Chapter 15 8-2

In a flurry of movements, sights, and sounds, all senses suddenly returned, shaking my body as those two nine-centimeter bullets shook Stevenson's.I couldn't help yelling and panting excitedly.Trembling uncontrollably, I reached out and pushed the central door lock on the inside of the car door.The electric lock of the rear door popped with a click. I pushed open the door next to me, climbed out of the police car, and then slammed open the back door. I frantically called Olson's name. I was confused and didn't know how to take him to the veterinary hospital for immediate treatment. I thought that if he What should I do if I die.It cannot die.It's not an ordinary dog, it's Orson, my dog, weird but special, it's my partner and my friend, although we've only been together for three years, in the dark world I live in , it is already an integral part of it, just like everyone else in it.

It didn't die, it jumped out of the car with such relief that it almost knocked me to the ground.It turned out that the scream it made after the gunshot was just an expression of panic, not because of severe pain. I dropped to my knees on the sidewalk, let the pistol slip from my hand, and threw the dog into my arms with outstretched arms.I hugged it tightly, stroked its head, and smoothed the hair on its back. I saw it was breathing well, its heart was beating vigorously, and its tail was flicking non-stop. I felt unspeakable excitement in my heart. , even the smell of wet water vapor on its body and the bad breath of rotting cornflakes are extremely invigorating.

I didn't dare to speak easily, because my throat seemed to be blocked by cement and I couldn't make a sound.If I try to speak, it will cause the whole dam to collapse, and then all the loss and longing in my heart will be revealed, and the tears I have suppressed for the death of my father and Angela will pour out like a flood of broken banks.In addition, even if I speak, what I say is actually not important anymore. Although Ourson is a special dog, it is impossible for him to start a spiritual dialogue with me-unless I learn Roosevelt's skills of communicating with animals. I let go of Orson, picked up the pistol, and stood up to look around the parking lot.Thick fog obscured the few cars and station wagons in the parking lot, mostly owned by a handful of boat owners who call their boats their homes.No one was around, and except for the faint sound of engines, the night remained silent.

The gunshots were obviously heard mainly in the police car and were blocked by dense fog.The closest residences are two blocks away on the outskirts of the Marina business district.If anyone on board had been awakened, they would probably have heard the four indistinct gunshots as the ship's engine dying, or the slamming of a door between the dream and waking worlds. It seems that I am not in danger of being arrested for the time being, but I can't just ride away and dream that I will not be sanctioned and punished.I killed the chief of the police station, even though he is no longer the beloved person in the hearts of the citizens of Moonlight Bay, even though he has changed from a clean public servant to a destructive beast, I can't prove that he is in the hearts of everyone without evidence. The hero has been reduced to the evil villain he threatens to kill.

The forensic evidence was enough to convict me.Due to the special identity of the deceased, the police will send top local and central inspectors to search for evidence. When they inspect the police car, they will never let go of any slight clues. I couldn't stand being banned from smoking in a small cell by candlelight.While my life has always been limited by light, from sunset to sunrise I am completely free from any walls.No wall can hold me.The darkness in the dense space is completely different from the darkness of the night; the night has no boundaries and is full of mystery, allowing you to dig, fantasize, and find joy.Night is the land of freedom, the space in which I live.Give me liberty or give me death.

The thought of going back in the car with the dead man again, wiping down all the places where fingerprints might have been left, made me feel sick.Moreover, it would be futile even to do so, because there will always be omissions.Besides, fingerprints weren't the only evidence I left behind.The hair, the cotton thread from the jeans, a few tiny textile fibers from the hat, the fur that Orson had left on the back seat, and the dog paw prints he had stepped on in the car.Beyond that, there was more evidence equally strong enough to bring me to justice. I'm very lucky.No one nearby happened to hear the gunshots.But luck and time are limited, and there are not many left, and although I wear a digital watch instead of a quartz watch, I think I can hear the sound of time ticking away.

Olsen also looked very nervous, sniffing the air vigorously, lest monkeys and other villains would appear at this time. I ran to the back of the police car and tried to press the button to open the trunk.Turns out the hood was locked, just as I had feared. Tick, tick, tick. I tried to steady myself and quickly made my way back to the open front door.I took a deep breath, held my breath, and bent down to look inside the train. Stevenson sat twisted in the driver's seat, his head tilted back and fell on the headrest of the back of the seat, his mouth was open in extreme ecstasy, his teeth were bloody; as if he had just practiced a dream of biting a little girl .

Due to the convection of the air, a cloud of mist floated in front of me from the broken glass window, like steam from the warm blood stain on the chest of the dead man's uniform. I had to bend a little further in than I expected, getting on one knee in the front seat, to reach over and turn off the engine. Stevenson's olive-black eyes were wide open, with no sign of life, no supernatural gleam, but I imagined that he might blink suddenly, then roll and stare straight at me. Before he stretched out his sticky hand and grabbed me, I quickly pulled out the car key from the starter, exited the car, and spit out all the suffocated breath like a blast.

As I expected, I found a large first-aid kit in the trunk, from which all I took out was a thick roll of cotton gauze and a pair of scissors. As Olson patrolled around the police car, dutifully sniffing the air, I stretched the cotton gauze, finger to finger, and strokes to form five-foot strips, which I then cut with scissors. I twisted sections of gauze tightly together, and then tied a knot at the head, middle and tail. After repeating this process once more, I tied two strips of thick gauze bundled together into one long strip by knotting them—completed a fuse about ten feet long. Tick, tick, tick.

I coiled the gauze into a ball and placed it on the sidewalk, opened the oil tank on the side of the car body, and twisted off the cover.Then the smell of gasoline wafted from the neck of the tank.I went back to the trunk and put the scissors and the rest of the cotton gauze back in the first aid kit.Close the box, then close the trunk lid.The parking lot remains as quiet as a ruin.The only sounds were the ticking of dew dripping from the Indian laurel trees, and Orson's restless pacing up and down. I had to put the key back in the starter, though that meant I had to face Stevenson's body again.I've seen some of the most popular detective shows on TV, and I know that even the smarter and more cautious criminals can easily stumble, whether you're dealing with a top-notch detective or a murder mystery Female creepy novelist for hobby, or even just a retired spinster.These are things I learned from the body deodorant commercials in the opening and closing credits of the TV series.I don't intend to leave any clues for those who handle cases professionally or leisurely.

The deceased grunted at me when a bubble deep in his esophagus burst. "Take Rolaids heartburn pills, please," I suggested, trying to make myself feel better. I searched around the front seat, but couldn't find the four casings.Even though I imagined that there would be a long line of criminal police waiting to pounce on me, and even though they could identify the owner of the criminal weapon by the steel shells, I still didn't have the guts to look for it on the ground, especially under Stevenson's feet. Anyway, even if I find all the casings, there will always be a bullet in his chest.If the bullet is not seriously distorted, they can compare the marks on it with the characteristics of the muzzle of my pistol, but even at the risk of going to jail, I am not willing to take out a knife and perform an excavation operation to remove the small lead bullet from it. His chest was dug out. If I were another person, even if I had the guts to undertake an autopsy, I would not take the risk.If Stevenson's extreme personality changes—his desire and propensity for violence—are just one of the symptoms he has contracted, if the disease is contagious through the skin and bodily fluids, then this kind of life, kill me I don't want to do it either, which is why I've been careful not to let his blood get on me. When Stevenson told me about his rape and murder nightmares, I didn't want to inhale his exhaled air.But I guess this virus should not be transmitted through the air.If the contagion rate was so high, Moonlight Bay would not be just a roller coaster leading straight to hell. It must have reported to Hell Valley long ago. According to the dashboard, the fuel tank is almost full now, which is great and perfect. I had learned from those cunning monkeys how to obliterate evidence of murder when I was at Anyanla's house earlier.The violent fire must have been enough to melt the four shell casings, the entire metal body, and even some thicker metal frames inside.As for the dead Stevenson, there would probably be nothing left but charred bones, and the little lead shot would have been melted away.Of course, all my fingerprints, hairs, and fibers of my clothes would be gone with it. Another bullet pierced the chief's neck and shattered the glass next to the driver's seat.Now the bullet is probably lying somewhere in the parking lot, or with luck, buried in the ivy bushes that rise up at the end of the parking lot to Embarcadero Avenue. may be discovered. The fire from the bullet burned a hole in my jacket, I should have destroyed the suit too but I couldn't, I love this jacket, it looks so cool, it looks even better with the bullet holes on the pockets cool. "There must be some opportunities for the virgins who teach in schools and handle cases in their spare time." I said to myself, closing the front and rear doors of the police car. I unloaded the magazine from the Glock, took one of the remaining seven rounds, and put the magazine back in. Orson let out an impatient moan, and picked up the end of the cotton gauze strip in his mouth. "Yes, yes, yes," I said, and tapped it twice for encouragement. It may have picked up the strip of cloth purely out of curiosity, and dogs have always been curious about everything. What an interesting piece of white cloth, it looks like a snake...but it's not a snake. interesting!interesting!It smelled of Master Snow on it, and it might be delicious, and everything might be delicious. I don't think that just because Orson purrs impatiently and picks up the white cloth, he fully understands the purpose of this thing or the whole plan I have come up with.Its interest in the thing, and the coincidence of its timing, may be pure coincidence. Yes, it must be, just as it is pure coincidence that the National Day fireworks come in and out on the Fourth of July every year. My heart was pounding, afraid that I would be discovered at any time, I took the fuse made of cotton gauze from Orson's mouth, and carefully tied the bullet to one end of the cloth strip.It watched intently from the sidelines. "Do you think this knot is okay?" I asked, "Or do you want to tie one yourself?" Find the position where the oil tank is located, and hang the cloth strip tied with lead bullets into the oil tank.The weight of the bullets caused the strips to hang all the way to the bottom of the tank.Like the stub of a candle, the entire strip quickly becomes saturated with gasoline. Olsen kept going around in circles nervously: hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.Quick, quick, quick, Master Snow. I left nearly five feet of cotton strips outside the tank.The entire strip hangs over the side of the car, leaving only the tail end by the sidewalk. I grabbed the bicycle leaning against the laurel tree trunk, bent down and set the strip of cloth on fire with my lighter.Although the exposed cloth strips were not stained with gasoline, they burned faster than I had expected.too fast. I got on my bike and pedaled like hell, as if all the lawyers from hell and a few earth demons were chasing after me, and maybe they were.With Olson sprinting beside me, I sprinted through the parking lot's elevated exit lanes onto deserted Embarcadero Boulevard, before turning south toward the beach's crowded strip of restaurants and shops. The explosion came too quickly, with a solid thud, though not half as loud as I had expected.The orange-red flame illuminated the area around me and beyond; fortunately, the dense fog provided a buffer for the flames and explosive force of the first big explosion. Desperately, I slammed on the brakes, made a 180-degree turn, stopped, stepped on the ground, and looked back. Visibility is extremely limited, no details can be seen, only a cluster of yellow-white bright spots in the center surrounded by orange-red flames, all scenes are softened by the churning fog.The worst I see is not in front of my eyes, but in my head, Louis.Stevenson's face was bubbling, smoking, and dripping with fat like ham on a hot pan. "My God!" I said in a voice so harsh and trembling that I could barely recognize it as my own. However, I had no choice but to light the fuse.Although the police would soon find out that Stevens was killed, the evidence of how and by whom has now been wiped out. I rode my bicycle, led my dog ​​and I left the pier, walked through the maze-like streets and alleys, and walked into the darker depths of Moonlight Bay.Although there was a heavy pistol in my day bag, the jacket I was wearing was still swaying in the wind like a quilt. No one saw me running away, but now I have another reason to avoid the light, like a black shadow briskly walking Shuttle in the shadows, like the legendary phantom escaped from the underground labyrinth of the opera house, riding a bicycle to terrorize the world above the ground regardless of the danger. In the aftermath of committing a murder, it's not in my nature to immediately entertain myself with such an exaggerated romantic image of myself.In fact, imagining tonight's events as a grand adventure, and Leigh himself as a hero, was merely an attempt to assuage my fears and, more importantly, to repress the thought of the shooting.I also had to suppress the vision of burning bodies in my mind, and I kept thinking of ghosts bouncing up one after another in the crematorium. This effort to romanticize the event only lasted until I reached the back alley of the Grand Theater, half a block south of Ocean Avenue, where the grimy streetlights made the fog look polluted. brown.There, I slammed my bike to the ground, let it smack on the concrete sidewalk, and leaned my back against the large dumpster, throwing up my midnight dinner at Bobby's this night. I kill people.Undoubtedly, Shi Diwen deserved to live and die.And, sooner or later, he will use some pretext to kill me, although his associates insist on granting me amnesty; strictly speaking, I acted in self-defense, and to save Orson's life. However, I did kill a person, and no reasonable motive can change the condemnation of conscience and morality.To think of his empty eyes covered with the black veil of death makes me restless. His mouth was open in a silent scream, and his teeth were bloody.Thrilling images come to mind at the touch of a button; memories of sounds, smells, and touches are not so easily evoked; it is almost impossible to evoke the experience of a certain aroma from memory by willpower alone.But I only remembered the smell of my mother's shampoo before, and now I think of Stevenson's pungent blood smell, I hold the garbage can, I feel like I'm on a rocking boat and I can't help but feel nauseous . In fact, killing him by hand certainly frightened me, but what troubled me even more was that I was able to complete the process of destroying the corpse so calmly and efficiently.I obviously have a talent for crime.It seems that the darkness that has accompanied me for twenty-eight years has infiltrated into my body unconsciously, implanted in an unknown corner deep in my heart. Not feeling better after my stomach was cleared, I got back on my bike and led Olsen through a series of trails to the Cade Cut Snow Park at the intersection of San Rafe and Palm Street. gas station.The attached service station is closed.The only light in the office comes from a blue neon clock on the wall, and the only light outside is from a soda vending machine. I bought a can of Pepsi to wash the sour taste out of my mouth.Walking to the water draw, I turned on the faucet a little, and asked Orson to replenish its water. "You are such a lucky dog ​​to have such a considerate owner," I said, "either because you are afraid of thirst or starvation, and you often comb your hair. In order to protect your life, you are willing to kill your dog anytime, anywhere. People who are bad for you." Even in the dark, its search-like expression can still make people nervous. Then it licks my hand. "I gladly accept your gratitude," I said. It continued to lick the water flowing from the drinking faucet, and after drinking it.It flicked its wet nose. I turned off the tap and asked, "Where did Mom bring you back?" It stared at me with two eyes. "What secret is Mom hiding?" Its eyes were fixed, it knew the answer to the question, it just didn't want to say it. I think that God may really be hanging around near the Church of St. John, perhaps playing the strings in the air with a group of angels accompanying him, perhaps playing a game of mind chess. Or perhaps the blueprint for a new world is being drawn in a time and space that we cannot see. Hatred, ignorance, cancer and the mold of Hong Kong feet will all be eradicated in the planning stage of the new world.It may be floating high on the polished oak seats of the church, and the lingering humming prayers and incense clouds, like a pool of water, quietly rush to the beams and corners of the church ceiling, where it sits in silent meditation, Hear the pleas for help from church people who are in trouble. However, tonight, even God seems to deliberately keep a distance from the priest's mansion next to the church. When I passed by, I only felt creepy.This two-story stone house, like the building of the church itself, is an improved Germanic building, with a lot of T-country colors removed in order to make the whole building more harmoniously integrated into the mild climate of California. The layers of black tiles on the steep roof are dripping with dew, and they look as thick as the scales on the eyebrows of a dragon. The glass windows on both sides of the main entrance are like two deep and hollow eyes. Nei Yanran is like a forbidden zone without a soul.The Rectory had never been so daunting, and I knew very well that all my uneasiness was due to the sight of Jesse.The scene where Pinn and Father Tom clash in the church basement. I rode my bicycle past the rectory and the church to the cemetery, and I was in the tomb under the oak tree.Noah lived ninety-six years from birth to death.Joseph.James was as quiet as ever, and I parked my bicycle on his tombstone as usual and greeted him. I took off the mobile phone clipped to my belt, and dialed the private line number of the KBAY studio which is not disclosed to the public.The phone rang four times before I heard Sasha answer it.No phone ringing can be heard in the studio, and a small blue light on the wall directly in front of the microphone will start blinking as a reminder when a call comes in.As soon as she answered the phone, she pressed the Visit Later button, and I could hear her show over the phone line while I waited. Orson began sniffing here and there again, looking for signs of squirrels. The dense fog among the graveyards looks like ghosts floating around. I heard Sasha interspersed with two twenty-second "donut" commercials, (not real donut commercials, but pre-recorded commercials of various types, which have been reserved for interspersed with live broadcasts .) After the commercial, she fluently talked about the development history of Wenton John (Eiton John) in the music world, and then introduced the next (Japanese Hands) ("Japanese Hands)" in her silky smooth and soft voice. ")This song. She cut off the please wait button and picked up the phone: "I'm playing two songs in a row right now, so you have five more minutes, baby." "How do you know it was me?" "Only a few people know this phone number, and most of them are sleeping at this time. Moreover, if the person calling is you, I will have a very strong sixth sense. As soon as I see the flashing little blue lights, a part of me starts to stir." "Which part of you?" "My female parts. Can't wait to meet you, Snowman." "Great start. Listen, who's on the station tonight?" "Dookie Sussman." He was her production engineer, running the studio equipment. "Just the two of you alone there?" I asked worriedly. "You suddenly started eating vinegar? It's so heartwarming. But don't worry if it doesn't work, it still can't meet Duke's standard."