I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

Chapter 118: The File

I sit there, stunned, trying to process Choi's words. Finding my parents' killer has been my driving force for years, the reason I became a detective. And now, Choi's telling me it's... over? Your next chapter is on m v|l-e-NovelFire

"Where is he?" I manage to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Choi reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a thick file. He slides it across the desk to me. "It's all in here. But let me give you the overview."

I open the file with trembling hands, staring at the pages without really seeing them.

"The National Forensic Service was going through DNA samples from cold cases," Choi explains. "They found a matching profile across several unsolved murders."

My head snaps up. "Wait, you mean... you found DNA from my parents' case?"

Choi shakes his head. "No, not exactly. The killer... he had a particular method. Similar to how your parents were..." He trails off, clearing his throat. "The DNA from those other cases matched.

And then, when we brought him in, he confessed to your parents' murder as well."

I lean back in my chair, feeling like the wind's been knocked out of me. "He confessed? Just like that?"

Han speaks up for the first time. "It wasn't 'just like that.' It took weeks of interrogation. But in the end, yes, he confessed."

I nod numbly, trying to take it all in. Then a thought strikes me. "Senior Superintendent Choi," I say slowly, "did you... did you know about my background all along? Is that why I was assigned to the Seoul Metropolitan Investigative Unit?"

Choi's face is impassive, but I see a flicker of something - guilt? - in his eyes. "Yes," he admits. "I knew who you were from the moment you applied to the academy. I've been keeping an eye on your career ever since."

I turn to Han, feeling a surge of betrayal, but he holds up his hands. "I had no idea," he says quickly. "I only found out today, same as you."

I look back at Choi. "Why didn't you tell me? All these years, I've been searching, and you knew..."

Choi sighs heavily. "I'm sorry, Park. Truly, I am. But it was classified information. Your father's undercover work, the nature of the case... it was all highly sensitive.

I couldn't risk compromising ongoing investigations."

"But my parents were dead!" I burst out, anger finally breaking through my shock. "What was left to compromise?"

"The gang," Choi says quietly. "They were still out there. Still dangerous. We've spent years dismantling their operation, piece by piece. If they had known you were aware of your father's true identity, you could have been in danger."

I slump in my chair, the fight draining out of me. "So what now?" I ask, gesturing to the file. "What happens to... to him?"

Choi leans forward, his voice low and serious. "The killer's name is Lee Chunsik. He's 47 years old now."

I nod, trying to commit the name to memory. Lee Chunsik. The man who destroyed my family, who's haunted my life for so long.

"What brought him to your attention?" I ask, my voice surprisingly steady.

Choi's expression darkens. "He was under investigation for the rape and murder of his wife. During that investigation, his DNA profile was flagged by the National Forensic Service. It matched several cold cases, including..." He trails off, but I understand.

Including my parents' murder.

"His wife?" I repeat, feeling sick. "He killed his own wife?"

Choi nods grimly. "It seems violence has been a pattern in his life for a long time."

He pushes a thick folder across the desk towards me. "Here's everything we have on Lee Chunsik. His background, his crimes, the evidence linking him to your parents' case. Take as much time as you need to go through it. You can bring it back when you're ready."

I stare at the folder, my hand hovering over it but not quite touching it. It feels like Pandora's box, containing all the answers I've sought for years, but also horrors I'm not sure I'm ready to face.

"I understand you need time to process all of this," Choi says softly. "It's a lot to take in. There's no rush."

I open my mouth to respond, but suddenly find I can't speak. A lump forms in my throat, and to my surprise, I feel tears welling up in my eyes. Years of pent-up emotion - grief, anger, frustration - seem to crash over me all at once.

I try to blink the tears away, but they spill over, blurring my vision. I can see Choi and Han shift uncomfortably in my peripheral vision, unsure how to react to this display of emotion.

"I'm sorry," I manage to choke out, furiously wiping at my eyes. "I don't know why I'm-"

"It's okay," Choi interrupts, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "You don't need to apologize. This is... this is a lot. Take your time."

I nod, still struggling to regain my composure. My hand finally makes contact with the folder, and I pull it towards me. It feels impossibly heavy, weighted with the answers I've sought for so long.

"Thank you," I say finally, my voice hoarse.

Choi nods solemnly. "You deserved to know. And Park... your parents would be proud of you. Never doubt that."

As I stand to leave, clutching the folder to my chest like a lifeline, I feel a strange mix of emotions. Grief, anger, relief, determination - they all swirl together inside me.

***

I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The folder Choi gave me sits unopened on my desk, its presence looming over the room like a silent accusation.

I thought this moment would bring relief, closure. I imagined feeling triumphant, vindicated. Instead, I feel... lost. Confused. Betrayed.

I lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The folder Choi gave me sits unopened on my desk, its presence looming over the room like a silent accusation.

I thought this moment would bring relief, closure. I imagined feeling triumphant, vindicated. Instead, I feel... lost. Confused. Betrayed.

My grandmother's face flashes in my mind. All these years, she knew. She knew my father was a police officer, not just a factory worker. She watched me struggle, watched me join the force to solve a mystery she could have illuminated. Why? To protect me?

Or was it easier to keep the lie going?

And Choi. He knew from the beginning. He brought me into the unit, watched me work tirelessly on cases, all the while holding the key to the one case that mattered most to me. Was I just a pawn in some larger game? A loose end he needed to keep an eye on?

I roll over, burying my face in my pillow. The weight of all these revelations presses down on me, making it hard to breathe. Everyone, it seems, has been lying to me. My whole life feels like a carefully constructed illusion, and I'm only now seeing the strings.

All those nights I spent poring over old case files, all the leads I chased down, all the times I pushed myself to the brink... was it all for nothing? Was I just running in circles while others watched, knowing the truth but choosing to keep me in the dark?

I've never felt so alone. Even in my darkest moments during the investigation, I at least had the comfort of believing I was fighting for the truth. Now, I'm not sure what I'm fighting for anymore.

The irony isn't lost on me. I've finally got what I've always wanted - a name, a face to put to my parents' killer. But instead of clarity, I'm left with more questions than ever.

I sit up, looking at the folder on my desk. Part of me wants to rip it open, to devour every detail inside. Another part wants to burn it, to pretend this day never happened and go back to the comfort of my quest.

But I know I can't do that. Whatever lies in that folder, whatever truths or lies are still waiting to be uncovered, I have to face them. I owe it to my parents. I owe it to myself.

As I reach for the folder, a familiar voice echoes in my head.

"Well, well. Quite a day you've had, hasn't it?" Bundy's tone is light, almost casual.

I sigh, pulling my hand back. "I'm fine, Bundy. Just about to open the case file."

"Oh, is that so? Splendid idea," Bundy replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing like a bit of light reading before bed, especially when it's about your parents' murderer."

I clench my fists, irritation flaring. "If you've got something to say, just say it. I'm not in the mood for games."

There's a pause, and when Bundy speaks again, his tone has shifted.

"Oh, nothing really. It's just... when dear old Choi was flipping through those files earlier, I noticed something... odd."