Chapter 34 Thirty-two Death Weekly

Me: "Do you remember what you did?" He: "Remember." Me: "Tell me." He: "I killed her." Me: "Why did you kill her?" He looked at me confused: "Is it not possible? I will kill her once a week." Me: "How can you kill someone after they're dead?" He: "She didn't die? I just killed her." Me: "Then why did you kill her?" He: "She provokes me on purpose every time. Anyway, she can always find a reason to quarrel. The purpose is to let me kill her." Me: "Why did she piss you off?"

He: "Find faults on purpose, or kick me... um... below." Me: "Every time?" Him: "Well." Me: "How do you explain that she has been dead for almost 2 months?" He was a little impatient: "I've said it all, she's not dead, it's just that I killed her." Me: "...well, there must be a beginning, right? What happened the first time?" He: "That time she took me to her house... everything was fine at first, but then she deliberately found fault, so I killed her." Me: "How did you kill it?" He: "Strangle her neck with a scarf behind the door."

Me: "And then?" He: "She struggled and kicked, and there was that...strange sound in her throat... Sometimes her hands and feet would twitch, and after a while her tongue stuck out... It was purple, and then it didn't move." Me: "Isn't that dead?" He: "Not dead, I don't know why she didn't move, limp on the floor, her whole face was purple... At first I panicked, then I thought she might be sleepy, so I left. Out When they came to the street, I saw her standing in front of the window in that big nightgown, smiling at me and waving."

Me: "Can you see her?" He: "It's on the 2nd floor. The courtyards facing the street are all old Soviet-style houses. The windows are all big. You don't need to turn on the lights at night if you don't draw the curtains. There are enough street lights, and you can see clearly from the outside." Me: "I mean you saw her wave with your own eyes?" He: "Well, I went to see her every week. Every time I have to bring her a fashion magazine, because she doesn't go shopping anymore." Me: "...So, do you miss her?" He: "Well, when can I see her?"

After hesitating for a while, I took out a few photos from the briefcase next to him and put them in front of him. They were of a female corpse taken from various angles.The corpse has been processed, the internal organs are gone, and the limbs and body are wrapped with a lot of plastic wrap and scotch tape, which makes the corpse look like a gray-brown humanoid.The figure was wearing a baggy white nightgown... I tried not to look at the picture. He stared at the photo blankly for a while. Me: "Do you believe she's dead now?" He looked up at me suspiciously, and then at the photo: "Isn't she fine?"

Me: "You strangled her to death more than a month ago, and then you embalmed the body with a lot of salt, wrapped it with plastic wrap and tape, put on that white nightdress, and put it under the window sill. On the floor. Someone saw you going there every week, carrying a magazine. However, the neighbors never saw her again, and you were the only one to go, so they reported the crime. You cleaned the scene very clean, and the magazines were neat put it on the bed, all the portraits of the characters in it have been picked out, and only your fingerprints are on the magazine.” He looked at me puzzled: "I don't understand what you're talking about."

Me: "Okay, then tell me what's going on, maybe I can understand what you're saying." He sighed: "Then I'll say it again in detail: when I was at her house, she deliberately found fault with me..." Me: "You said this, what will happen every week from now on?" He: "After killing her for the first time, she would call me every week, saying that she missed me, asked me to accompany her, and asked me to bring a fashion magazine. When you are about to arrive, turn around that intersection, You can see the window at the end of the road, she stands in front of the window. She always waits for me in front of the window in that big white pajamas, looks at me and smiles, very obedient. When I go upstairs, she opens the door by herself. Usually standing in front of the window, hugging shoulders and saying that we miss me. We sat on the big bed in front of the window and chatted, she casually flipped through magazines. Every time we chatted for a while, she began to deliberately find fault, so that I could kill her. She Liked me to kill her. So I killed her in various ways. Sometimes I put my hands around her neck, sometimes I strangled her with a rope or something. After she fell asleep I got dressed and left. I guess I just When she went out, she jumped up, packed her clothes and waited by the window, because every time I walked out of their courtyard and walked to her downstairs window, she would stand in front of the window, smile at me, and wave her hands...very cute... ..."

Me: "That's enough, don't talk about it. You said she called you, but your mobile phone has recorded no calls from her number for more than a month. How do you explain this?" He: "I don't know, maybe she deliberately made trouble?" Me: "Don't you think she's going to die?" He: "Why do you always curse her to death?" Me: "Okay, I don't curse her to death. Can you tell me about your concept of death?" He frowned and looked at me seriously: "I'm not breathing, and my heart is not beating." Me: "Do you think she is breathing and her heart is beating?"

A look of horror flashed across his face: "She's different...is she dead?" I'm right." In an instant, his expression became calm again: "She's not dead, she calls me every week and asks me to bring her magazines, and looks at me from a distance in front of the window, wearing that big white sleeping bag. The skirt smiled at me..." I turned off the voice recorder and put away the photos and notebook. When I closed the door, I looked back, and he was still muttering how to strangle her. I took down the address of her home and decided to go to the scene to see it, although it was late.

When I got there, I found that it was indeed what he said, a T-shaped intersection, facing the top of the T-shaped intersection was a row of low gray buildings. I glanced at the window facing the road, it was dark. Going around into the courtyard, I found the building door with the building number in memory, and took the stairs to the second floor.In front of him was a long corridor, divided into several sections by the lights. Although I couldn't remember the room number, it was surprisingly easy to find - there was a prominent police tape on the door.I tried to push the door, but it didn't lock, and the tape hissed.

This is a small room, which seems to be separated from the old Soviet-style building.The room was very clean, no strange smell, and very bright with street lights shining in. I went straight to the bed, stood in front of the window and looked at the bottom intersection of the T-shaped road, it was empty. After watching for a while, I slowly half-closed my eyes... In the haze, she was standing side by side with me in that big white nightgown. At the far end of the intersection, a figure turned around, getting closer and closer. I felt that she seemed to be smiling beside me, raised her hand and waved it a few times. After a while, the door behind me opened silently, and he walked in, penetrated my body, put the magazine on the bed, and hugged her slowly. I didn't need to look to know that his hand gradually moved upwards on her body, slid to her neck, slowly strangled her, and she struggled silently. Finally, she collapsed on the ground, her limbs convulsed slightly.And he disappeared into thin air. A few minutes later, she got up slowly, arranged her clothes, and stood beside me by the window. He appeared downstairs, and the two waved to each other.She stared at him away, waiting for him to disappear at the end of the road.Immediately afterwards, at that moment, she collapsed on the floor like a puppet that lost its string, her body and limbs were covered with plastic wrap and tape, and she was lifeless. I opened my eyes, glanced at the empty street outside the window, turned and left. When I was walking down the street, I couldn't bear to look back at that window. I don't think I can understand his world. Every week he would see her expectantly standing at the window in that voluminous white nightgown, smiling, waiting for him to kill her. And he was her death weekly.