What Comes After the Kill
1096 Words
Going downstairs, Bruce put the room key of 304 back to its original place. Not in a hurry to leave, he alertly held the screwdriver and quietly lifted the eyelid skin of the receptionist, confirming that he was not pretending to be asleep through the frequency of the other party's eyeball movements before leaving the scene with peace of mind.
Back in the car, Bruce took off his body's crime clothes and packed them in a package while quickly recalling every step he had just taken to make sure he hadn't missed any traces. At the same time, he was waiting, waiting for feedback from Goldfinger. This moment was not only waiting, but also an experiment he had set up.
Logan's fatal wound was simple, but the depth and angle were enough to be fatal. Even if he was lying in the hospital at this time to rescue him, there was almost no possibility of survival. But the problem was - when Bruce left, Logan hadn't broken.
“If Goldfinger is giving feedback now, it means that the mechanism it uses to judge the completion of the obsession is rule-based, and not based on my subjective perception of whether the target is dead or not.” He thought darkly. In other words, he couldn't rely on self-hypnosis or deception to “get a bug”.
Bruce didn't have too much mental burden about killing. On the contrary, when the knife pierced Logan's throat, he felt a strange sense of pleasure, from the skull to the toes.
That tingling sensation, not the relief brought by the gift of the dead, but like a cranky person who had quit smoking for a long time and suddenly took a sharp puff of nicotine-satisfied, indulged, and bizarre.
“Am I ...... a born p*****t?” He laughed bitterly, quickly breaking the thought off. It wasn't the first time he'd killed someone; when he was eight, he'd killed someone, more than one even. He had nightmares after that one, and this one was like a physical and mental release.
Calmly, he pulled out his cell phone and made a rough estimate of Logan's time of death. The discovery of the body tomorrow was sure to make waves, but he didn't care. With the lack of motive and no evidence of direct contact, the police lineup was too vast to pin him down anytime soon.
“Almost there.” He murmured in a low voice.
As expected, seconds later, a familiar warmth slowly spread from within his body. The gift of the dead, as promised.
“He's dead.” The corner of Bruce's mouth curled up into a smile, and there was also a slight hint of regret in his delight.
Confirming that the mechanism was rule-qualified also meant - he don't want to speculate anymore.
This time, the gift was still a physical enhancement, but it was obviously not as strong as the last time. “It might have something to do with the depth of the obsession,” Bruce guessed, ”that mother's obsession was love for her daughter; Logan's obsession was hatred for his wife.”
This time he was prepared, and although his body still welled up with a sense of relief, there was no further dangerous state of disorientation. He was secretly relieved. A few seconds could make the difference between life and death at a critical moment.
After the feed ended, Bruce moved his body, feeling lighter than before. The symptoms of days of labor and organ overdraft seemed to have greatly improved after the two feeds, and now the state, at least, is a normal youth with sub-health, and no longer a candle in the wind.
Of course, he also understands that the illusion of “as if back to eighteen years old” is more of a psychological rebound after leaving the sick state. Even so, it was enough to cheer him up.
“What does the Bureau of Forensic Medicine have the most of? Corpses.” Bruce smiled confidently. He wasn't afraid of not having an obsession to solve, only that he hadn't grown up fast enough.
In the night, he drove to the suburbs, selected a hidden location, burned and buried the items he used today along with the clothing packages, and confirmed that no traces were left behind before returning to his residence with confidence.
After returning home, Bruce took a shower, changed into clean pajamas, and began to test his physical state. It had indeed gotten stronger; muscles were tighter, fatigue had subsided, and concentration was high. He sighed, it wasn't as dramatic as he thought it would be, but it was a huge leap forward.
Satisfied, he set his alarm clock and burrowed under the covers. Everything today seemed like a dream, but the direction of the future was clear in his mind.
He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
“This is ...... where?”
He looked at the white space in front of him with some confusion. This was not his bedroom, but the spiritual space in his consciousness. In front of his eyes, two small balls glistening with pale light floated silently.
Clarity surged into his heart - this was the second effect of the deceased's gift: memory projection.
He reached out and crushed one of the points of light.
The shattered image emerges: a scruffy, obese woman holding a cigarette, emotionally tugging at a man's hair, ranting and raving; the man is none other than Logan, eyes closed in his rage, not saying a word.
Bruce frowned. The memory is all image, no sound, but enough to see that Logan is in a state of chronic marital oppression.
A second image follows: a soap opera on the TV, Logan's wife curled up on the couch in a deep sleep, and Logan, with a small, blood-dripping hammer in his hand, standing drunkenly behind her, a vicious look in his eyes.
The next second, the hammer rises and falls - and the scene comes to a screeching halt.
“Sure enough, it's this guy.” Bruce grunts coldly as the identity of the murderer is confirmed.
But what about that neighbor Claire? Why was she dead too? He pondered, reaching out, crushing the second point of light ......
*****
Author’s Note:
Thank you so much for reading and being part of this journey!
If you'd like to keep going, you can download Ringdom (our male-oriented fiction app) or Dreame (our female-oriented fiction app) and continue the story there—along with thousands of other exciting reads!
- Writer
