That Night's Rain
The rain that night wasn't just falling; it poured like the sky's shattered tears, washing over the narrow streets around the dilapidated low-cost apartment complex. The sirens of ambulances and police cars ripped through the oppressive silence of the night, their rotating lights casting terrifying flashes of red and blue on the puddles and damp concrete walls. Five lives, barely into adulthood, had been snatched away in a manner that made even the most experienced officers shudder.
On the seventh floor, a rented room had become a horrific stage of death. The police yellow tape stretched taut five meters from the rickety lobby door, separating the outside world from the hell within. Behind the door of room 707, police, detectives, and the forensics team moved in a tense rhythm. The pungent, metallic smell of blood assaulted anyone who entered.
"This... I don't know how to respond," whispered Dr. Aris, the young forensic doctor, his face deathly pale. His eyes inadvertently met the vacant stare of one victim sprawled in the center of the room.
"Huekk!" He gagged, a choked feeling tightening his throat.
Nearby, Detective Bimo had just stumbled out, his body bent over a trash bin in the corridor. "Blarrgh!" The contents of his stomach splattered out.
"Sorry, Commander," he gasped, his face wet with cold sweat and perhaps tears of terror. "I didn't expect... didn't expect it to be that bad."
And who could blame him? The room's floor was like a canvas of atrocity. Darkening bloodstains were smeared on the peeling walls, seeped into the fibers of a rotten sofa, and even spattered onto the moldy ceiling.
Body parts lay scattered. Near the window, a coil of intestines lay like a lifeless, tangled snake. Near the wardrobe, a pair of lungs resembled torn bird wings. The corpses themselves... were no longer whole. A sight designed to trigger the deepest nausea.
Far below, amidst the downpour and occasional thunderclaps, reporters jostled behind the yellow tape. Their microphones thrust forward like the beaks of birds of prey, ready to snatch information.
"Confirmation please, Police Chief! Is it true, five victims? What's the modus? Any suspects?" shouted one reporter, his voice nearly drowned by the roar of the rain.
They raced to broadcast the first news of the tragic deaths of five teenagers in a squalid apartment room, a mystery just unveiled. It was unimaginable how they would react if they saw what the crime scene team saw upstairs.
"Jesus!" Detective Zen's sudden cry shattered the silence of the room, filled only by the sound of forensic cameras and cautious footsteps. His eyes swept the room, trying to capture every detail amidst the heart-wrenching chaos.
"It's like a slaughterhouse."
"My God," murmured Dr. Hendra, the senior forensic doctor whose wrinkled face showed deep concern. He stood at the threshold, seeming hesitant to step further in.
"I don't know where to place my foot, Zen. Every inch of this ground is evidence... evidence of madness." He sighed heavily.
"In my thirty-year career, this is the worst. The most sadistic."
Detective Zen, leading the investigation, nodded slowly. He felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. "Let us pray for a moment," he uttered, his voice low but firm, breaking through the thickening despair.
"For those who are gone. And may we be granted the strength and wisdom to uncover the truth hidden behind this atrocity, to solve this case." Their heads bowed briefly, prayers murmured silently in their hearts, seeking calm amidst the chaos.
The forensics team began working with extra caution, like dancing on broken glass. They documented, collected samples, examined every inch of the disordered room. Detective Zen walked slowly, his sharp eyes scanning every corner, every spatter of blood, every fragment that might not belong to the victims.
"Something's off, Zen," Dr. Hendra called out, kneeling near one of the bodies. "Look. This isn't just blind violence. There's a pattern."
Detective Zen hurried closer, his face furrowed in concentration. "You're right, Doc. Besides the condition of the bodies being... dismembered, look at the limbs." He pointed to the scattered bodies. "Five victims. Each missing one specific limb. One the right hand. Another the left leg. That one over there, the head... there's even one missing fingers and toes." He wiped his brow.
"Their internal organs... most are still here, scattered, but almost complete and not neatly taken. Not like an organ harvesting motive."
"So?" Dr. Hendra looked at him.
"My initial suspicion," Detective Zen exhaled a long breath, trying to assemble logic amidst the chaos.
"The extremely chaotic crime scene, covered in blood, bodies not intact... initially looked like a brutal massacre or organ theft. But the organs are still here, just... scattered. And the specific missing limbs... This is more like... a collection. Or a message. The killer isn't an ordinary criminal, Hendra. This is the work of a psychopath. A highly organized and genius psychopath. He left chaos, but with a purpose. Like he has his own ritual."
Suddenly, a shout broke their concentration, coming from the direction of an old wardrobe in the corner of the room. "Commander Zen! Commander! You have to see this!" cried Detective Rudi, his voice trembling with shock and horror.
Detective Zen and Dr. Hendra exchanged a glance for a split second before hurrying over. Rudi stood before the wardrobe, its door wide open. Behind the rack of pushed-aside clothes was a hidden small door, leading to a dark space.
"Inside," Rudi whispered, his face still pale.
Detective Zen directed his powerful flashlight beam into the darkness. The light swept across a narrow room, perhaps a storage space or secret room. And in the middle of the empty room, something reflected the flashlight beam with a strange, incongruous sparkle amidst the surrounding death.
A glass case.
Inside the glass case, lay something wrapped in dark red brocade cloth, embroidered with gold. The object was arranged with extreme care, surrounded by dried red roses and small, unlit candles. The overall sight was horrifying yet... strangely beautiful. A miniature altar in the midst of the death scene.
Everyone who saw it froze into silence. Only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard, mingling with the downpour outside the window. The horror they had just witnessed in the main room suddenly felt like merely an opening act.
Detective Zen felt a chill run down his spine. His usually steadfast face contorted in disgust and deep worry.
"Rudi!" His voice suddenly cut through the silence, loud and commanding. "Call for backup! Now! Tighten security around the entire apartment perimeter and surrounding blocks! Prepare a search team!" He stared at the glass case, his eyes narrowing.
"This is no longer just a gruesome murder. It's more than that. Our enemy... is a maniacal psychopath. A sick collector."
"What... what's inside, Zen?" asked Dr. Hendra, his voice hoarse.
Detective Zen approached the glass case with careful steps. The flashlight beam fell directly on the red brocade bundle. At the slightly open end of the cloth, something pale and stiff was visible. The tip of a finger. A human finger. One of the missing body parts from the victims outside. Arranged with "loving care" on this horrific altar.
"Parts of them," answered Detective Zen, his voice flat but trembling faintly with anger and profound dread.
"He took specific parts... and displayed them here. Like trophies." He turned his face away from the sickening sight, looked towards the blood-soaked main room, then back to the glass case.
"Likely this will be a long case, Hendra. Very long. And dark."
He stood before the glass case, his silhouette projected by the flashlight beam still illuminating the killer's "handiwork." Outside, thunder rumbled again, seemingly echoing the turmoil in Detective Zen's heart.
The rain continued to pour down, soaking the decrepit apartment building and the police yellow tape below, while on the seventh floor, in room number 707, a mystery far darker and more complex had just been unveiled. That night, clearly, was still very long and terrifying. The hunt had only just begun.