CHAPTER ONE
"Three days before my brother died, he told me he had found a door that shouldn't exist. Now, I'm standing in front of it, and it is open."
This literally sounded like a metaphor to me, or like advice in disguise. I should say, a parable. But yapping about this won't show any result; it only brings up more questions and no answers. That is always the same result which happens when you try to question your existence and how you should and should not interact with the world.
It's just crazy how scientists use up all their time trying so hard to make fun of it. Crazily, you won't believe that I'm a lazy dude. I was a little happy about it—not until now. My brother died, and the frustration was turned onto me.
Hmmm... what?! A cruel world. Screw you, universe. I hate you.
Well, no matter how much I scream or shout, things are always going to be the same unless I request a change. And to request one, I had to work for it. Being a detective, a graduate of criminology, and also having a degree in psychology was going to be the best path so far. Since I didn't have to make many sacrifices or do some maniac jobs, all I had to do was interrogate people and break down cases. There isn't any happiness that surpasses that of being a detective. Every win accounts for additional pride.
I was contemplating all this until my phone rang. It was a murder case I was to solve. Yeah, I solve little cases; I haven't gotten around to solving critical ones. I'm still the lowest-paid detective, but I spend most of my money on girls, bets, and drinks. And this was my first murder case, so it was kind of intriguing.
I'm ready to wrap my head around it.
The murder happened on Black Ford Street. The report had it that several gunshots were heard from a neighbourhood. The officers arrived at the scene to find out all they could, but nothing was done. Most of the best detectives were out of town or completely occupied with another case.
Let me not be kleptomaniac about this, but the world today is a world of crime. People die every day, every single minute, and every second you breathe or blink.
"For me, this case is really a walkover. It won't take a minute," I kept uttering to myself while I opened my car and drove off.
The car was a 1920 Toyota model with an exhaust engine of 400 horsepower. Well, yeah, I'm a bit of a curious person and someone who likes to describe every situation I find myself in. It has become a habit. There isn't much I can do about it because it's just how life flows.
I gave out a cringe laugh.
It was a long ride. Finally, I arrived at the place. It was a castle. At this time, castles were owned by prominent men.
I entered the building, had a shot of my drink, and proceeded to solve the case. Well, as I thought, it was going to be easy. There were reports that a survivor existed, or so I heard from my radio after the police raided the scene.
All I had to do now was interrogate him.
But something seemed off.
Why was he left alive? The other victims had been brutally mutilated, but in his case it was different. He was rescued from a rope after being hanged. He only had marks of beatings and cuts, and his right hand had been cut off.
As science may suggest, maybe they ran when they noticed the police had already been alerted to what was going on. Or maybe they pitied the young fellow. But thinking about it, no serial killer capable of such brutality would leave his identity at risk.
Or did he have a reason for it?
Well, I needed to carry on with the investigation.
We took some cotton swabs and rubbed the doorknob. I entered the house using alternate light sources to view hidden prints as I began to imagine the whole scene.
The first body was located at the door. That meant he opened the door and was stabbed. He had four stab wounds—to the head, stomach, neck, and chest.
Due to his scream, the second person rushed out to see what was happening, but she was immediately attacked. As she ran, she was stabbed from behind.
Maybe that meant one of the killers, immediately after stabbing the man who opened the door, sneaked into the house and hid there.
Then the third person rushed out but was also stabbed. The locations of the stab wounds on the second and third victims were the same, meaning it was likely done by the same person—a hired assassin—and it was still the killer who had sneaked into the house.
But for some reason, there was a gunshot, and it wasn't an exact hit.
Were they trying to summon someone, or was it simply a missed shot?
Or maybe the third person was asked to kill the fourth person but instead aimed at the killer and fired, only to miss.
Then the fourth person was hanged, his wrist cut off. He was unconscious and had suffered several beatings, knife slashes, and stab wounds to his legs.
That meant he had been interrogated.
But why was he left alive?
Was it to confirm whether the information he gave was true or false? And if it turned out to be false, would they return for the real information?
That meant the information was extremely important.
Hmmm... so many questions without answers.
So, the job wasn't really going to be that easy.
I had to interrogate the surviving victim to get a lead on the case, but then a call came in.
He had died due to loss of blood.
He never said anything. He just kept mumbling to himself all along.
And now, the main source was dead.
That meant the case might take longer than expected.