After the middle-aged woman hung up the phone, she walked towards the ground, as if there was an emergency.
After the middle-aged woman left, Han Fei carried his bag and looked deep into the ground floor.
Several rooms on the underground floor seemed to have been bought by someone. The owner must be a madman. He wrote all kinds of words on the walls that are difficult for ordinary people to understand, full of destruction and despair...
Han Fei read the words while exploring deeper.
The smell of formalin in the air gradually became stronger, and there were more and more blood stains on the ground. The basement, which looked like a murder scene, actually gave Han Fei an indescribable sense of familiarity.
"As an actor or screenwriter, why do I know the smell of formalin? Why do I feel familiar with murder scenes?"
Thinking of the stories he wrote in the script, Han Fei felt even more confused: "What kind of person am I?"
He carefully avoided the blood on the ground. Normal people would definitely feel scared and panicked when encountering such a scene.
But as a mental patient suffering from persecutory delusions, Han Fei not only did not fall ill after entering such a bloody scene, but his breathing gradually became smoother.
He felt like a twisted combination of contradictions. The more he investigated, the more confused he became.
"My parents, who I have absolutely no memory of, were disposing of the corpses underground and transporting them out... That doctor Fu said that there have been a lot of unknown corpses in the city recently, and the person who claimed to be my father happened to be a
Very good forensic doctor.”
"Could it be that my father and mother are perverted murderers? I lost my memory because I accidentally saw the scene of their murder?"
"Or maybe they have been giving me medicine, causing me to forget the past? I have become a confused patient?"
No matter how you think about it, this home is extremely terrifying.
"I actually live with a murderous couple, and they may not be my parents!"
Han Fei had no concept of parents at all, and he couldn't even find a starting point for memories.
With various thoughts constantly floating in his mind, Han Fei walked through the blood and came to the last room on the underground floor.
The door was locked. If you look closely, you will find that there is blood seeping out from under the crack in the door.
"The blood has coagulated. This blood was left by the mother cleaning the blood stains in the gap. It seems that the first crime scene should be in this room." Staring at the blood on the ground, Han Fei murmured to himself: "The gap
The blood stains in the bag cannot be washed away with water, as this will disperse the blood stains containing the victim's information. They should be collected little by little, and then used with chemicals..."
Han Fei was startled by the thoughts in his mind: "Why do I know how to handle corpses?"
He has lost all his memory, but his body's instincts are still there, but this instinct can be strange sometimes.
"Because I'm a screenwriter, so I look up similar information?"
Han Fei put on his clothes and gently pulled the iron door. Finally, the door of this room was locked and could not be opened.
"When I leave this time, I probably won't come back to this horrible home. I have to figure these things out before I leave."
After looking around, Han Fei found a very thin wire. After bending it into a suitable shape, he aligned it with the keyhole and stuffed it into it.
Originally, Han Fei just wanted to give it a try, but when he pressed against the lock core and listened to the sounds inside, his hands and brain worked in perfect harmony, as if unlocking was a skill of his.
As the spring bounced, he opened the dilapidated iron door on the underground floor.
Looking at the iron door being opened, Han Fei felt incredible that he had mastered an ability that most screenwriters did not have.
Looking inside the room, the scene in front of him had a great impact on Han Fei.
There was a wooden table in the middle of the dark and oppressive room. A large amount of manuscript paper and various pens were scattered on the wooden table, and the bottom of the wooden table was soaked with blood.
There are three shelves behind the wooden table. One shelf is filled with books, the other shelf is filled with various specimen jars, and the last shelf is filled with various killing tools, including hand axes and daggers.
, there are ropes, and various medicines.
The wall directly in front of the wooden table was not painted, but huge blood flowers were spattered on the surface, as if someone had been killed there.
"Is this the devil's room? The desk faces the blood-spattered wall. Is the owner writing while looking at the victim's body?"
The murder scene had been severely damaged, and the pungent smell of formalin and an unexplainable odor remained in the air.
Han Fei moved forward slowly, and he realized something scary. His body had become accustomed to the pungent smell.
When a normal person smells these things for the first time, he will instinctively feel uncomfortable and even vomit, but he just frowned, which shows that he probably smelled these things often before he lost his memory!
"Why am I used to it?"
Walking to the desk, Han Fei held up his sleeves and picked up the unfinished script on the desk.
"The sixth story - Tenant, the woman moved in in July. Her belly is getting bigger day by day, her mood is becoming more and more unstable, irritable and irritable, and she quarrels with people every night. Sometimes I also
You will be curious, why does she always quarrel with others at night when she obviously lives alone on the sixth floor?"
"The second time I saw her was a month later. She was in a very bad state of mind. She didn't want to take the elevator. She walked up and down the stairs with a big belly every day, and she was always cursing something."
"She refused to interact with anyone, and people in the community thought she was sick, so they gradually left her alone."
"The woman was quarreling louder at night, but no one knew who she was quarreling with. Many people speculated that she was quarreling on the phone with the man who abandoned her, but I feel that things are not that simple."
"The third time I met her was the day before she died."
"That night I wanted to go downstairs to buy a pack of cigarettes. When I was passing by the sixth floor, I heard something going on in her house."
"I stayed at the entrance of the corridor for a while. The woman who had not been out for a long time slowly crawled out of the room. Her face was skinny and skinny, she kept cursing, and her neck was so shriveled that it seemed like there were only two pieces of skin left."
"As she slowly crawled out, I couldn't believe my eyes. I saw the woman's bulging belly."
"This woman is not pregnant. What is hidden in her belly is not a human being."
The complete version of the script was on the desk, but Han Fei felt that there was still a follow-up to the script. He glanced at the blood on the floor and said, "How did he know that what was hidden in her belly was not a human being?"
Putting down the script gently, Han Fei felt a chill in his heart. He saw the first half of the script in his room, and now the second half appeared on his desk. Does that mean that he was the original owner of this room?
Thinking carefully, Han Fei's heart was about to beat out of his chest, and the blood vessels on his forehead bulged.
"Is there such a possibility?"
He is familiar with the stench of formalin and corpses, knows how to open locks and handle corpses, and even has the urge to grab the knives on the shelf and wave them, all of which seem to indicate one thing.
"Is the murderer actually me? Are those couple helping me dispose of the body?"
Han Fei has no memory of his past, and he cannot recall his past identity, but his keen insight and amazing physical instincts are still there.
Destroying corpses and eradicating traces is a very difficult task. It would take an ordinary person a long time to figure out the steps just by thinking about it. But when he saw the blood stains, his mind automatically simulated various ways to remove the evidence.
.
"It's not like you're doing it for the first time. I'm the murderer of serial death cases?"
Carrying a bag full of scripts, Han Fei stood there. Nothing could have a greater impact on him than this incident.
"But if I was a serial murderer, why was that couple disposing of the body?"
"Have they discovered what I was doing a long time ago, used drugs to make me lose my memory step by step, and want to change me?"
"My parents helped me dispose of the body so that I could have another chance to start from scratch after losing my memory? From this point of view, they are really the best people in the world to me, but..."
Han Fei clenched his hand: "If I really kill someone, and I am really guilty, I would rather be punished myself than let them do such a thing. This is what I really think at this moment.
.”
"Why would I do such a thing if I could have such an idea?"
Conflict, Han Fei was in an extremely conflicting state. He had forgotten everything. There seemed to be many souls in his mind, and everyone wanted to draw their own image on the blank canvas.
Holding his sleeves, Han Fei opened the door to the back room. He was really professional. He would not leave any fingerprints or shoe prints, and he would not make any noise when walking.
A stronger odor wafted from the back room, where some costumes were placed.
The first costume was a uniform from an orphanage. It was very shabby and had many cuts made with a knife.
After searching carefully, a ball of shredded paper fell out of the shallow pocket of his clothes.
The ball of paper seemed to be torn from the script. The writing on it was distorted and blurred. It was completely different from the writing on the ordinary script. It was like another person.
"At 01:01 on Monday, a child who escaped from the orphanage died. The cause of death was suffocation. I remember his face when he died was black and purple. He was still struggling until the end.
It was like a bird whose wings were caught. I knew he would never be able to fly away from this world because someone had torn off his wings."
The writing on the paper was still stained with blood, as if the murderer had written it at the crime scene.
"Every time you kill someone, do you need to record it?"
Han Fei looked at the second piece of clothing, which was a tattered puppet coat. It was different from the one he wore before, and was slimmer. There was also a note hidden in this piece of clothing.
"One night on Tuesday, a young man got off the night shift and ended the ghost-catching carnival in the park. He wanted to take a good rest from work, but he couldn't take off his skin. The cause of death was suffocation. I guess he
When you are enveloped in darkness, you must be very scared, but I am no longer scared."
Putting away the note, Han Fei looked at the third piece of clothing, which was a clown coat, painted with various colors, and matched with a hat and mask.
The size of this suit is exactly the same as Han Fei's, as if it was tailor-made for him.
He raised his hand to find the note, but before Han Fei could get close, the clown's mask suddenly fell to the ground.
It was a somewhat scary smiley mask. The clown smiled too happily, even a little hysterically.
Finding the note behind the mask, Han Fei looked at the blood-red words on it.
"Sunday nights will be very lively. I like to walk on the street alone and let everyone see my smile, and then I will collect their smiles. I have always wanted to make a project that can heal all pain and despair.
Human, but it’s a pity that I haven’t even cured my own illness. Shhh, don’t look back. Guess, is the face under my mask crying or smiling now?”
The last piece of clothing seemed to be Han Fei's own. He always felt as if he had worn this piece of clothing and had done many things in it.
"The people who claim to be my parents, their height and body shape don't match this dress. It seems even more unlikely that they are the owners of this room." Han Fei covered his forehead: "Am I really a person?
Perverted murderer?"
When his mind was extremely confused, the words of Fu Tian's mother flashed through Han Fei's mind, and he remembered the scene when that woman saw him.
"wrong!"
Han Fei's eyes changed again: "At least in that woman's mind, I am a brave and kind person who pursues fairness and justice and is not afraid of fate. She thinks I am the best husband and father in the world. This is what I can do.
The highest compliment I can think of.”
These things in the room were in sharp contrast with what the woman had said. Han Fei, who had lost his memory, seemed to be torn apart, half sunny and gentle, and half perverted and crazy.
"Which one is the real me?"
Unable to remember the past, the amnesiac Han Fei needs to redefine himself: is he a perverted murderer, the real murderer of the serial murders, or a good person who was innocently implicated.
"As a living person, what should I be like?" (To be continued)
This chapter has been completed!