Chapter 9: The Same Kind
1177 Words
He waited a little longer, then pulled out the knife he’d hidden under his shirt — along with a spare set of clothes and sandals identical to the ones he was wearing.
Every piece had been carefully concealed.
He’d anticipated that Uncle Bảy might refuse to help, so he’d prepared a fallback — a way to act alone and erase all traces without anyone ever knowing.
When everything was ready, he returned to the alley.
He glanced up at the small window of his room — the metal bars loosened days ago, the screws removed one by one.
A rope hung down along the wall, hidden behind the water pipe running up to the roof of the opposite house.
In the dim night light, no one would ever see it.
Finally, he crouched beside a large trash bin by the wall — the one he’d deliberately filled with water.
Filthy water, yes, but enough to wash away anything that might linger afterward.
His plan was simple.
Find the right moment.
Handle one — maybe two of them — quickly, quietly.
Then escape.
After that, he’d dive into the trash bin’s dirty water — to rinse himself clean, and to throw off anyone who might chase him.
From there, he’d slip into the shadows, change clothes, toss the knife and the bloodied set into the public garbage heap.
He’d chosen this night carefully: the trash collectors would arrive at dawn.
By the time the sun rose, every trace would be gone.
Then he would simply walk back through the main gate, calm and clean.
If everything went perfectly, he’d never need to use his backup escape — the window and the rope.
Just reel it in, shut the window tight, take a shower… and he’d be safe.
---
Everything went according to plan.
One man was dead.
He only regretted not being able to learn more about the victim — to study his fear, his last breath.
Time was too short.
He’d had only a brief, fleeting taste of that ecstasy.
Knock… knock… knock.
The sound jolted him upright, snapping him out of the trance.
He turned toward the door, eyes wide.
> “Who’s there…?”
> “It’s me. You done showering yet?”
He exhaled sharply — it was Thiện.
When he’d come home earlier, his body had reeked — the stench of rot and grime from the trash water.
But it wasn’t unusual.
After heavy activity, his sweat usually smelled just as bad.
Thiện hadn’t thought much of it — just told him to wash up and come downstairs.
> “Just finished. Been a while since I moved around that much, took me a bit.”
He opened the door. Thiện stood outside, smiling, and grabbed his hand.
> “Good. Uncle Bảy’s waiting for us. Come on.”
Bảo slipped his hand free, his voice soft but even.
> “Give me a sec — I left the AC on.”
Thiện nodded and waited by the door.
Bảo stepped back inside, switched off the air conditioner, shut the door behind him.
Then the two of them went downstairs together to meet Uncle Bảy.
---
11:00 p.m. that night.
After their discussion about registering under Uncle Bảy’s household and enrolling in school, Bảo returned to his room. His face was stiff, pale — drained.
He hadn’t wanted to agree to any of it.
But refusal would have only drawn suspicion.
And suspicion was the one thing he couldn’t afford.
The mask of the good boy — obedient, grateful, harmless — had to stay in place.
Even when it suffocated him.
He lay down on the bed, flicked on the cheap night lamp by his pillow, and switched off the main neon light.
The room dimmed into a warm blur of yellow.
He pulled the blanket up to his neck and closed his eyes.
Days without sleep, nights spent polishing every detail of his plan — and now, finally, success.
Relief spread through his chest.
It didn’t take long before he drifted into a deep, heavy sleep.
---
Half an hour later, in the fog of a dream, he found himself standing once more in that dark alley.
The knife was still in his hand — its blade wet, tacky with blood.
His clothes clung to him, soaked, sticky.
He stared down at himself, dazed.
He remembered everything.
He’d cleaned up. He’d destroyed the evidence.
He’d come home. He’d gone to bed.
> “A dream…”
He muttered, slapping his own cheek.
> “No pain… so this is a dream.”
But it felt too real — the warmth, the metallic sweetness of blood, the smell thick in the air.
Too real to be a dream.
Then came the voice.
> “Oh… you can tell it’s a dream? That confirms it. You really are one of us.”
A rough, gravelly voice from behind him.
He spun around.
In the gloom beyond the reach of the streetlight, figures emerged — cloaked in black, hoods drawn low over their faces.
One stepped forward.
> “Who the hell are you?”
He tried to sound calm, but instinct forced him to back away.
> “First time meeting, isn’t it… fellow kin.”
That word made him freeze.
Kin?
> “What do you mean?”
A low, rattling chuckle.
> “Don’t be afraid. We’re the same. The same kind. And the same kind doesn’t harm its own.”
The voice echoed, raspy and alien, vibrating through the darkness.
Bảo’s patience cracked.
> “Stop playing games. I don’t know you. What makes you think I’m one of you?”
The figure didn’t answer.
He simply raised a hand — and the others behind him did the same, pointing at Bảo all at once.
The air thickened.
Cold. Heavy. Suffocating.
> “What the… are you all insane?”
> “We happened to pass by tonight,” the leader said calmly,
“and caught the scent of one of our own. So we came to greet you. But you’re still young. Unripe. When the time comes — when you’re ready — we’ll return, and take you back to where you belong. For now… survive. Until then, little kin.”
Before Bảo could react, the figure lunged.
A blur — faster than thought.
Something struck him hard.
He felt himself lift off the ground, weightless — then slam down.
Pain exploded through his skull.
Then nothing.
Black.
---
Bảo jolted awake.
His body drenched in sweat, chest heaving.
For a moment, he didn’t know where he was — until the dim yellow glow of the night lamp came into focus.
His room.
His bed.
> “Reality…?” he whispered.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, eyes wide, trembling.
> “Was that… just a dream? Or…”
He swallowed hard.
> “Why… why did they call me that?”
> “Kin…”
The word echoed in his head — soft, alien, and far too close.
- Writer
