The Twelfth Chapter: Fetal Movement

  "Who?! Who killed my daughter?! Who is so cruel?!" I lay in bed with my eyes closed. A father's wailing cry kept echoing in my ears. I knew it was the police chief's hoarse and anguished sobbing; I knew that when I opened my eyes again, I would be facing a dead end that no one could unravel.

  The Twelfth Movement: Fetal Movement

  "Are you awake?" In the medical room of the police station, FBI agent Paul looked at the person who had just woken up from a coma on the hospital bed - Russ, with a white bandage wrapped around his left eye. "What...what happened?" Russ, still dazed, touched the back of his head with his hand. "Don't you remember? You were brought here by police car." Paul said. "Police car?" Russ looked at himself in the mirror, his one-eyed self, and only then did he recall everything that had just happened. He was taken back as a major suspect from the murder scene. Only now did he realize that what he saw before was not just a nightmare. "We've treated you, your injuries aren't too serious, there's no danger to your life. Unfortunately, your left eye can't be saved." "It's okay...thank you for saving me." Russ touched the bandage on his left eye, still looking confused. "Can I get up now? You should know I have a lot of questions to ask you." Paul said politely. "But...okay." Russ propped up his weak body and sat up from the bed.

  At that moment, a man's anguished cry pierced his ears. "Who... who killed my daughter! Who is so cruel!!" Through the sealed glass window, Rus saw the director kneeling on the ground, weeping uncontrollably over a body covered with white cloth. "Director..." "This incident has dealt a huge blow to the director, and in his current state, it's probably best that he not stay here any longer. I'll suggest that he go back and rest for a while." Paul's eyes also showed a hint of sadness and helplessness. "Come with me, Rus, to my office." Paul helped Rus up and opened the door to walk out.

  The police station was vastly different from the first time Russ had visited. The people in uniform were now only a handful, and most of those sitting at computers were FBI agents wearing black suits. The police station had been completely taken over by the FBI.

  "Who... who is it?" The chief, with tears streaming down his face, rushed towards Russ as soon as he saw him come out. He grabbed Russ's collar and shouted, "Russ! Did you see the killer? You were right there at the scene, how could you not have seen the killer?"

  "I... I don't know," Russ stammered in response. "I don't remember anything."

  "How is that possible?" The chief's eyes were filled with tears and bloodshot from lack of sleep. "You must be lying!" he exclaimed.

  Russ knew that the chief wouldn't believe him, because even he himself didn't know what he was saying. "I... I was sleeping at home," Russ stuttered. "When I woke up, I saw Ling's body... I really don't know anything."

  "You're lying! You must be hiding something!" The chief's eyes suddenly changed, and he looked shocked, as if he had just thought of something. "It's you... you're the killer! Did you kill my daughter?! You two were already broken up, why were you still together so late at night? It was you, it must have been you! You bastard, how could you do such a thing? I actually believed in you!"

  The chief began to rant and rave, his fist raised as if to strike Russ. Just then, several FBI agents rushed over and restrained him.

  "Chief, calm down!" they said, pulling him away from Russ.

  "I want to kill that killer! He can't get away with it, he'll just keep on killing!!" The chief was beyond consolation, his anger boiling over as he glared at Russ. It seemed like he still wanted to break free from the FBI agents and strangle Russ with his own hands.

  "Chief, you're tired, go home and rest," Paul ordered. "I'll question Russ. You, take the chief home."

  "Yes, sir." The FBI agents nodded and led the struggling chief towards the police station door.

  Russ looked at the chief, who was still in agony, and then at Ling's body, which was still visible under the white sheet with a hint of red. He felt a pang of sorrow and regret, as if he had been pierced by a thousand arrows. This was the cruelest and most heartbreaking thing that could happen in this world.

  "Want a drink?" Paul led the shaken Russ into the office, the captain's yell still echoing in their ears. "No...no need." "Okay, I'll ask you directly then. You said you didn't see the killer's face last night, but this thing you should remember, right?" Paul sat down and pulled out a handgun wrapped in a plastic bag from his drawer, showing it to Russ. "Gun?" "This is the gun that was found on you when the police discovered you last night. Explain why you were carrying a gun to meet your ex-girlfriend so late." "I...I don't know...I don't know where this gun came from...I don't remember anything...I just slept at home yesterday..." "Hey, how can I believe what you're saying?" Paul shook his head, "It's clear that you were also injured by the killer, just like the police officer who had his left eye gouged out during the stakeout. If you could provide us with even a little bit of information about the killer, we could treat you as a witness. But you're not cooperating at all, and if this continues, you'll likely become the prime suspect." "I don't know...I really don't know...I didn't see the killer's face...I don't even know why I was there last night..." "Russ, I believe you're not the killer. The victim had no gunshot wounds, so that gun can't prove anything; and also, no killer would gouge out their own eyes and leave them at the scene for the police to find. But there are still too many suspicious points about you that can't be explained. So, I won't let you go back home now. Now, I'll ask you one last question, Russ, tell me the truth, did you really not kill anyone?" Paul's face was close to Russ, asking. "Killed...I don't know...I really don't know..." "Sigh..." Paul sighed, "It seems like we won't need a lie detector test after all. Either it's all lies or you're really just too shocked to remember anything. Go get a neurological examination!" Paul picked up the phone on his desk and said, "Take the suspect to the neurology department."

  The interrogation was soon over. Rusty was handcuffed and taken to the psychiatric ward. No doubt, he had become the prime suspect. But all the circumstances of the case remained unchanged, not a single one of the many mysteries could be unraveled.

  "Is Paul Detective, is he the killer?" an FBI asked Paul who just walked out of his office. "I don't know... His words can't be judged at all. Even if he is the killer, there are still many places in the case that cannot be explained. We can only temporarily arrest him." "So... Does 'Patrol' action need to continue?" "'Patrol' action... Every night, a large number of police cars patrol the city, but they still can't prevent the tragedy from happening. If this continues, it will only waste too much police force, and our manpower is already very insufficient. It seems that this 'patrol' action I personally proposed also needs to be suspended." Paul sighed and said, "I really didn't expect things to develop to this point." "But, Detective Paul, your patrol action still has some gains, at least you caught the guy named Russ back." "Hehe, don't flatter me, we don't even know if he is the killer or not, maybe he's just a victim whose eyes were dug out by the killer." Paul looked at the card left by the killer with a Cupid pattern on it and said, "This card... Is it really just used by the killer to provoke the police? Is it necessary to leave such a card every time they commit a crime? Bring me the other four cards!" "Yes." The FBI brought the other four Cupid cards in plastic bags to Paul. "We've carefully looked at these cards and done tests, but we didn't find anything special about them." "Maybe... There's something that exists in a place where even testing can't detect..." Paul took the five Cupid cards and compared them repeatedly. Except for the little angel with wings and a red heart-shaped arrow on each card, there was nothing else suspicious. In any case, those brutal murders like Jack the Ripper couldn't be linked to such a lovely love angel. "Detective Paul, have you found anything?" "Shh! I'm thinking!" Paul focused on the cards, as if he could really see something other than Cupid. He looked at the front and back of each card, and then unconsciously flipped them to the side. "Huh? This is..." Paul's face showed a puzzled expression. "Did you find anything?" "Look, there are a few small black dots on the side of this card!" "Yeah, really! Is it dirty when we brought it back?" "No... Not that... This might be a code!" Paul arranged the five cards in the order of the case and connected them tightly. "It's a letter! There's a letter on it! This is really a code!" The FBI exclaimed. Only to see that the small black dots on the side of the five cards combined in sequence, forming a line of blurry text. But Paul, who saw these words, didn't look optimistic at all. "What... What does this mean..."

  What does it mean? Who knows? The text composed of black dots on the side of the card is a sentence, and neither the serial murder case nor the Cupid image has anything to do with it.

  “MarryChristmas！”

  Ten hours later, that night, Manhattan, somewhere unknown...

  In a narrow, dimly lit room without any lights on, only the moonlight shining through the window could faintly illuminate a large table. On the table were scattered various objects: a rotten intestine, several uneven rib bones, a heart stained with blood, two severed arms, two severed legs, some human skin, several eyeballs, and a few needles, threads, and coarse cloths. This was a room filled with a strong smell of blood, so dense that it made one's breath catch. In front of the table stood a person dressed in black, wearing a black veil, using a needle and thread to do something. At this moment, the door opened, and someone walked in - a man wearing a white mask with a smiling face painted on it. The masked man threw an object at the person in front of the table: "I brought what you needed." It was a voice modulator. The black-clad person took the modulator, put it to their mouth, and said: "Not bad, this is indeed a good thing." The voice under the modulator sounded extremely strange, with age and accent completely indistinguishable: "Thank you, December." "No, this is what I should do. How's your work going? Can you finish before Christmas?" asked the masked man, whose name was December. "Yesterday I killed the last person, and the remaining work will definitely be completed before Christmas," said the black-clad person with full confidence. "With your words, I can rest assured." December turned around, walked to the door, and said: "After completing the task, go find me at the old place. Then we can bring back the news of victory to Emperor Darius."