Old John laid his little granddaughter down on the bed. As he gently rocked the crib, he held his phone in hand, silently waiting for replies from both sides.
While waiting, just as Everly was about to fall asleep, the phone rang—Pete was calling first.
Before answering, Old John glanced at Everly. He worried about disturbing her sleep, but for some reason, his usually extremely obedient little granddaughter was still awake. Her big, watery eyes stared at him curiously.
Since Everly was awake, it didn’t really matter if she was disturbed.
Old John smiled helplessly and answered the call.
“…Lina—Lina’s missing! Someone said they saw her follow a man. He was wearing a black jacket and a hat, his face was hidden—he doesn’t look like anyone from our town. I’ve searched all around here but can’t find any trace of Lina, and her phone keeps going straight to voicemail… Old John, I’m driving to your place right now. Can you keep an eye out and see if that car you mentioned appears?”
Hearing Pete’s plea, Old John’s expression darkened.
“Understood. If I see that car, I’ll stop it for you.”
“Thank you, thank you so much. Once I find Lina, I’ll make sure to properly thank you…” Pete’s voice on the phone kept pouring out thanks.
After hanging up, Old John stood, patting his granddaughter’s forehead.
“Grandpa’s going to step outside and check the situation. You stay here nicely and wait for me, okay?”
‘Okay, I’ll be very good…’
Everly lay neatly on the bed and obediently nodded to her grandfather.
Old John froze for a moment. Sometimes, he felt that his little granddaughter behaved in ways that seemed… off, as if… as if she possessed a wisdom beyond her years, capable of understanding his words.
But could that really be possible, given… Shelly’s genes…?
Some people’s faces alone could provoke a visceral sense of disgust. Shaking his head, Old John pushed away the strange, unfounded thoughts and quickly strode to the wardrobe, activating the box elevator that led down to the safe room.
Old John was about to face a ruthless, highly intelligent criminal. Everly worried that in the unseen corners of the house, he might get hurt or run into some unexpected danger.
But soon, she realized she had been overthinking.
When he went downstairs, Old John was still in his pajamas. When he reappeared, he was clad in a black bulletproof vest and wearing a helmet like the ones used in combat video games. Though the vest and helmet looked worn and secondhand, discarded items from someone else, they were intimidating enough!
In addition to changing clothes, Old John now carried a long rifle fitted with a scope on his back. He first headed to the balcony next door, then hurried down the stairs. Everly heard him rummaging through cabinets and boxes upstairs, and shortly after, the creak of the front door opening echoed from below.
Grandpa had gone out!
Eager to see what was happening, Everly quickly scrambled up and once again stood on the crib railing, craning her neck to look outside.
In the dim moonlight, she saw Old John clutching a small cardboard box and quickly running toward the southern stretch of Route 387. After scanning the surroundings, he opened the box and poured the small black contents onto the road, spreading them from left to right until the entire stretch was covered.
Once he finished pouring it out, the old man hurried back inside, climbed the stairs to the second floor, and disappeared onto the balcony again.
With everything set, the gas station fell into a brief, tense silence.
Time dragged slowly as they waited. After about two or three minutes, the long-awaited refrigerated truck finally appeared at the far end of Route 387.
It still had no lights on. Bursting from the darkness at the end of the road, it charged toward the gas station like a savage, raging bull. As the truck tore down the road, kicking up clouds of dust, its tires suddenly ran over a row of dark, sharp objects on the ground near the station.
The spikes pierced the tires, and under the pressure, the front tire rapidly deflated. The massive vehicle jolted violently. The driver, sensing disaster, slammed on the brakes. “Screeeeaaak—!” The harsh screech of rubber against asphalt rang out as the truck skidded forward seven or eight meters before finally coming to a crooked stop in the middle of the road.
The door opened, and a dirty, thick-soled boot stepped onto the stairs. Following it came a tall, burly man. He wore a black jacket and a hat, his broad shoulders and muscular build matching exactly the description Pete had given over the phone.
The man grabbed a flashlight and bent down to inspect the flattened tire. When he saw the dense array of giant tacks embedded in the rubber, he froze for a moment. Thinking quickly, he immediately switched off the flashlight and dashed back toward the truck.
But he realized it too late. Old John was already crouched on the balcony, rifle in hand, aiming at him for a long moment. Everly heard a faint “bang” from above—a bullet so fast it was invisible to the naked eye—and the man’s movement toward the truck froze abruptly.
He reached up instinctively toward his exposed neck, but before his fingers could touch it, his body lurched backward and “thudded” softly against the side of the refrigerated truck.
Everly was a little puzzled. She hadn’t seen the expected gushing of blood.
With a sniper rifle, even a small-caliber one, a shot to the neck within fifty meters should have been fatal. But from the security footage, aside from losing consciousness, the truck driver appeared completely uninjured…
Her confusion was answered when Old John stepped closer and fired again—this time at the driver’s leg. Bathed in the bright moonlight peeking through the clouds, Everly finally saw clearly: the gun in Old John’s hands wasn’t firing ordinary bullets at all—it was shooting glowing white tranquilizer darts!
Wow. Even a niche tranquilizer gun? In terms of firepower, Old John’s underground safe haven wasn’t as shabby as she’d imagined.
Everly stared, dumbfounded.
Two darts from that gun, and even a wild boar would be out cold. Old John slung the tranquilizer gun back onto his shoulder, then pulled a pair of handcuffs from his waist. First, he secured the unconscious driver to the truck railing, then used both hands to steady the limp body as he began to search from top to bottom.
A dagger, a butterfly knife, a revolver, mysterious syringes… one by one, the dangerous items were extracted from the driver as easily as picking corn kernels and tossed far off to the roadside.
Only after all possible threats were removed did Old John pick up the keys, walk to the back of the truck, and unlock the heavily secured refrigerated compartment.
Thick white fog drifted from the truck’s door, cascading toward the ground like a waterfall. As the cargo door slowly opened, the evil hidden inside the truck was revealed to the world.
…
The piercing wail of sirens didn’t fade until the early hours of the morning.
From the refrigerated truck’s rear compartment, three living people were rescued: the two missing police officers and Pete’s daughter, Lina.
Of the three, Lina was in the best condition. She had been lured onto the truck by the driver and had only been locked inside for a few minutes before Old John rescued her. Sharon and Mike, however, were in worse shape. The two had been confined in the truck at minus 18 degrees Celsius since noon—nearly ten hours. Mike had a severe head injury, and if Sharon hadn’t done everything she could inside the truck to keep them both warm, Mike might not have survived.
Besides the living, nine corpses were recovered from the truck, all recently missing young girls.
The number of victims far exceeded what the police had known. They had been stripped and hung inside the truck like livestock at a slaughterhouse, all subjected to inhuman torment before death.
The case was so shocking that it drew the attention of the Micano City, Saint Mona City, and Dwight State police departments. During the joint investigation, police quickly discovered that the disappearances around US-34 Highway were not the perpetrator’s first crimes. At his home in Ross City, Sunlia State, authorities found another body in a refrigerator, dismembered into chunks of flesh and wrapped in layers of cling film.
Tests confirmed the body belonged to the perpetrator’s mother.
The criminal was named Peter Barnes, a resident of Ross City, Sunlia State. His mother, Gressa, had been born into a conservative Catholic family. During adolescence, unable to tolerate her parents’ strict control, Gressa eloped with her lover and gave birth to Peter out of wedlock.
However, the impulsiveness of her youth brought Gressa only fleeting joy. The once intense passion and grand promises of love were soon crushed by the mundane hardships and difficulties of life.
Gressa was abandoned by her lover. She tried to turn to her parents for help, but they saw their “wayward” daughter as a source of shame. Publicly, they claimed she had died and refused to take her back, only sending her a small allowance from time to time. After the couple’s second son was born, this allowance was quickly reduced to barely enough for Gressa to survive.
Alone, in poverty and isolation, Gressa raised her son by herself.
She was full of regret for her past, believing that her rebellion and pursuit of so-called “freedom” had led her into this personal hell. As a result, she watched Peter very closely: he was not allowed to make friends, to play, or even to have a romantic relationship. Any minor defiance was met with severe corporal punishment from his mother.
“She had a confinement room, only the size of a toilet stall. It was pitch black, empty. Whenever Peter displeased her, she would lock him inside, cutting off food and water until he could no longer endure it and would collapse on the floor begging for mercy…” said policewoman Sharon.
Unknowingly, Gressa had become like her own parents.
Perhaps it was the oppressive, twisted childhood that shaped Peter’s character—or perhaps his personality had always harbored a cruel, antisocial streak. As Peter grew, Gressa discovered that her son had developed disturbing “hobbies”: t*rturing cats and dogs for amusement, watching blood-soaked murder tapes, and collecting news clippings of serial killers, treating them as idols.
Gressa was shocked and disappointed when she realized this. She ordered him to throw away the newspapers and tapes, forbade him from going outside, and repeatedly locked him in the confinement room, attempting to “correct” his character through corporal punishment.
But Peter was no longer the weak, timid little boy he had once been. He had grown, his arms strong and powerful, and under the influence of his “idols,” his heart had gradually hardened and become cruel.
Three months ago, during an argument, Peter accidentally killed his mother. When her blood ran over the back of his hand, he felt—almost as if by fate—a powerful force flowing into his body. He became fascinated by the sensation of holding life and death in his hands. It was like Pandora’s box had been opened: the malevolence buried deep within his soul surged forth, urging him to go out and find more prey, drawing strength from their screams, pain, and wails…
“After killing his mother, Peter dismembered her and stuffed her into a refrigerator, claiming she had gone on a trip. Then he bought a second-hand refrigerated truck, purchased documents from the black market, and posed as a delivery driver to hunt near Highway 34. Peter preferred to operate at night. He targeted young women walking alone after dark, because he considered them ‘immoral’ or ‘flawed in character,’ which reminded him of his own disobedient mother when she was young…”
Everly nestled in Old John’s arms, listening as Sharon recounted the story behind the case from the hospital bed. As she listened, a familiar sense she had felt before returned once again, and a trace of confusion appeared on her face.
How strange… why did even the criminal’s past feel so familiar to her…?