"Aa–ahhh…! Hhh–hhhaaaHHhhhhh… sob… Aaahhhhhh—hhhhh…!"
A sharp scream ripped through the cellar, echoing off its walls like a funeral bell tolling before her.
The girl lowered her head toward the ground, bound tightly to the chair, unable to move — the most she could do was scream, weep… and wait for her inevitable fate.
At that moment, a man stepped toward her. He looked to be in his early forties, silver hair catching what little light there was, his features cold.
In his left hand, a knife gleamed, its blade flashing in the dark.
The girl kept crying, glancing wildly around, searching for any way to escape — but there was none. With each of his steps, the cold clink of chains tangled with her steady sobbing.
---
He stopped right in front of her, studying her as if she were a work of art.
Her heart felt as though it might burst from her chest with fear, while he leaned in, his warm hand rising slowly to brush along her cheek, then up to her eyes, pausing there — savoring the terror trembling inside them.
"Please… I didn't do anything to you. Why are you doing this to me?"
---
Her voice was faint, no more than the whisper of a desperate child.
His gaze narrowed. He lifted his hand, then seized a fistful of her hair, yanking her pale neck into the dim light.
He raised his left hand, the silver blade glinting between his fingers. Slowly, he drew the knife across her throat — not cutting, only sketching the path it might take.
She looked at him, pleading for mercy, her voice frail, her eyes brimming with warm tears.
"Please… I just want to go home."
---
He arched an eyebrow in mockery and drew the blade away from her neck. Leaning close to her ear so she could hear him clearly — so close she felt the warmth of his breath — his voice mingled with the faint clink of chains and the slow whisper of air drifting through the cellar.
"Oh, my dear," he chuckled softly, "you're nothing more than food. And soon you'll play your part as prey on the dinner table."
---
Terror gripped the girl; she thrashed in place, desperate for any shred of hope to escape her inevitable death.
He relished her panic more and more, then forced her still, pressing her head down to bare her throat.
With a swift, practiced motion, he drew the knife across her throat. A burst of red splattered across his face, staining the room.
Her body convulsed, blood spraying in every direction, and the tang of iron rose thick in the air, striking his nose — he breathed it in deeply, as though it were some rare, exquisite perfume.
---
After a single minute, the girl's body stilled, the frantic twitching finally gone.
The man wiped his face and licked a few drops of blood that had splashed across his lips.
---
He was just about to unfasten the corpse to continue his work when—Tok, tok, tok.
A soft knock came from the other side of the cellar door. It creaked open, revealing a young man, no more than twenty-three, lingering at the threshold. He hesitated, took a steadying breath, then stepped inside.
His eyes swept over the blood, the man calmly wiping his knife. Adjusting his glasses with a slight tremor, he spoke:
"Doctor Gabriel."
Gabriel turned to him, his gaze flat and cold.
"What is it now, Ethan?"
"There's a victim out on the farm road — they need you right away, Doc."
Gabriel exhaled, a quiet sigh, and began dragging the girl's body across the floor, each step leaving a dark ribbon of blood behind him.
He slid her into the massive refrigerator at the back of the cellar, then turned to Ethan with a sudden, almost cheerful tone.
"Well, what are we waiting for? Get me a clean set of clothes — quickly. This is my duty as a forensic doctor."
---
Ethan nodded and hurried out of the cellar, climbing to the upper floor to prepare the doctor's bag and fresh attire as instructed.
------------------
Later, along a rural road in California.
Fog crept over the countryside, the cold wind threading through the hum of tires as black FBI vehicles tore onto the scene.
Doors swung open with quiet precision. Agents stepped out with measured strides, shoulders squared, eyes locking immediately on the crime scene. A strip of yellow tape framed the area, fluttering in the breeze — a warning to any who dared cross.
The body of an old man lay carelessly sprawled on the dry grass, the air heavy with the mingled scent of dried blood and decay, laced with the damp soil of the country road.
Then came the thud of the last car door.
Dr. Gabriel stepped out, followed by his assistant, Ethan. The hem of Gabriel's dark coat stirred in the wind as he came to stand among the investigators, towering over them.
---
One of the detectives finally broke the silence, lifting his head to meet Gabriel's eyes. His tone was firm, professional:
"Doctor Krauss, right?"
Ethan stepped forward before Gabriel could answer, replying quickly:
"No — Gabriel. Gabriel Krauss, sir…"
The detective shook his hand with a small smile, though his eyes stayed fixed on Gabriel rather than Ethan.
"Detective Robert Miller. The doctor may call me Robert." He flicked a glance at Ethan, his tone sharpening. "As for you, you say Mr. Robert. Understood?"
---
Ethan swallowed hard, nodded nervously, and yanked his hand back from the lingering handshake.
"Y-yes, Mr. Robert… whatever you say."
Robert smirked at Ethan, then turned to Gabriel. Lifting his head to meet the doctor's eyes, he gestured toward the scene and said with dry sarcasm:
"Think you can start your work, Doc?"
"Of course. Why not."
Gabriel's reply was cool as ice as he strode toward the body.
---
As he approached, a gust of wind swept across the scene, stirring the stench of decay and iron into everyone's noses.
A harsh retching noise suddenly broke out behind them. All heads turned toward the sound — a young rookie stood there, pale and trembling.
---
Robert's face darkened with fury. He shoved her away from the crime scene and barked as she doubled over:
"Sarah! What the hell are you doing, you stupid idiot!"
---
She lifted her head, wiping her mouth with a cheap tissue. Tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear, she answered wearily, pausing as if about to retch again but managing to hold it in:
"I'm… sorry, Mr. Robert. It's just—" she let out a shaky sigh "—it's my first day on the job. I didn't expect to see something this horrifying right in front of me, sir."
---
Robert pressed a hand to his face as though reconsidering every life choice that had led him here.
Robert let out a long sigh, then shot an irritated glance at Dr. Gabriel.
"Hey, Doc," he grumbled. "How's it looking? And did Sarah's little stunt mess up the crime scene?"
---
Gabriel calmly peeled off his blood-stained gloves and handed them to Ethan. His gaze stayed cool and steady as he answered in a measured tone:
""This victim's time of death is hard to pin down from the preliminary signs — the surrounding conditions complicate things. But I'd estimate he's been dead for over twenty-four hours."
---
Robert nodded, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward Sarah. His voice turned dry:
"And what about that — Sarah Collins?"
Gabriel didn't respond. He just kept staring at Robert in silence. The quiet stretched, making Robert's temper flare. He spun toward Sarah and barked even louder:
"You ruined the crime scene because you couldn't keep it together, you idiot!"
---
Sarah's green eyes widened. She looked stricken, her voice shaky with guilt as she stammered:
"I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I mean, it's my first day as an investigator. I didn't realize it would be this hard, okay?"
---
Ethan quickly stepped forward, trying to smooth things over before the misunderstanding spiraled.
"Mr. Robert," he said carefully.
Robert swung toward him, irritation flashing in his eyes.
"What?"
Ethan cleared his throat, gesturing subtly toward Gabriel.
"Sometimes, when Dr. Gabriel stays quiet, it means everything's fine. There's no need to take it out on Sarah for no reason."
Robert jabbed a finger at Ethan's chest, his voice sharp.
"You're not the doctor here, Ethan, so don't presume to make that call."
Gabriel stepped in then, moving between them. His gaze locked on the furious detective, eyes narrowing as he spoke in a flat tone:
"Detective Robert, you don't have the right to treat everyone like that. And my assistant is correct."
He nodded toward Sarah. "She didn't compromise the crime scene all that much."
Robert huffed and backed off a couple of steps, muttering under his breath:
"Tch. Fine… but let's get back to work."
Gabriel allowed a faint smile to slip as he turned and walked back toward his vehicle to prepare for the trip to the morgue.
---
Ethan followed close behind, but as he moved away, he caught sight of Sarah waving at him with a shy smile. Her pink lips parted just enough for a soft whisper:
"Thank you, Ethan."
Ethan smiled faintly as he climbed into the car beside Gabriel.
Gabriel noticed, a quiet chuckle slipping out before he glanced over at him with a teasing look.
"Careful, Ethan," he said lightly. "That could be dangerous."
Ethan flushed, brushing an anxious hand over his shirt before focusing on the road ahead.
"I know," he murmured, "but… let's just get to the morgue."
Gabriel turned the key, the engine rumbling to life around them. A flash of enthusiasm brightened his face as he gripped the steering wheel and said:
"Now that's the spirit."
***
After half an hour of nonstop driving, Gabriel and Ethan finally pulled up in front of the morgue.
Gabriel stepped out of the car with almost military precision, while Ethan hopped out and slammed the door shut.
Gabriel slowly turned toward him, his voice icy:
— Is this your mother's car for you to treat it like that?
Ethan blinked a few times before stammering:
— S-sorry… I'll be more careful next time, I promise.
"Good," Gabriel replied flatly.
---
A sharp night wind slapped their faces as they stepped inside. The smell of disinfectant mixed with cold metal hung in the air. They walked down gleaming white corridors, signed in at the front desk, then headed to the locker room. After slipping into their scrubs and pulling on gloves, they entered the autopsy suite, where the old man's body lay on the stainless-steel table beneath the harsh light.
---
Ethan began snapping photos of the body before the autopsy could start, while Gabriel picked up his sharp scalpel, the metal gleaming strangely as it caught his reflection.
Ethan started jotting down notes as Gabriel spoke:
"Seven random stab wounds to the chest… looks like the killer was either panicked or in some kind of frenzy."
"What else, Doctor?" Ethan asked.
Gabriel replied, "There are signs of resistance; scratches on the victim's arm. We might find traces of the killer's dead skin cells under her nails from the struggle."
Ethan nodded, writing each detail into the report, then asked,
"So, how long would you estimate the time of death, Dr. Krauss?"
---
Without lifting his eyes from the body, Gabriel answered,
"Rigor mortis has already begun to fade, and the skin shows discoloration with purplish patches from pooled blood. That puts this body at over twenty-four hours."
Ethan nodded in agreement, set the notebook aside, and said from behind his mask:
"Alright, should I start drawing out what's left of the eye fluid so we can pin down the time of death more accurately?"
Gabriel: "Of course."
---
Ethan stepped toward the steel table, positioned a syringe with a fine needle at the corner of the eye, and slowly withdrew the vitreous humor, careful not to tear the tissue.
He removed the sample without damaging the eye, which made Gabriel smile faintly as he examined the seven stab wounds, determining which one had been fatal.
---
Gabriel couldn't help but praise him, saying proudly:
"Impressive… better than last time, when you stuck the needle too deep and mangled the eye."
---
Ethan gave a sheepish smile at Gabriel's compliment, thanked him, and went off to analyze the vitreous humor for a more precise estimate of the time of death.
After several long minutes, Ethan returned with the lab results and an estimate of the time of death. Dr. Gabriel had already finished examining the stab wounds in detail and had written down his notes for the report.
---
Ethan set the analysis results aside, picked up Gabriel's notes, and began to read:
• Seven random stab wounds in the chest area.
• The first wound: a penetrating injury about three centimeters long in the upper left portion of the chest; it pierced the left lung but was not fatal by itself.
• The second wound: located near the center of the sternum, it penetrated the left ventricle of the heart, causing massive internal bleeding in the thoracic cavity—likely the fatal stab. The trajectory was mostly vertical with a slight tilt to the left.
• The third wound: a penetrating injury on the right side of the chest, of moderate depth, stopping within the chest wall muscles without reaching any vital organs.
• The remaining four wounds were superficial, affecting only the muscles without touching internal organs, and were likely inflicted in the first moments of the victim's resistance.
---
Ethan set the notebook down and glanced around for Gabriel, but the place was empty.
He let out a long sigh, then stood beside the body, its chest opened by the autopsy, organs gleaming under the harsh artificial light.
Ethan slid his hand into the victim's chest, slowly lifted out the heart, then dropped to one knee in an overly dramatic pose and said:
"Oh, my imaginary dream girl, would you accept my heart?"
---
He stayed silent for two seconds before bursting out laughing at himself. He stood, tossed the mangled heart into the air, caught it with ease, and muttered with mock seriousness:
"Oh, wait — that's not my heart!" laughs
Shrugging carelessly "And I don't even have a specific dream girl in mind, so… everybody wins."
---
"So, is this your new way of writing romantic reports?"
AAHH!"
Ethan yelped, tossing the heart back into the corpse's chest — but it was too late.
He turned and saw Gabriel calmly peeling off his gloves and dropping them into the bin by his left foot.
---
Ethan gave a nervous smile, desperately trying not to look at the body — and, of course, failing.
Gabriel chuckled softly, looked at him, and said in a quiet tone:
"You'd make a great actor if you ever played a role in one of Shakespeare's plays."
Ethan scratched the back of his head in embarrassment, then suddenly remembered he still hadn't removed his gloves, which were, quite literally, smeared with the victim's blood.
"Oh, come on!" he groaned, stomping toward the stainless-steel sink to wash the blood out of his hair.
---
Gabriel tried to stifle his laughter but failed miserably, bursting out as Ethan — hair dripping — shot him a mock-annoyed look and said:
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Glad to know I'm your personal source of entertainment, Doctor."
Gabriel (laughing):
"HA! You sure are, Ethan."
Ethan (while drying his hair):
"Right, here are the lab results along with your notes."
---
Gabriel's laughter faded as he turned toward the report. It stated that the body's time of death was estimated at roughly thirty-six hours.
Smiling, Gabriel stepped closer to Ethan, giving him an approving pat on the back.
"Good work. Now all that's left is…"
He paused, then began carefully swabbing beneath the victim's nails, collecting the sloughed-off skin left from the struggle.
"…to run this sample and see if our killer has a criminal record."
Ethan smiled at him, then leaned in as if sharing a secret only the two of them could understand.
"we'll finally deal with what we left in the fridge…"
Gabriel's smile widened at Ethan's words, surprise flickering across his face.
"I thought you didn't care for that sort of meal," he said, amused.
Ethan shrugged casually. "Yeah, you're right. But I don't mind chopping it up with you — just to save some time. Besides, our stash is running low; we need to refill it."
Gabriel shook his head with an indulgent smile. Together they headed down the hallway to deliver the trace they'd collected from beneath the victim's nails, leaving the rest to the investigators.
Half an hour later, the two of them stepped out of the building. They climbed into the car, and Gabriel turned the key, the engine humming to life as he drove them back toward his estate — ready to finish his work and prepare dinner just the way he liked it.