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

I stumble back to my desk, my mind reeling from the encounter with this new, terrifying voice. The bustling noise of the precinct fades into a dull hum as I slump into my chair, my thoughts a chaotic whirlwind.

Part of me wants to engage with the voice, to demand answers about my parents' murder, about all the other victims. Years of searching, of piecing together clues, and now the killer claims to be right here, inside my head. It's an opportunity I never thought I'd have.

But another part of me, the rational detective, screams caution. This could be a trick, a new form of manipulation. After all, I've just uncovered evidence about Choi and the church. Could this be an attempt to derail my investigation? To make me doubt everything I've learned?

I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. "Are you still there?" I think, tentatively reaching out to the voice.

Silence.

I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed. My fingers hover over my keyboard, itching to document this new development. But how can I explain this to Han and the team? 'Oh, by the way, the killer we've been looking for just spoke to me telepathically.' They'd think I'd lost my mind.

I run my hands through my hair, frustration mounting. If this voice is telling the truth, it could blow the whole case wide open. But if it's lying, following its lead could jeopardize everything we've worked for.

"Come on," I think, a mix of desperation and anger in my mental voice. "If you're really the killer, prove it. Tell me something only the real killer would know."

Again, silence.

I let out a shaky breath. Maybe it was all in my head. The stress of the investigation, the lack of sleep, the weight of my father's diary - maybe it all culminated in this auditory hallucination.

But deep down, I know that's not true. The voice felt too real, too present. Its words still echo in my mind, sending chills down my spine.

Suddenly, as if responding to my desperate mental plea, the voice speaks again. Its tone is cold, almost mocking.

"Kim Jae-hoon."

And then, silence. The name hangs in my mind, echoing like a gunshot in an empty room.

"Wait!" I think frantically. "What does that mean? Who is Kim Jae-hoon?"

But there's no response. The voice has retreated, leaving me with nothing but this cryptic name and a growing sense of unease.

I lean forward in my chair, my fingers hovering over my keyboard. My heart is racing, my palms sweaty. I try again to reach out mentally, to provoke the voice into saying more, but it's like shouting into a void. There's nothing there.

For a moment, I consider ignoring it. This could be a trick, a distraction from my real investigation. But the detective in me can't let it go. This name could be a lead, a piece of the puzzle I've been missing all along.

With a deep breath, I open our police database and type in the name: Kim Jae-hoon.

I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves as I focus on the police database search interface. The name Kim Jae-hoon stares back at me from the search bar, a silent challenge.

"Okay," I mutter to myself, "let's narrow this down."

I start inputting parameters based on what I know about my father's case. The timeframe when he was working undercover at the factory – that would have been about 25 years ago. Assuming this Kim Jae-hoon was an adult at the time, I set the age range: 45 to 65 years old now.

Gender: Male. It's an assumption, but given the name and the context, it seems likely.

Location: I hesitate for a moment before typing in the name of the city where my father was stationed. It's a long shot, but it's a start.

I hit enter, my heart pounding as the database begins its search. The seconds tick by agonizingly slow.

Finally, results start populating the screen. My eyes scan the list frantically, looking for anything that might stand out.

I stare at my computer screen, frustration mounting as I try to narrow down the list of potential Kim Jae-hoons. There are still too many matches, too many possibilities. I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

"Come on," I mutter to myself. "There has to be something I'm missing."

I'm so engrossed in my search that I don't notice Han approaching until he's right beside my desk.

"Hey," he says, startling me. I quickly minimize the search window, hoping he didn't see what I was looking into.

"Han," I reply, trying to sound casual. "What's up?"

He leans against my desk, his expression serious. "I've been thinking about our next move. I think we should head to the church, start digging there."

My heart sinks. The church is undoubtedly important to our investigation, but right now, all I can think about is Kim Jae-hoon and the potential breakthrough he represents.

"The church?" I repeat, buying time as I try to figure out how to respond.

Han nods. "It's our best lead right now. We need to start unraveling the connection between Choi, the church, and the prison. My contact at the prison says there's definitely something fishy going on with their 'outreach program'."

I nod slowly, understanding the logic but feeling torn. Part of me knows Han is right - the church is a crucial piece of the puzzle. But another part of me is screaming to follow up on Kim Jae-hoon, to chase down this new lead that could be the key to everything.

"You're right," I say finally, the words feeling heavy in my mouth. "The church is important. When do you want to go?"

Han studies my face, his brow furrowing slightly. "Is everything okay? You seem... distracted."

For a moment, I consider telling Han everything - about the voice, about Kim Jae-hoon. But the words stick in my throat. How can I explain something I barely understand myself?

"I'm fine," I lie, forcing a smile. "Just a lot on my mind with this case. When do we leave for the church?"

Han doesn't look entirely convinced, but he doesn't push. "We'll head out in an hour. Get your things together."

As he walks away, I turn back to my computer, quickly saving my search results before closing everything down. The investigation into Kim Jae-hoon will have to wait.

I stand up, grabbing my jacket, follow Han.

***

We approach the church, its familiar facade looming before us. As we reach the entrance, a young nun intercepts us, her expression guarded.

"I'm sorry, but the church is closed for visitors today," she says firmly.

Han steps forward, flashing his badge. "We're not visitors. We're here on official police business. We need to speak with whoever's in charge."

The nun's eyes widen slightly, but she stands her ground. "I understand, but without prior arrangement-"

Han steps forward, flashing his badge. "We're not visitors. We're here on official police business. We need to speak with whoever's in charge."

The nun's eyes widen slightly, but she stands her ground. "I understand, but without prior arrangement-"

I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral. "Yes, I've been here before. We really need to speak with Sister Agnes. It's important."

The young nun hesitates, glancing between Han and me. Finally, she sighs. "Very well. Follow me, but please, be brief. Sister Agnes isn't well."

As we follow her through the quiet corridors, Han gives me a questioning look. I avoid his gaze, my mind racing. How much does he suspect? How much can I safely reveal?

We're led to a small, dimly lit room. Sister Agnes lies in bed, looking far frailer than I remember. As we enter, the young nun hurries to prop her up.

Sister Agnes's eyes find me immediately, and the color drains from her face. "You," she whispers, her voice trembling. "You must stop. Whatever you've been asked to do, you must stop it."

I freeze, acutely aware of Han beside me. How can I respond without revealing too much?

Han steps forward, his brow furrowed. "Sister, what are you talking about? What's he been asked to do?"

Sister Agnes's agitation grows visibly. She begins to shake, her frail body trembling. "I can't... I can't handle it anymore. Not again. Please, no more..." Experience new stories on m v|l e'-NovelBin.net

I stand there, torn between the need to question her further and the fear of exposing the supernatural aspects of the case to Han. The old nun's panic is palpable, filling the small room with tension.

"Sister Agnes," I say carefully, trying to keep my voice calm, "can you tell us more about what you're afraid of?"

But my words seem to push her over the edge. She begins to sob, her words becoming incoherent. The young nun rushes to her side, shooting us a reproachful look.

"I think you should leave," she says firmly. "Sister Agnes needs rest."

As we're ushered out of the room, Han turns to me, his eyes searching my face. "What was that all about? Is there anything you have not told me?"

I swallow hard, my mind racing to find a plausible explanation that doesn't involve voices in my head or supernatural warnings. "I don't understand her reaction just now. Something's clearly frightened her."

Han looks skeptical, but before he can press further, we're approached by another nun. "I must ask you to leave now. Sister Agnes is not well enough for further questioning."

As we're being escorted out of the church, a sudden, bone-chilling shriek cuts through the air. Han and I both freeze, exchanging a startled glance before turning back towards Sister Agnes's room.

The young nun who was leading us out pales visibly. "Oh no," she whispers, "not again."

Before we can react, another scream erupts, but this time, it's not the frail voice of Sister Agnes. It's something... else. Something that sends shivers down my spine and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

The voice is deep, guttural, more beast than human. It echoes through the hallways, seeming to shake the very foundations of the church.

"DON'T TRUST THAT VOICE!" it roars. "DON'T!"