CHAPTER 15
THE MESS
Seyren's POV
"Yes we need an ambulance here. Please hurry up." I said this before ending the call.
I took a deep breath and observed the few people left at the party.
A brutal killing had just happened in the blink of an eye.
No one knew how it happened; we just saw that Ms. Mendez was dead.
The few remaining people were close friends and relatives of Ms. Mendez.
The space, which was previously filled with joy, now echoed with their sobs.
"Detective Valencia, I want you to come here," I heard Detective Skyler command on the other line.
I made my way to the crime scene. I rolled up my sleeves, loosened my tie, and unbuttoned a few buttons on my collar.
Upon entering the room, the bright chandelier light greeted me before the sight of Ms. Mendez's violent end did.
She lay on her bed, covered in blood, with ten stab wounds in her chest where her heart was. She also had a cross-shaped cut on her face.
On the wall, there was writing that said "Face Stealer" with an arrow pointing to the victim.
"Here. You know who this belongs to, right?" Detective Skyler approached me and handed me a ziplock bag containing a severed finger.
"Where did you find this?" I asked.
"It was given to me by Ms. Mendez's friend. They received it earlier this morning," she said emotionlessly.
I also noticed she was no longer wearing her blazer.
"Why does the killer leave Mr. Alvarez's finger with their victims?" I asked, staring at the severed finger again.
"Probably to let everyone know it's still him doing the killing. This is surely his signature," she said before abruptly walking away. I just nodded.
When I turned my gaze to the victim, now covered with a white sheet, I remembered the photo I saw while collecting evidence.
Ms. Mendez had a burn scar on her neck.
I approached the victim and carefully removed the sheet covering her.
Her face, with the cross-shaped cut, came into view.
Despite feeling a bit repulsed, I continued to lower the sheet until her neck was exposed.
To my surprise, there was no burn scar on her neck. I furrowed my brows and tilted my head to the side.
Where is the burn scar?
---
No one's POV
In the middle of the night, when the streets had few passersby, Neome walked alone to a 7/11, where she bought liquor and junk food for her dinner.
Her heart felt heavy because she couldn't attend the party of her idol due to an early makeup artist job the next morning.
Unable to sleep, she decided to drink to eventually fall asleep.
"404 pesos, ma'am," said the cashier.
Neome paid with a smile, and once she received her change and packed items, she left the convenience store.
Walking down the dimly lit sidewalk, she was greeted by the cold night breeze.
It raised the hair on her arms and sent a shiver down her spine-a comforting feeling that didn't last long.
As she got farther from the convenience store, she felt a heavy presence, as if someone was following her.
Initially, she dismissed it as her imagination.
But as time passed, the presence grew stronger. Neome glanced behind her but saw no one.
When she turned back and stepped forward, she quickened her pace.
Unbeknownst to her, a figure emerged from behind a post and continued to follow her.
A silhouette of a man appeared in the distance, secretly trailing her.
With each step, Neome's anxiety grew. Her heart pounded, and she found it hard to breathe.
Luckily, she quickly reached her condominium.
The person following her disappeared, and she felt immense relief as the lights covered her path.
She was still catching her breath as she walked towards her unit.
As she approached her room, she glanced at the neighboring unit, which now had a new occupant.
"Seyren," she whispered to herself before entering her condo.
Unexpectedly, before she could close the door, a hand appeared, startling her.
"Ahhh!" she screamed loudly.
"Hey, calm down! It's just me!" a man shouted as he entered the unit. Neome stopped screaming when she saw her half-brother, Liam.
He was dressed in all black, his hair messy, and he was also catching his breath.
"What are you doing here?" Neome asked fearfully.
"Let me stay here for tonight."
"I only have one room here."
"I'll sleep on the sofa." Liam continued to walk into Neome's house. His eyes wandered, observing the structure of the place.
It was simple yet clearly organized by a woman.
"Can I use your bathroom?" Liam casually asked, waiting for Neome to point it out.
Neome indicated where the bathroom was, and Liam headed there.
Her breath caught in her throat as Liam casually undressed, tossing his clothes onto the sofa until he was topless.
As he entered the bathroom, he immediately took a shower.
"Where did you come from?" Neome asked, her voice still trembling.
She slowly placed her purchases on the glass table in the living room and picked up Liam's clothes.
Neome's brows furrowed at the damp collar of Liam's suit. Her breath hitched as she noticed her hands were now covered in blood.
"From Ms. Mendez's party. My girlfriend was invited," Liam replied comfortably while showering.
"So, Ms. Azara is really your girlfriend," Neome said, feeling her heart pounding with anxiety.
Seeing blood on the black clothes was shocking, causing her to drop them immediately.
"Call her Ate Azara from now on. I plan to propose to her."
"Propose? You're getting married?" Neome entered her small kitchen, washing her hands while on the verge of tears.
Seeing blood on Liam's clothes was not new to her. She had experienced it before, but it still shocked her to experience it again now.
"Yes, I want to marry her, and she wants to marry me. We will get married and start a family." The idea was cute, but hearing it from her brother, Neome didn't find it cute at all.
"You wanted a child?" she stuttered, and without hesitation, Liam said yes.
"Psychopaths have tendencies to have a psychopath child as well. Being a psychopath is not just a mental illness; it's a genetic variation." Suddenly, a woman's voice echoed in her ear. Her heart shattered at this memory.
As Neome's mind raced with worry, she recalled the chilling words of a psychiatrist she had once consulted.
Her heart pounded as the weight of those words pressed down on her.
"Psychopaths have tendencies to have a psychopath child as well. Being a psychopath is not just a mental illness; it's a genetic variation."
The thought of Liam and Azara starting a family filled her with dread.
She remembered the nights Liam would come home with blood-stained clothes, his eyes empty and distant.
The thought of bringing a child into that world terrified her.
Neome felt like she was running out of breath, so she forced herself to calm down.
Her heart was pounding, her palms were sweaty, and a cold shiver ran down her spine.
"Neome?"
"Yes?!" she replied quickly, almost too quickly, her voice high-pitched and strained with anxiety.
"Put my clothes in the washing machine," Liam's command was casual, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Neome wanted to refuse, wanted to tell him to do it himself, but she couldn't muster the courage to defy him.
"S-sure," she said, her voice trembling. She approached Liam's discarded clothes, her steps hesitant and slow.
She picked them up one by one, her hands shaking.
The dampness of the fabric made her stomach churn, and she fought back the urge to gag.
She held her breath, trying to block out the metallic scent of blood that clung to the clothes.
Finally, she managed to stuff them into the washing machine and start the cycle.
With that task done, she returned to the kitchen, scrubbing her hands vigorously under the tap.
She wanted to wash away not just the blood but also the fear that clung to her.
Just as she finished, she heard the bathroom door open, and Liam emerged.
He was still in his black trousers, his upper body bare, droplets of water glistening on his skin.
"What did you buy? It's already 11 pm," Liam asked as he moved to the living room, his tone casual.
He began rummaging through the bags Neome had brought from the convenience store.
"Soju? Nice, bring two glasses here, and let's drink," Liam said, settling himself comfortably on the sofa.
All Neome wanted was to get away from her brother, to be anywhere but here, but her fear rooted her to the spot.
Despite her trepidation, she forced herself to comply.
She retrieved two glasses from the kitchen and carried them to the living room.
Liam was already sprawled on the sofa, flipping through channels on the TV.
Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat loud and insistent. She sat down next to him, her body tense.
Liam finally settled on a show, "Happy Tree Friends," a cartoon with a deceptively innocent appearance but filled with graphic violence.
It was a show Liam had always enjoyed, even when they were children.
She watched as he opened the bottle of soju and poured it into a glass, then handed it to her.
"You take the first shot since you bought it," Liam said, smiling at her.
He poured another glass for himself and took a sip, his eyes never leaving the screen.
"God, I love the taste of soju after a heavy day," he said, his smile widening.
"What heavy day?" Neome asked nervously, taking a small sip of her drink.
Her brother had no job; he was merely a basketball player in the Philippines.
"Personal stuff..." Liam replied simply, laughing as one of the characters on the show met a gruesome fate.
Neome was reminded of what the child had said earlier that day by Liam's behavior.
"Do you actually want a family?" Neome asked, looking away and staring at the television. Despite feeling disgusted by the show, she watched it.
"Yeah... I wanted to be a father," Neome felt sick at the idea.
"Why do you want to be a father?"
"So I can have a mini version of myself," Liam answered without hesitation.
It was as if something possessed Neome, and she found her courage.
"You want to have a child like you? Then it means one who will use drugs for fun?" Neome's voice grew louder, and her words became firmer, wiping the smile off Liam's face.
"I don't use drugs anymore, Neome. That was five years ago, and I've changed." Liam's voice deepened, and Neome's courage quickly faded. All she wanted now was for her brother to leave her side.
That's why she distanced herself from him because of his past. Now that Liam was back beside her, she felt her life was in danger.
"Do me a favor, Neome. Never tell Azara that I used to do drugs," Liam said, turning his gaze to his sister.
"M-me tell her? W-why would I do that? I'm not even close to the Camerons."
"What about Seyren?"
"She's not a Cameron."
"Yeah, fuck that bitch," Liam said, laughing.
"I'm going to sleep, you can drink alone!" Neome said and quickly stood up.
"Why? Don't leave me here."
"I'm not leaving you; I'm just going to sleep. I have work tomorrow." Neome answered simply before running to her room.
She locked it and finally broke down into sobs.
"Tsk! Just say you don't like me," Liam muttered irritably, watching where Neome went.
When she entered her room, Liam rolled his eyes. His attention was drawn back to the TV when the news suddenly came on.
"Breaking news: Actress and singer-songwriter Billie Mendez was found dead after being stabbed ten times in her chest in her own room. No one witnessed the incident, and the victim was only discovered already dead. According to the detective on the scene, they found no suspicious activity during the party, but the killer left evidence linking them to previous murders. Is this the new Red Bull that everyone should fear? Is history repeating itself, or is this the work of those supporting Red Bull? It's worth remembering that the killer was last seen killing notorious serial killer Verick Jeon while he was confined in a hospital. This act won the support of many netizens-"
Liam's attention was fixed on the TV, listening intently to the news yet he turned it off the moment the reporter talks about supporting the killer. Then turn it on again just because he couldn't bear the silence wrapping around the room.
"It's a waste of salary for those detectives. They can't even find the right evidence to catch the killer. Useless," Liam muttered to himself, shaking his head in disdain.
He lifted the bottle of soju, feeling the familiar burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, temporarily numbing the frustration that simmered beneath his calm exterior.
As he set the bottle down, a thought crossed his mind.
He reached into the pocket of his trousers, fingers brushing against the crinkled edge of a photograph.
Pulling it out, he unfolded the image, revealing a gruesome scene: Billie Mendez, lifeless and drenched in her own blood, her eyes frozen in a final, haunting stare.
He laid the photograph on the table, his gaze fixed on the tragic image.
The room fell silent except for the faint hum of the television, which continued to play unnoticed in the background.
Liam's eyes narrowed as he studied the photograph, his mind replaying the events of the night.
"Next in line... Kalix Kiwatari," he whispered, the name dripping with venom.
His jaw tightened, the muscles in his face twitching with barely contained rage.
His breathing grew more labored, each inhale and exhale heavy with the weight of his dark thoughts.
"The ninth commandment of God," he murmured, almost as if in prayer.
"Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor." His voice carried a chilling resolve, a promise of retribution.
The memory of Kalix's betrayal flickered in his mind, stoking the flames of his anger.
Liam leaned back on the sofa, the leather creaking under his weight.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The plan was already forming in his mind, each step calculated and precise.
"What should I do now..." he muttered, his voice a low, weary murmur.
His heart beat steadily, but the cold air in the room made his skin crawl and his nerves feel raw.
The chill was relentless, creeping into his bones and intensifying the unease that had been gnawing at him since the night began.
He rubbed his hands together, trying to generate some warmth, but it was futile.
The room's icy temperature seemed to amplify his restless thoughts and doubts, turning the space into a cold, uninviting fortress of solitude.
"God, I need a cigarette," he said, the words escaping his lips almost as a desperate plea.
The craving for a cigarette was more than just a physical need; it was a ritual that provided him with a brief escape, a momentary solace from the turmoil inside his head.
---
[Is she asleep?]
"Yeah, she's sleeping soundly. Are you gonna comeback home. Elowen asked Seyren, who was on the other line, while she stared at her sister, who wasn't sleeping but just watching the news on TV.
The dim light of the television cast long shadows across the room, emphasizing the tension that hung in the air.
[Later, don't wait for me, just go to bed,] Seyren said in a deep yet gentle voice that held a note of exhaustion.
"I will, take care on your way home," Elowen replied, ending the call.
She then looked at her sister, who seemed like a statue, not moving at all, her eyes fixated on the screen but clearly lost in thought.
"I'm not going to ask what happened earlier, sis, but I hope you can learn to listen to us. We're just worried about you, especially Seyren. I hope you understand that even if she's upset with you, she still cares. Go easy on her. Maybe one morning you'll wake up and she won't care at all, not even a bit," Elowen said softly, her voice carrying a mixture of concern and tenderness.
This caused Azara to finally turn her attention to Elowen. She looked at her sister, and Elowen saw a mix of sadness, anger, and confusion in her eyes, reflecting the turmoil inside her.
"Why do you even care about me? I'm only your half-sister," Azara said, her voice tinged with bitterness.
"Half or not, I don't care. You're still my sister," Elowen reasoned, her tone steady and sincere.
"But because of me, mother and father never paid attention to you. All their focus was on Seyren and me, and you were always forgotten. So why?" Azara asked, her voice cracking as she revealed a glimpse of her own guilt and frustration.
"Actually, I was never really alone during those times. You and Seyren made me realize that I still have a family to hold on to. So please, get along with Seyren again, or at least be a little nicer to her. She's doing her best, isn't she?" Elowen's words seemed to touch Azara deeply, her heartfelt plea resonating with the unspoken longing in Azara's heart.
Azara felt her heart soften at the idea of reconciling with Seyren.
She didn't like Seyren for reasons only she and Elowen knew, and she didn't want others to find out.
"I still feel like it's my fault, Elowen," Azara whispered sadly, recalling memories she wished to forget.
The weight of past mistakes and regrets seemed to press down on her, making it hard to breathe.
"It's not your fault and never will be," Elowen reassured, sitting beside her sister and hugging her.
The warmth and strength in her embrace offered a comfort that words couldn't convey.
Elowen's heart broke further as she felt her older sister trembling, the vulnerability and pain she rarely showed now laid bare.
"Just give her a chance," Elowen whispered, tightening her hug. Azara hugged her back, savoring the warmth of her sister's embrace, a small crack forming in the wall she had built around herself.
---
Seyren's POV
"How is that even possible? Are you sure about the DNA?" I asked the person on the phone, my frustration evident in my voice.
"We're sure, the blood sample we took was definitely Ms. Mendez's. It just didn't match her previous blood type," the voice on the other end replied, their tone equally perplexed.
I ended the call after we finished talking.
It's been three days since the incident, and now I've received news that Ms. Mendez's fingerprint and blood type didn't match her previous records.
The inconsistency gnawed at my mind, adding another layer of mystery to an already baffling case.
Is that even possible?
Ms. Mendez had many issues, so we couldn't determine if the killer was close to her or not.
The whole situation seemed like a puzzle with too many missing pieces.
It seemed impossible for the killer to get in without an invitation, unless they were a plus one. Every angle we examined led to more questions than answers.
We also had no evidence pointing to Liam as the killer since there had been no updates from Anthony about any suspicious behavior from the basketball player.
Every lead we had seemed to dissolve into nothingness, leaving us grasping at straws.
"The killer knows his job really well, huh? I've never seen you this stressed," I looked up and saw Elowen standing in front of me, her presence a brief respite from the storm of thoughts in my head.
"Why are you here? I didn't forget my food," I said, knowing I had packed it myself.
The mundane act of preparing lunch seemed like a distant memory in the face of the ongoing investigation.
"I know, I'm here because my girlfriend forgot her lunch. She called me, so I brought it over," she showed the plastic bag of food, her expression a mix of amusement and affection.
"That's sweet of you," I teased her, and she shrugged confidently before heading straight into Detective Skyler's office.
Her light-heartedness was a stark contrast to the heaviness I felt.
Noticing it was lunchtime, I invited my colleagues to eat.
We decided to stay in the office since it was too hot outside, the stifling heat only adding to the discomfort of the day.
While eating, I separated the beans from my humba, a small act of control in an otherwise chaotic day.
"Why are you removing the beans, detective? They're the best part," my colleague said, his tone curious.
"I'm allergic," I replied simply, not in the mood to elaborate.
Even as I ate, I couldn't stop thinking about Ms. Billie Mendez's case.
It was so confusing, each new piece of information only deepening the mystery.
"I have gossip about the latest victim of that psycho killer," my police officer colleague said, breaking the silence.
"What is it?" I asked, and we all gathered in a circle to listen, the anticipation palpable.
"My wife used to be a fan of Billie Mendez until she had an accident and died one day, then came back to life," I frowned while listening, the story sounding like something out of a movie.
"So, the story goes, my wife met Billie Mendez before the accident. She saw Billie arguing with another woman, and the next day, Billie was reported to have had an accident. Suspicious, right?" I struggled to see his point but let him continue, my curiosity piqued.
"The impact of Ms. Mendez's accident was so strong that her entire face was shattered. Rumor has it that when she came back to life, she killed the woman she argued with. That woman was Jean Ackerman, the attitude-prone half Chinese woman," if I were crazy, I might believe that.
But it could also just be a coincidence.
"Is that why she disappeared from the acting industry? Why would they argue? They were close friends on camera," my colleague said, voicing the same doubts I had.
"You gave the clue, they were friends on camera. Maybe Jean was jealous of Billie. It was a hot topic in our village when Jean died. People said Jean was extremely jealous of Billie because she always stole the spotlight and audience attention, even as a side character in every movie they were in." another officer added.
"Sounds a lot like Ms. Azara Cameron, she got all the attention because of her body, doesn't it?" said the officer who started the story, drawing a parallel that seemed more plausible.
"Speaking of Azara Cameron. Detective Valencia, what's up with you and Azara Cameron? I saw on social media how you interact with her during that party. She looks like your girlfriend," my colleague teased.
I frowned, annoyed by the insinuation.
"You're delusional. We just know each other. Nothing special. Continue your gossip, I'm listening," I changed the topic, trying to steer the conversation back to something more relevant.
"How can we not be delusional, Detective Valencia? You're the only non-showbiz person she allows to get that close to her. Remember, she doesn't like her fans getting too close because she often feels sexualized?" I wanted to roll my eyes at their nosiness but held back.
"I told you, we know each other like how Elowen and I know each other. End of discussion," I said, and they dropped it.
After lunch, I went outside to get some fresh air, hoping the brief respite would clear my mind.
I was a bit reluctant to dive back into the complex case since it was so hard to solve. There were no clues, no clear direction.
One of the Ten Commandments says, "Thou shalt not steal." Ms. Mendez had no stealing issues.
Everything she owned was legitimately hers, with receipts to prove it.
"You look like a fool staring into space," I was startled by a high-pitched voice behind me.
Turning around, I saw Azara standing there, a cigarette in her mouth. Her presence was both a surprise and a distraction.
"What are you doing here?"
"Because of Elowen, obviously," she said, exhaling smoke, the thin plume curling into the air.
I stepped back a bit, disliking the cigarette smoke.
It mingled with the warm afternoon air, creating an unpleasant haze.
This was our first conversation in three days. I had been leaving early and coming home late.
I would only see her asleep in the mornings and nights, our schedules barely overlapping.
Noticing the stares from passersby, I finally took in her outfit.
She was wearing a V-neck long sleeve bodycon dress, showing her cleavage and smooth legs.
The dress clung to her figure, accentuating every curve.
I rubbed my temples, feeling the pressure of the day mounting.
With a sigh, I took off my leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders, trying to shield her from the curious gazes of passersby.
"What the heck are you doing?" she asked sharply, her voice tinged with annoyance.
"Obviously covering you. People are staring at you weirdly," I replied, attempting to be as patient as I could.
"Let them stare. They can look but can't touch me," she said defiantly, dropping my jacket onto the ground with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
I had just washed that jacket last night.
The sight of it lying on the grimy pavement made me frown.
I picked it up, pouted, and dusted it off with a mixture of frustration and concern.
"Hard to believe," I muttered to myself, carefully wrapping the jacket around her once more.
I adjusted it, making sure it covered her properly.
"Please don't take it off. Don't make me use my gun to threaten them not to stare at you," I said with emphasis, tapping my waist where my gun was holstered.
I wanted her to understand that I was serious about protecting her.
She glanced down at my waist and licked her lower lip, a subtle gesture that seemed to convey both curiosity and amusement.
She looked back up at me, her eyebrow arched in a challenge.
"Is that how much you care about me, that you'd risk your reputation as a detective to defend me?" she asked, her voice softer now, laced with a hint of vulnerability.
I nodded without hesitation, my expression unwavering.
"I hate your behavior, but that doesn't mean I'll let people disrespect you. I would never hesitate to use this gun if I needed to protect you from all those perverted people," I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for doubt.
I knew what she had been through.
When she was younger, she had been bullied for being a bit chubby, which took a toll on her mental health.
To cope, she worked hard to transform her body into the ideal of beauty that society demanded.
Now that she had a stunning figure (though she had always been beautiful), men were obsessed with her.
She faced hostility from jealous women, envy from fellow actresses, and lust from actors.
Her roles in films and series were often centered around her physical appearance rather than her acting talent.
The camera's relentless focus on her body, whether in a horror film or a children's show, was a stark reminder of how superficial the industry could be.
She was aware of this dynamic but rarely voiced her frustrations.
Being an actress had always been her dream, and she accepted the objectification as part of the price for pursuing it.
Despite the superficiality of the attention, she remained determined to make a name for herself in the world of entertainment.
"When is your day off?" she suddenly asked, pulling up the zipper of my leather jacket until it covered her shoulders and torso, leaving only her face exposed.
I was taken aback by the abrupt question but decided to answer her, even though I was slightly confused.
"Uhm... This Friday. Why?"
"Great, come with me. I want to go skydiving." She invited me with an air of casual excitement, puffing out another cloud of cigarette smoke in my direction before striding confidently towards her car.
Elowen, who had just come outside, said her goodbyes as they were heading home.
I was left standing there, somewhat dumbfounded.
Did she just...
Did she just invite me to hang out with her?
It seemed almost too good to be true.
But then again...
She's unpredictable...
I caught myself grinning widely, an involuntary reaction to the unexpected invitation.
I walked into our building, still feeling a bit flushed and giddy.
When my cheekbones began to throb from the continuous smiling, I slapped myself lightly in an attempt to snap out of it.
"Why am I even smiling? What the heck?!"
Just as I was about to step into the elevator, a figure blocked my path.
A tall, well-built man stood there, his imposing presence making it clear he had something important to discuss.
"Are you Detective Valencia?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of urgency. I nodded, furrowing my brow in curiosity.
"Some of my friends called me and asked me to meet you. Can we talk?"
"I'm currently working right now-" I started to explain, but he interrupted me.
"This is about Ms. Mendez, and I think I know who killed her."
"Now you have my attention."
---
"Lemonade for you, Ms. Handsome," the woman at the counter said cheerfully as she handed me a cup.
I smiled at the compliment, feeling a bit more at ease.
"Why is it pink?" I asked, noticing the unusual color of the lemonade.
"Because it's pink lemonade," she replied with a shrug. I was curious but chose not to press the matter further, despite my lingering questions.
Like, why is it pink? There aren't any pink lemons, are there?
As I took a seat across from the person who had invited me to this quaint 'Meryenda Shop,' I shifted to a more serious demeanor, aiming to establish a professional atmosphere.
Just trying to give him a little scare. Detectives can be quite intimidating, after all.
"So, let's get straight to the point. How do you know who killed Ms. Billie Mendez, and what's your connection to the victim?" I asked, my tone direct and focused.
He glanced around to ensure we weren't overheard, then leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice.
"I'm a plastic surgeon, and this is the first time I'm revealing this, so please keep it confidential... Billie Mendez is not really Billie Mendez. Her name is Jean Ackerman, and the real Billie is dead, she killed her."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
(â â Ëâ â ³â Ëâ )â â¥