In that split second, I saw a ferocious light blaze from his hollow eye sockets.
He'd seen the wound.
But that was exactly the moment I'd been waiting for!
I raised the dagger behind him and drove it toward his back!
But in a flash, the burned man reacted, leaping backward.
He dropped into a stance I'd never seen before.
Crouched, legs spread, arms curled like a fighter. In the darkness, he looked like a red-eyed black bear, standing upright in the void.
What... what was this man?
What was he?!
I stared at him, blade in hand, but my whole body wouldn't stop trembling.
It was a primal, atavistic fear.
I kept telling myself: calm down, calm down.
But the calmer I tried to be, the harder I shook.
When the burned man lunged, that was the moment my defenses shattered.
He was impossibly fast. The angle was uncanny—like a beast, he struck my neck with one palm.
My legs gave out. I slumped to the ground.
My last glimpse was of a beam of light.
In the distance, a police cruiser.
14
The police car must have given me a final sense of safety, because in my unconsciousness, I dreamed of my dad.
My dad really doted on me. Even after what happened in eighth grade, he never changed toward me.
When I came home from the psychiatric hospital, he made me a promise: whatever I wanted to do, I could do it.
Whatever books I wanted, whatever hobbies, no matter the cost, my dad bought them for me.
Whatever dishes I craved, he'd practice the recipes until he'd mastered them before serving me.
But most of all, he encouraged me—step by step—to go from my bedroom, to the living room, to the outside world.
"Learn to make peace with yourself." That was what my dad taught me.
He said, Sable, don't be afraid. Go out and take a walk. The things you're most scared of aren't that scary.
He said, look at me. People with depression gain more sensitive emotions. Where you suffer more, you grow stronger. So what about you?
He said, Sable, do you know? Sometimes, you don't need to keep forcing yourself to stay calm.
My dad said all of that, but he never healed himself.
Two years ago, when his company was on the brink of bankruptcy, my dad fell into depression.
Depression is a disease that steals your ability to feel joy.
I'd seen him try to cut his own wrists.
I knew better than anyone how much he suffered. So I made a pact with him.
I wanted us to die together, to end our family's story on our own terms.
On my nineteenth birthday, I'd tried to save him. I'd foolishly thought my decision to go out and find work might convince my dad to give up on suicide.
But I was too late. I hadn't saved him, and I hadn't died with him.
This was the first promise he'd ever broken.
He was killed by those two beasts, and broke his word to me.
15
When I woke again, it was the sound of barking.
I opened my eyes groggily to find my hands and feet bound.
The entire cargo area reeked of dogs.
My phone had long since been thrown away by the burned man.
Wincing at the pain in my neck, I lifted my head and saw the man I'd killed propped against the opposite wall, his corpse already turning blue.
Something clicked. I squirmed toward the dead man.
At the same time, my hand reached for my lower back.
There, hidden, were my two razor blades.
By the time I reached the body, the blades had slipped between my fingers, and I was sawing through the ropes around my wrists.
When my hands were finally numb and throbbing, the ropes snapped free.
I immediately felt through the corpse until I found a phone in the dead man's pocket.
I pulled it out, dialed emergency services, and the call connected almost instantly.
"I'm on the serial killer's truck right now!" I said urgently, keeping my voice low as the truck swayed. "They're dog traffickers. There are lots of dogs in the cargo area. The truck is a blue 4.2-meter box truck. The last two digits of the plate are 32."
"I was abducted on the Huangguang Village highway, heading south for about... ten-plus minutes!"
Just then, I sensed the truck slowing. I spoke faster: "They're about to stop! Help me!!"
The male dispatcher's voice came through, cool and collected: "I've estimated your general location. Fastest response is thirty minutes. Stall them!"
The truck came to a halt.
I immediately ended the call, hiding the phone under the dead man's legs.
Then I pressed my hands behind my back.
The cargo door opened.
The burned man, still wrapped tight, first moved the dog cages aside, then stepped into the cargo area.
He stopped.
"Show me your hands," he said.
16
I slumped against the wall, trembling, pretending to be disoriented.
"You had the nerve to kill someone, but you're scared of me?"
The burned man, with only his eyes visible behind the black cloth, let out a cold laugh.
"Show me your hands."
No choice. I extended my hands.
My gaze drifted to the dagger beside the corpse, the one I'd used.
The burned man noticed it too. Understanding, he pulled a length of rope from a cage and tied my hands again.
Then he carried me out of the truck on his back.
We were in an abandoned underground garage.
The burned man hauled me up the stairs, pausing occasionally to suppress a cough.
When we reached a room upstairs, he set me down.
I took in my surroundings: a bare-concrete apartment. Every window was boarded shut with planks. Not a sliver of light.
Only a broken exhaust fan connected to a plastic tube for ventilation.
Under dim lighting, rows of shelves stood along the walls. When I saw what was on them, I nearly threw up.
The shelves held jars.
The jars contained human organs.
Not far away, the burned man shed his military coat, revealing a horrifyingly scarred torso.
He turned his back to me and began arranging instruments on a rickety wooden table.
Kitchen knives, forceps, hammers...
When he turned back to face me, I saw the tool in his hand, and cold sweat soaked my spine.
A scalpel.
He carried it toward me. Ran the blade along my neck, his wide eyes fixed on the bruised kiss mark there.
He shook his head.
"Lust leads to the blade. I told him it'd get him killed."
"Would've been simpler just to eat her."
17
Only after the burned man said that did I remember—I'd already killed someone.
And this man was still my father's killer.
Monster or not, he was my father's killer.
I had no reason to fear him.
Besides...
Tucked against my lower back was still a razor blade, now in my hand, ready to sever the ropes again.
And stitched inside my bra were three sedative pills.
They were medication for manic episodes. They calmed the mind—the effect was strongest in the first ten minutes, but they caused drowsiness.
If I took them, I might last another ten minutes... but the police were still over ten minutes away.
Yet before I could gather my thoughts, the burned man's face was inches from mine.
He said: "Do you know something?"
I forced steadiness into my voice. "What?"
"A family member's life should be repaid with one's own hand."
Then, without another word, he swung the scalpel toward my throat!
In that instant, a tremendous force surged from the soles of my feet. I threw my entire body in the opposite direction!
My hands were free.
Without thinking, I pressed the blade against the rope at my ankles, slashing with all my might.
But it only nicked the surface.
The burned man recovered in a flash—he was already lunging at me again!
18
I could feel every nerve in my body tight as a wire.
My hand found my thigh, and at the familiar spot, I yanked out the pepper spray canister I'd hidden.
Clenching my teeth, I sprayed it at the man.
Without skin to protect him, his reaction was far more violent than I'd expected. He howled in agony.
I seized the chance, slicing even faster at my ankle ropes.
Three seconds, five seconds... life and death in every blink!
Snap!
With a muffled crack, the rope at my ankles gave way.
I felt my heart racing to its limit, my skull throbbing like it would burst.
I grabbed the three pills from inside my bra and threw them into my mouth.
The familiar effect began to take hold within moments.
Like a cool wind, it quelled the turmoil in my chest.
Meanwhile, the burned man had stopped howling, red-eyed, staring at me as he stalked forward.
Calm. Stay calm.
I breathed deeply, commanding myself.
Twenty minutes. Hold on.
The real fight had only just begun.
19
The burned man screeched and charged.