I stared at Helen’s eyes.
I’ve always loved staring at those eyes. Whenever I would fix my gaze on her, I would find myself contemplating on the different hidden mysteries of the Earth and all of the possibilities in the Universe.
She is my constant. She is my infinite. She is my pi.
But her eyes have lost its value. When I stared at her, what I saw was only the deep-eyed of the bony face of a cadaver. Her eyes were cold and hard as a frozen abyss, dark and empty like an open grave… Hollow eyes stared back at me.
“Sir,” I heard someone say, breaking into my reverie. “Date of Death: March 14, 2015 Time of Death: around 9:26 PM. From the anatomic findings, the autopsy report ascribes the death to Multiple Stab Wounds. The decedent sustained an approximation of the 53 fatal wounds, causing intrathoracic hemorrhage. We’ve also found a note beside the body.”
The officer handed me a note that read: [12dx]PI-[E=*α β*)](+)her.
Pi. The note was certainly pertaining to pi. I carefully peered into the writings in the note and I knew the murderer wanted me to decode the message.
12dx. 12 digits of Pi? 3.14…15…9265…3…59. I looked at the digits, desperate to make a sense out of those. I didn’t know how long I was staring, but the solution finally came rushing inside me.
3.14.15. March 14, 2015. 9:26 PM. 53 stab wounds. 3+14+15+9+26+53. PI-E. Subtract the total with the remaining digits. It would derive to 61. ‘α β’, alpha & beta — ‘alphabet’. The answer would be equivalent to its corresponding arrangement in the alphabet. 6 & 1 — F & A, adding ‘her’ would give me the answer.
‘Father’. Helen’s father.
***
“Why did you kill your own daughter?!” I asked him.
He smiled at me. “Classified information. I can’t say. I knew you’ll be able to solve my clue, as expected from a math genius.”
I grasped at the collar of his polo shirt, choking him in the process. “Fucking stop playing games with me, Mr. Santos.”
I’ve noticed that he was already having a difficulty with breathing so I let go of him, but afterwards he lets out a hysterical laughter. “Helen, my sweet angel! Begging some mercy from her Papa! Her pleas and cries were music to my ears.”
“You’re insane,” I said.
Mr. Santos chuckled. “But Mr. Cruz, my dear Math genius, you’re just like me. You think I didn’t know about it? About your hidden desire with my Helen, my seven year old daughter whose precious life I took? You wanted her as your lover; you called her your ‘pi’. I’ve heard you that day.”
I didn’t think twice anymore. I stabbed him, more than the 53 times, more than the unending digits of the Pi. I stabbed him until I could no longer recognize him as a human, but deep inside, I knew he was right.
I wanted Helen.
I wanted her, but my infinite has ended.
