memories she should keep buried.

Victor watched her and something inside him clicked into place: he had come only to retrieve something, to pick up the pieces of trouble. But the moment he saw Claire, everything veered off course.

She wasn't the sharp, worldly woman he'd imagined. Instead, she had a sorrowful purity that made him blurt out, 'Damn!' The feeling had hit him too fast and unfairly.

The next second, his arms were wide open, and he smiled as sincerely as he could. 'Claire, it's good to see you. Miles was my best friend. I'm really sorry I wasn't there when he needed me.”

At the mention of Miles, Claire's eyes immediately reddened. As if she had finally found someone to support her, she threw herself into Victor's arms and clung tightly to him.

Victor froze briefly before raising a hand to pat her on the shoulder. His friendship with Miles had always been somewhat distant, but as this girl clung to him, he suddenly realised: Whether Miles had been his brother before or not, from this moment on, he had to be.

This girl looked exactly like the kind of trouble that could melt a man's heart, and Victor had already decided to take it on.

After a moment, Claire released her grip, took a step back and wiped her tears away, her face flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry, Victor. Seeing you just reminded me of my brother.'

She sniffed and forced a smile. 'Even though we didn't spend much time together, he was always so good to me.'

Victor waved his hand, brushing aside the lingering hint of intimacy and sadness. His tone lightened. 'It's fine. From now on, I'll be your brother. That'll make you feel better, and it'll make me feel better too.”

Claire's mood lifted at his half-serious, half-comforting words, and she finally agreed to get in the car.

Las Vegas' residential and tourist districts were distinctly separate. The outskirts were mostly made up of bungalows and low-rise homes, with wide yet winding roads. After turning down several streets, the surroundings grew quiet.

Guided by Claire, Victor navigated a series of turns before finally stopping in front of a three-storey villa. Though not extravagant, the house was neat and well kept, with a manicured lawn and white railings at the entrance. This place seemed entirely incompatible with shootings, death or old cases.

Claire's voice dropped as she unbuckled her seatbelt; there was a hint of worry in her tone.

'The things Miles left for you and that letter are all inside.'

Victor looked up at the house, tapping his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. He knew that, from this moment on, the thread he had temporarily suppressed might begin to unravel once more.