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

Chapter 62: The Seventh Case (9)

The sound of the door opening fills me with dread. I remain still, pretending to be bound and gagged, as two sets of footsteps enter the room.

"So, what do we do with them?" a gruff voice asks.

"I say we burn the bodies now," another voice replies, cold and matter-of-fact. "Get rid of the evidence."

My heart races at these chilling words.

"Not now, you idiot," the first voice hisses. "The police are combing the area. The smell would give us away instantly."

There's a moment of tense silence before a third voice chimes in, "Why don't we just keep pretending no one's here? Wait until the heat dies down outside."

The men continue to debate, their voices growing more heated. Suddenly, the door bursts open again, and hurried footsteps enter.

"We've got a problem," a new voice announces, breathless and panicked. "The police have surrounded the house."

The room erupts into chaos. "What? How?" one man shouts.

"This is your fault," another accuses. "I told you bringing in that detective was a mistake!"

"Everyone, calm down!" The authoritative voice cuts through the panic. "Here's what we're going to do. We'll keep pretending no one's home. The rest of you, grab the guns and get ready, just in case. Move!"

There's a flurry of movement as the men rush out of the room. In their haste and panic, they leave the door wide open.

For a moment, Kim and I remain frozen, hardly daring to believe what just happened. Then, Kim whispers urgently, "Detective, the door's open. This might be our only chance."

I nod, my mind racing. "We need to move, but carefully. They could come back any second."

Slowly, we rise to our feet, our muscles protesting after being bound for so long. We creep towards the open door, every step filled with tension.

As we reach the threshold, I pause, listening intently for any sign of our captors. The underground complex seems eerily quiet now, a stark contrast to the panic of moments ago.

"What do you think is happening outside?" Kim whispers.

"Before I was brought here, I managed to leave a clue. I dropped my mobile phone."

Kim's sharp intake of breath tells me he understands the significance. "Where?"

"At the spot where I encountered the masked man," I explain, the memory of that tense moment flooding back. "It was just before he led me to this house. I pretended to stumble and let the phone slip from my pocket."

"Clever," Kim murmurs, a note of admiration in his voice.

I nod, though Kim can't see it in the dim light. "Han knows I wouldn't just disappear without a trace. He'll have the team searching the area thoroughly. The phone's GPS is still be active, leading them right to us."

"That explains why they're surrounding the house now," Kim says, his voice filled with renewed hope.

"Your clue must have worked."

"Exactly," I confirm. "Which means we need to be extra careful. We don't want to tip off our captors and risk them doing something desperate. But we also need to find a way to signal to Han and the others that we're here, underground."

Kim is quiet for a moment, processing this information. "So what's our next move?"

I lean close to Kim, my voice barely above a whisper. "I have an idea. We need to find the incinerator room."

Kim's body tenses, and I see a flicker of fear in his eyes. "The incinerator? Are you sure?" His voice trembles slightly. "After what might have happened to Shin..."

I feel a pang of guilt and hesitation. The memory of Kim's words about the smell of burning flesh hangs heavily between us. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my own nerves.

"I know it's not ideal," I admit, my voice low and somber. "Believe me, I don't like it either. But think about it - if we can operate it, the smoke will alert the police outside that there's something happening underground. It's a signal they can't ignore."

Kim's face is a mask of conflict. "I understand the logic, but... using the same machine that might have..." He trails off, unable to finish the thought.

I place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the weight of our situation. "I know. It feels wrong. But right now, it might be our best chance to save ourselves and bring these people to justice."

Kim is quiet for a long moment, his internal struggle visible. Finally, he nods, though his reluctance is clear. "You're right. We don't have many options. But what about the armed men?"

I nod grimly. "We'll need to isolate ourselves from them. Find a secure room, maybe, and barricade ourselves in until the police can reach us."

Kim takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "Okay. Let's do it."

With our plan set, we cautiously step out into the dimly lit corridor. The underground complex is eerily quiet, the earlier panic seemingly dissipated. We move silently, our backs against the wall, every sense on high alert.

As we creep along, I scan for any signs that might indicate the location of the incinerator room. The air grows warmer as we descend deeper into the complex, which I take as a good sign.

Suddenly, Kim grabs my arm, pointing to a dark corridor on the left. We exchange a glance - hopeful on my part, apprehensive on Kim's - and follow the direction indicated.

The corridor twists and turns, and with each step, the air grows noticeably warmer. The hum of machinery becomes more pronounced. We must be getting close. The oppressive heat reminds me of Kim's grim discovery, and I find myself battling my own doubts. Is this really the right course of action?

As we round another corner, we see it - a heavy metal door. My heart races with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Beside me, Kim has gone pale, his eyes fixed on the door.

"This is it," I whisper to Kim, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

We approach the door, every movement careful and deliberate. As I reach for the handle, I silently pray that this plan works. It's a gamble, and the emotional cost is high, but right now, it's the best chance we have of alerting the police to our presence and bringing this whole underground operation to light.

With a deep breath, I turn the handle, feeling the weight of our decision. The door creaks open, revealing the ominous machinery within. The wave of heat that hits us carries a faint, acrid smell that makes my stomach turn. I glance at Kim, seeing the mix of resolve and revulsion on his face.

"Ready?" I ask, my own voice sounding strange in my ears.

Kim nods, his voice barely audible. "Ready."

Together, we step into the incinerator room, the door closing behind us with a foreboding thud.

As we stand before the imposing machinery of the incinerator, a familiar voice suddenly chimes in my head.

"I must say, I'm impressed. Using the incinerator as a signal? That's quite... creative," Aileen's voice purrs, a note of amusement in her tone.

I try to focus on the task at hand, but Aileen persists.

"You know," she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "this is the kind of thinking that would make a serial killer proud. Using the very tool of destruction as a means of salvation? That's deliciously ironic."

"Not now, Aileen," I think back, irritation seeping into my mental voice. "This isn't a game."

"Oh, I know it's not," she replies, and I can almost hear the smirk in her voice. "But you have to admit, there's a certain... darkness to this plan of yours. It's rather thrilling, isn't it?"

I shake my head slightly, trying to dismiss her words. "It's necessity, not darkness. We're trying to save lives here."

"Of course, of course," Aileen concedes, though her tone suggests she's far from convinced. "But don't tell me you don't feel a little rush at the thought of firing up this beast. The power, the danger..."

"Enough," I think firmly. "This isn't about thrills or power. It's about survival and justice."

Aileen's laughter echoes in my mind. "Whatever you say, detective. But remember, sometimes the line between hero and villain is thinner than you think. Especially when you start playing with fire... literally."

I push Aileen's voice to the back of my mind, focusing instead on Kim and the task before us.

As we scan the dimly lit incinerator room, Kim suddenly gasps, his hand shooting out to grab my arm. "Oh my God," he chokes out, pointing to a far corner of the room.

I follow his gaze, and my blood runs cold. There, partially obscured by shadows, lies a body. As we approach cautiously, my heart sinks. The face, though pale and lifeless, is unmistakable.

"It's Shin," I whisper, kneeling beside the still form of our colleague.

Kim's breath comes in ragged gasps as we quickly check for any signs of life. But it's clear that Shin is gone. Despite the grim discovery, I feel an unexpected wave of relief wash over me. Kim's expression suggests he feels the same.

"They... they didn't burn him," Kim says, his voice a mix of sorrow and relief.

I nod, a thought suddenly striking me. "But if they didn't burn Shin, what was that smell you noticed earlier?"

Kim's eyes widen as the implications sink in. We exchange a look of dawning horror before beginning to search the room more thoroughly.

That's when we see it. A large, industrial-grade freezer stands against the far wall, its stainless steel surface gleaming dully in the low light. With trembling hands, I reach for the handle, dreading what we might find inside.

The heavy door swings open, releasing a cloud of frigid air. For a moment, my mind refuses to process what I'm seeing. But as the mist clears, the horrifying reality becomes undeniable.

Inside the freezer, stacked with a chilling efficiency, are frozen, dismembered human bodies. Arms, legs, torsos - all neatly arranged and preserved.