Secrets in the Shadows: A Detective's Heartbeat

In the dead of night, an unexpected visitor slipped into a house.

The man of the house was lounging on the couch, eyeing the guest across from him. "You really came over at this hour for that?"

The guest's voice was raspy. "Can't we just talk?"

The man shook his head. "Nope."

The guest frowned. "I haven't even said what it's about."

The man replied, "I already know."

The guest sighed, "What a shame. I thought we could be friends."

Suddenly, the room plunged into darkness.

The guest, wielding a long knife, slashed the man's neck, blood spraying everywhere like some twisted piece of art.

The man's eyes widened in shock as he clutched his neck, staring at the guest in disbelief before collapsing to the floor, twitching. He tried to crawl towards the bedroom, but after a few steps, he stopped moving, his hands falling away from his neck, blood pooling around him.

The guest, still holding the knife, moved swiftly. The blade flashed in the darkness as he entered the bedroom, his large hand gripping the knife, stabbing the woman of the house repeatedly.

The woman didn't even have time to scream before she fell silent from the stabbing.

But the guest didn't stop. The knife went in and out, as if he was venting his anger.

Blood quickly stained the floor, resembling blossoming, radiant petals.

Meanwhile, fireworks were going off outside the window, lighting up the night sky with bursts of color. No one would have guessed a brutal murder was happening in that room.

In the bedroom closet, a little boy covered his mouth, watching the horror unfold through a crack, his eyes wide with fear.

Next door lived a woman named Amelia Martinez. She was alone after her divorce and worked as a cashier, getting home around ten every night.

Tonight, like clockwork, she cycled back home at ten-thirty.

The night was beautiful, fireworks lighting up the sky. As she went upstairs, she hummed a little tune.

When Amelia got to her door, she noticed the door opposite was open, and it was dark inside. A strong, metallic smell hit her, making her want to vomit.

She was very familiar with the neighbors opposite. The man of the house was Joseph Smith, a detective, and the woman was Isabella Taylor, a news anchor at the city TV station, with their child named David Smith.

Amelia had a good relationship with her neighbors, always exchanging greetings daily.

But their door was never left open.

Feeling uneasy, Amelia called out, "Anyone home?"

The room was very quiet, with no response.

Confused and curious, Amelia thought about closing the door but decided to peek inside instead.

Everyone was a bit nosy, and Amelia was no different. She even felt a weird thrill.

It was too dark to see, so she turned on her flashlight.

The beam lit up a cabinet full of toys, then the dining table with dirty dishes, and finally the living room cluttered with stuff.

When the light hit the couch, a pair of bloodshot eyes stared back at her.

The sight of the pale, lifeless face made her freeze. Her legs gave out, and she fell backward, screaming, "Oh my God!"

A few minutes later, sirens shattered the quiet night.

When the lights came on, the dead body on the living room floor was clear as day, his eyes wide open.

When the police arrived, they quickly cordoned off the area. Soon, the forensic team, trace evidence technicians, and investigators were all over the place.

According to the forensic expert, the man had died from excessive blood loss due to a severed carotid artery, which led to death within three minutes. Since livor mortis hadn't set in yet and considering the rectal temperature, it was estimated he had died about two hours prior. More specific details would need an autopsy.

But the most gruesome scene was in the bedroom.

A rookie cop ran in and immediately rushed out, vomiting over the stair railing.

Even the seasoned detectives couldn't help but shudder at the sight inside the bedroom where the killer had dismembered the woman and arranged her body parts to form a human shape.

"Who could be so ruthless?" The officer in charge of the crime scene investigation clenched his fists, veins bulging on his forehead, and punched the wall, his hand bleeding.

"Don't mess up the crime scene; it'll make our job harder," the trace evidence technician reminded the officer, using a precision measuring instrument to scan the blood spatter on the wall.

These blood spatter patterns could help determine the direction of the attack. In solving a case, every detail mattered.

The officer asked sadly, "Found anything?"

The trace evidence technician said, "Not yet, the killer seems very professional, handling the crime scene very well."

The officer looked at the gruesome scene in the room, painfully grabbing his hair. "If only I had come earlier. He told me to hurry, but I got delayed. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if I had come sooner."

The trace evidence technician asked, "Do you know the victim?"

The officer said solemnly, "He was the head of the criminal investigation team, and my best friend."

In his grief, the officer suddenly slapped his forehead. "Wait. Someone's missing."

The trace evidence technician gasped, "What?"

The officer said solemnly, "There should be a kid, just six years old."

'Since we got here, we've searched the whole place but haven't seen the kid. If he's not here, maybe he's still alive. Could he be the only witness?' With this thought, the officer clenched his hands, praying, "David, please be safe."

"There's something unusual in the bedroom closet," someone suddenly said.

The officer immediately turned around, focusing all attention on the closet, with another officer next to him having already drawn his gun.

Under everyone's surprised gaze, a small hand reached out, slowly pushing open the closet door, revealing a child; it was David.

Seeing a familiar face, David cried out, "Mr. Johnson."