The Identity
- Reads 218
- Votes 39
- Parts 4
The knife pierced through the tattoo in her chest and went right on through to bleed the heart that bleed for her niece . Yet none of that mattered to me, as his blood was as red as any other.
"No..." she whimpered,lying down on the pavement, blood oozed down from her heart .
I clutched tightly at the blade , which glistened in sliver under the watery pale moonlight. I smirked coldly.
"See you in hell."
***
It was one early morning when the clouds gave off the rain , a middle-aged man , Paul , spotted two teenage girls huddling together in a dirty alley. But it was soon found out it wasn't that simple .
What is their origin?
Who are they ?
***
On the other hand , a murderer is killing people with no connections . There wasn't a trace of evidence left behind . Police can only deduct that the murderer is a female .
***
He is intelligent , he is demanding .
Meet Robert Carter , the commander of a group of inspectors .
Meet Abigail and Jade , whose identity is unknown . Are they linked to the murders ?
Also ,meet MIDNIGHT
the mysterious murderer
***
Who will revail the truth ?
Read to find out .
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inspector
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'The night was alive with silence. I moved through it like a shadow, black leather gloves tight on my hands, boots soft against the grass. My gas mask hid my face, leaving only darkness where my eyes should be. The world narrowed to a single point: the house ahead. Tonight, it would belong to me. The farmhouse rose stark and white beneath the moonlight, silent except for the occasional grunt of a pig or the low hum of a cow. They were unaware. They were insignificant. I crouched behind the hedge, eyes scanning, senses alert. Every detail mattered: the flicker of light across the curtains, the faint rustle of movement inside, the way a shadow shifted across the floor. She was there. Oblivious. Popcorn in hand, murmuring to herself as the television flickered. Every motion was a note in tonight's symphony, and I was the conductor. I studied her, cataloging. Timing. Patterns. Fear. She didn't notice me yet, and that was perfect. Patience was everything. One sound, one misstep, and it could all unravel. I rang the doorbell once. Silence. Again. Still nothing. She flinched slightly, just enough to make my pulse quicken. Her small reaction was delicious. A sudden movement in the yard caught my eye-a neighbor's dog barking at some unseen intruder. Its voice was loud, startling, but contained. I froze. My breath slowed. Patience. Observation. The dog's curiosity would pass. I remained still, hidden in shadow, letting the moment stretch. The animal lost interest and padded away. Perfect. I moved to the back of the house, hammer in hand.' ...
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