Divided heart

8. the first victim

Revenge is like a bee sting; when retribution is inflicted, you too will die when you pull it out.

-Sin-

Slow footsteps echoed as long legs stepped through puddles. He pulled his jacket tighter as the drizzle turned cold. Night had fallen; the moon hung as the last light as the streetlights dimmed.

The figure stood, gazing at the sky. Raindrops fell, wetting his face. But it didn't quench his hidden thirst. He shifted, moving closer to the shadows of the trees. Darkness always felt like a safe place to him.

Time ticked slowly. Several times he glanced impatiently at his watch, hoping someone would walk down the deserted road towards Marina's apartment.

The figure kicked a pebble to stave off boredom. Faintly, he heard voices approaching from the direction of the trees.

Two construction workers, in worn uniforms and safety helmets, walked by, carrying food. Neither of them noticed the figure; they were too engrossed in their conversation, accompanied by the falling rain.

"On nights like these, who would want to be out?" one worker complained.

"It's much better to eat at home and relax. It's just us still out here."

"That's life," his friend replied.

The figure reached for the knife neatly tucked into his jacket, ready to strike. But his intention faltered when a fat, bald man came running hard behind the workers. His steps were heavy, his large hands trying to shield his bald head.

The figure in the darkness gave a wry smile. Anger made him remember who the bald man was. He waited until the workers passed and turned towards the entrance of Marina's apartment. Then he hurried towards the bald man.

The man's fat jiggled as he struggled to run. The front of his clothes was wet, revealing his pendulous belly. The figure sneered with disgust. They passed each other. The dark figure roughly shoved the bald man's shoulder. The man fell, creating a splash in the puddle.

"Hey…," the man scolded angrily. "Watch where you're going. Don't use your knees." He was annoyed.

The figure tilted his head, his hand extending to help. The man snorted in annoyance but still accepted the help.

"Next time, be caref…" The bald man gasped as the figure pulled him closer with a sharp jerk. Before he could finish his sentence, a knife met him right in the throat.

The man stumbled backward, his eyes wide with surprise at the sudden pain. His hands trembled as he clutched his neck. Blood flowed profusely, uncontrollably. The figure pulled his arm and threw the man backward into the trees at the roadside.

The man's body convulsed. His hands stretched out in disbelief. "You… you…"

Another stab of the knife pierced the bald man's neck, tearing through his veins. The dark figure quickly pressed his mouth to the wound, greedily sucking the cursed liquid. The light in the bald man's eyes slowly faded; his life had been taken.

His hidden thirst was slowly quenched. Although the metallic taste of the bald man's blood was strong, it was enough to satisfy the dark figure's craving.

He stood, licking the blade of the knife to clean the blood. Ah…, another one. The figure knelt, holding the knife with all his might. The knife successfully severed the bald man's thumb perfectly.

He would take it as a souvenir for the young man, to awaken his memories. The figure walked away after hiding the fat man's body behind the ornamental plants at the roadside.

He tightened his jacket, put on a cloth mask, and smiled cheerfully, defying the sky. No one knew what he had done. Again, the figure continued his journey home. The rain washed away the traces of his sin.

***

My heart pounded. I woke up in the deepest darkness. Sweat covered my face; a few drops had just rolled down. My eyes stared at the ceiling above. I was still trying to process the overwhelming emotions. Everything felt so real—the dark figure, the splatter of the bald man's blood, and the sound of the knife meeting flesh as his finger was severed.

A dream… this was just a nightmare. I wiped my face. There hasn't been a peaceful day since moving into this apartment. Strange dreams always come, and they all feel so real. As if I were really there.

The surge of adrenaline kept my eyes wide open. I sat on the bed, taking deep breaths to calm my racing heart. A faint, metallic smell filled my nostrils. What was this?

I got down. Something rolled with the movement of my body, making a soft thud on the floor. I quickly switched on the wall light.

The light illuminated the soft object. Kneeling slowly, I reached for it. I screamed in horror, reflexively throwing away the soft object, which turned out to be a thumb.

What is this? Crazy… crazy… crazy… Who did this? Did someone break into my room?

I quickly stood up and went to the front door. Sure enough, the door was unlocked. I clearly remember checking the windows and the door before going to bed, making sure everything was locked tight.

I saw muddy and wet footprints on the floor, from the front door circling the room.

Someone came in and placed this thumb on me. No, is he still in my flat? My heart pounded again.

I grabbed a kitchen knife for self-defense. Slowly, I walked towards the bed. Sweat covered my palms, making my grip slippery. In a flash, I lowered my head and looked under the bed.

Dark. No one was there. I took a deep breath. My heart felt like it was going to explode from fear. Again, my feet traced the circular balcony, and I saw no one.

Only one room remained. I tightened my grip on the kitchen knife. My steps firm, I approached the bathroom and threw the door open with a loud bang. Empty. I sighed in relief.

Still shaking violently, I put the knife in the sink and turned on the tap. My movement stopped when I looked in the mirror. Dried blood was caked on the corner of my lip, forming a trail down to my chin. Hesitantly, my fingers touched the crust.

I smelled it; blood, definitely the smell of blood. Whoever broke in didn't just leave a thumb; they also gave me a taste of blood. Crazy… crazy… crazy… I immediately washed my lips clean.

Candy? The name of that scruffy girl immediately surfaced. Didn't she once hide cat hair in her clothes? She's the most likely suspect for killing that poor cat.

Could… could she have done all this?

I walked towards the bed, reopening the peephole I had previously covered with a sticky note. My eyes glued to it, checking the room beyond.

There was no movement; the girl was curled up on the bed, fast asleep. Her father was there, smoking and playing with his smartphone.

Slowly, I closed the peephole. Everything seemed normal. Were they not the culprits?

Then who?