Shane Freak
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Chapter 620: The Morbid Crisis (Part Six)
🕑 Added 2023-10-02 07:15:54 +0000 UTCIn DC World With Marvel Chat Group : Table of Content/Chapter List
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As the head of this corpse remained relatively intact, one could discern from the facial muscle direction that the victim had endured immense suffering before their demise.
Some young officers nearby had already vomited, but Angela, with a stoic expression, approached the corpse to examine it.
Her extensive experience allowed her to understand the serial killer's modus operandi much better than others, including Bruce and Lex, as she noticed many details that had eluded them.
Since Angela had not encountered the first two corpses, she couldn't judge if the murder weapon was consistent. However, by examining the materials left behind, she deduced that the chair used to bind the victim was different this time.
The chair used to bind the bank manager was an employee's chair from the bank, the one used for the second female boss was an ergonomic chair from Pailo Company, but this time, the chair used to bind the victim was the same as the chairs used by employees at Snow Mountain Company.
This aligns with Angela's understanding of serial killers; they always have unique inclinations in such matters. She could even imagine that if the killer couldn't obtain such a chair, they might not have committed the murder.
After thoroughly inspecting the corpse, Angela stood up and began to recollect in her mind.
The first corpse had alterations around the eyes, with skin and muscle tissue around the eye sockets torn away and a telescope inserted. However, without an autopsy, it was uncertain whether the wounds in the chest and abdomen were fatal or if the head wound was the cause of death.
Judging by the brutality of the killer, it was highly likely that the first victim had their eye area tissues torn away while alive, and a telescope inserted into their brain, causing death. The wounds in the chest and abdomen likely occurred post-mortem.
The second victim was somewhat similar to the first, likely having their ears cut off and a signal receiver inserted into the ear canal to scramble their brain into a pulp.
As for the third victim, Angela could now tell that they likely died from suffocation just seconds before the explosion, due to an obstruction in the esophagus caused by an inserted object, possibly a rat, which led to the constriction of the airway.
Angela stood in place, took a deep breath, and felt a long-forgotten surge of anger. It had been a while since she had encountered such a brazen serial killer.
She immediately spoke into her radio, "Surround all the nearby buildings immediately; the perpetrator may be among the crowd, observing this place."
Clearly, Angela was much more professional than Bruce and Lex. She knew that the killer had orchestrated this show meticulously and had even calculated the distance of the blood splatter from the explosion. Therefore, they would definitely be watching the reactions of the nearby observed detectives.
However, when the corpse exploded, the onlookers had scattered in all directions, and the officers were mentally shaken. They couldn't stop the fleeing crowd in time. By the time Angela gave the order, the surrounding spectators had all disappeared.
Angela took a deep breath, holstered her handgun, and the usually composed female detective showed a rare sign of fatigue. She turned and walked back, sat in the police car, and couldn't hide her weariness.
"Detective, you don't have to put too much pressure on yourself. This killer has committed so many murders; they will eventually slip up," the young detective who was driving said.
Angela shook her head. She wasn't worried about the case. As a renowned detective specializing in serial murders, she knew that dealing with such serial killers required patience. Acting too hastily would only lead to chaos.
The best way to handle them was not to listen, not to watch, not to feel anything they left as clues. Instead, she would take a different approach. Once the killer realized that nobody was watching their dramatic performance, they would become anxious, revealing their true selves.
In the early stages of investigating such cases, Angela never acted too aggressively. She didn't utter phrases like "we must bring the killer to justice" because she knew these killers lurked in the shadows, and they wanted to hear those words. They wanted to see the police fail repeatedly, only to regain their courage and deceive them again.
Angela was patient. She had dealt with many brutal serial killers, and she knew their patterns. She believed that as long as she persevered, she would emerge victorious.
Her fatigue was actually due to another personal matter. When the police car stopped at the station's entrance, before getting out, Angela said to the detective, "Please don't drive the car away later; I'll be going out alone tonight."
"Oh, dear, Detective, you are so dedicated. Please take care of yourself... I'll park the car in the east parking lot. If you need it, the keys are here," the detective replied without much thought, handing the keys to Angela.
Back at the police station, Angela went to the restroom, splashed cold water on her face, and, once she regained some composure, immersed herself in work again. She assigned personnel to process the crime scene, collect as much physical evidence as possible, locate witnesses, and complete pending interviews.
Another busy day passed, and late into the night, instead of driving back to her apartment, Angela turned the car in the direction of Gotham, driving along the highway.
In Gotham City's hospital, Constantine lay on a hospital bed, leaning against the headboard, clutching his arm. He spoke to Clark, who stood before him, "Clark, I know you're an innocent man, but you need to understand that there are people in this world with different lifestyles than yours. You can't force others to accept your way of life..."
"But you're dying!" Clark said earnestly. "The doctor says you have lung cancer, and your lungs are nearly rotted, yet you continue to smoke over twenty cigarettes a day. That will kill you!"
"I won't die, you forget, I'm a sorcerer; magic will save me," Constantine replied nonchalantly, lighting another cigarette. However, before the flame could rise from the lighter, Clark waved his hand, extinguishing it.
Constantine sighed, took a deep breath, and contemplated how to escape from Clark's grasp. He thought for a moment and, when Clark turned away, he took out a small dagger and cut his own arm.
When Clark turned back, seeing Constantine's bleeding arm, he immediately ran to the door, shouting, "Doctor! Doctor! Someone's bleeding!"
"When he turned around again, the sickbed bore only mottled bloodstains, and Constantine had vanished.
Clark, hands on hips, exhaled with frustration. Just then, through the corridor window, he glimpsed what seemed like a robbery in progress. Without hesitation, he flew out of the window and landed at the scene. He shouted, 'Hold it! Stop fighting!'
Meanwhile, Constantine, having used his teleportation magic to escape, returned to the doorstep of his apartment. He shook his head and took out his keys to unlock the door.
As he opened the door, a ghastly figure with deep crevices on its face lunged toward him. Constantine crossed his arms in front of him and was pushed back a couple of steps upon impact.
Removing his arms, he studied the demon standing before him. After a moment of contemplation, he realized it was a demon he had dealt with roughly two weeks ago, and it seemed it had come to settle a score.
Before the demon could speak, Constantine raised a hand to silence it, then snapped his fingers. In an instant, a magical circle of fire engulfed the demon, and with a whoosh, it was pulled beneath the floor.
Constantine sighed and approached, picking up the candles from the magical circle. 'This magic circle is rather handy,' he commented. 'Not only can it lure owls, but it can also snag demons. I'll have to refine it a bit more...'
Initially leaving the door ajar, Constantine gathered the charred pieces of paper from the floor and absentmindedly tossed them outside. Just as he was about to close the door, he felt resistance in his hand.
He pulled harder but found the opposing force was strong. Eventually, he released his grip, causing the person on the other side to stumble back a couple of steps. Constantine stepped back, eyeing the woman who held his door. She wore a uniform and exuded an air of authority.
The woman was about to speak when Constantine raised a hand to stop her. He then said, '...It was just a misunderstanding earlier. I'm truly sorry. I had no choice, and everything was my fault. I'm willing to make amends.'
The woman, on the other hand, appeared perplexed. She asked, 'Is this Hellblazer Constantine's residence?'
'Um... Have we met before?' Constantine was somewhat surprised but quickly put on a welcoming smile, taking a step back and gesturing toward his apartment. 'Please come in, miss.'
'Are you Constantine?' The woman squinted her eyes, assessing Constantine, who appeared somewhat disheveled.
He had been working tirelessly for over a month, and his golden hair had grown long, uncut. His beard around his chin and sideburns were also untamed, making him look more like a vagabond than a detective.
'Yes, that's me. May I ask your name?' Constantine reached into his coat pocket, retrieved his business card, and handed it to the woman. She hesitated for a moment before saying, 'Angela Dodge.'
'Alright, Miss Dodge, what brings you here? Let's discuss inside,' Constantine said, stepping aside.
The apartment had a hint of British charm, but there were still some unerased magical circles around the carpet. The walls were adorned with various feather decorations, and the bookshelves and tables were cluttered with magical materials, giving it a rather eerie ambiance. What stood out even more was a mound of voodoo dolls piled up in the corner.
Seeing Angela's gaze fixated on the voodoo dolls, Constantine felt compelled to explain, 'Ah, please don't misunderstand. Those are just... assembly line workers, and they've been laid off now.'
With a wave of his hand, he magically concealed the area. Turning his attention back to Angela, he asked, 'So, where did you hear my name, and why have you come to find me?'
'I...' Angela took a deep breath, seemingly uncomfortable with what she was about to say. Eventually, she spoke up, 'Just a month ago, my twin sister committed suicide.'
'My condolences, but I'm afraid I can't resurrect anyone,' Constantine responded, pursing his lips and tilting his head. He picked up a glass of water and took a sip. 'If that's your request, I'm powerless.'
'It's not that!' Angela raised her voice. 'My sister was a devout believer, and she knew that suicide would prevent her from going to heaven. So, she couldn't have taken her own life!'
'But...' Angela's voice trembled. 'I've solved many murder cases, but I couldn't find any clues in my sister's case. I don't know who killed her...'
Then, taking several deep breaths and sipping from her cup to steady herself, Angela looked at Constantine and revealed her hidden secret, 'My twin sister and I have been able to see things that ordinary people can't see since birth, some... incredibly frightening things.'
'What kind of frightening things are you talking about? Ghosts?' Constantine inquired.
'No, I think those were just hallucinations. But my sister spoke about them, so my family had her institutionalized. However, she...'
Constantine slowly stood up and continued, 'So, you're saying both you and your sister could see these things, but she talked about them, and you didn't. As a result, your family thought she was mentally ill and placed her in a mental hospital, and she...'
'Because you believe she was a devout believer. Devout followers wouldn't commit suicide, as it would prevent them from going to heaven. Therefore, you've come to me to investigate your sister's death.'
Constantine summarized the situation neatly, leaving Angela unsure of what to say. Her emotions were fluctuating, and she didn't notice that Constantine had moved behind her.
Supporting himself on the back of the sofa, Constantine bent down, lowering his face close to Angela's ear. His long, golden hair brushed against her temple.
In a moment when Angela was about to pull away, Constantine extended his hand and firmly gripped her throat from behind, a magical fire glowing in his palm.
'The story was well-crafted. Now, tell me who you are, where you come from, heaven or hell, and when did we make our deal?'
Angela struggled desperately. This female detective had seen her share of battles. She managed to stand up from the sofa and, as Constantine dragged her to the floor, she reached for his ankle and yanked it, causing Constantine to stumble momentarily. She then broke free from his grasp.
Constantine bumped into the door frame, but he quickly gestured toward the business card he had given Angela, now tucked into her pocket. A ghost materialized from it, and Angela, with quick reflexes, dodged its attack.
However, she suddenly clutched her mouth, overcome with nausea and disgust. She retched, expelling the black viscous substance she had ingested from the water Constantine had given her earlier.
In the end, Angela lay on the floor, her final sight being Constantine, overlooking her and lighting a cigarette."
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Next Chapter >>Chapter 621: A Diseased Crisis (Part Seven)
