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

I stare at the name on the screen, my eyes tracing the letters over and over again. Oh Sang-chul, 43 years old. The suspect whose voice had sent shivers down my spine, whose calm demeanor had set off alarm bells in my head.

As I dig deeper into his background, a disturbing pattern begins to emerge. Multiple stints in juvenile detention for violently assaulting his classmates. A history of brutality that followed him even into his mandatory military service, landing him in a military prison for attacking fellow soldiers.

But then, as if by some twist of fate, his record goes clean after he reaches adulthood. No more arrests, no more violent outbursts. It's as if he underwent a complete transformation, shedding his violent tendencies like a snake shedding its skin.

Something about it doesn't sit right with me. I can feel it in my gut, a nagging sensation that won't let me rest. I know I should bring my concerns to the team, to Detective Han and the others. But how can I explain this feeling, this inexplicable certainty that Oh Sang-chul is somehow connected to the murders we're investigating?

I can't tell them about Bundy, about the voice in my head that whispers dark truths and twisted insights. They'd think I was losing my mind, that the stress of the case had finally gotten to me.

No, I decide. I need to look into this myself, to follow this lead wherever it takes me. Just a little digging, just to satisfy my own curiosity. No harm in that, right?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I find myself grabbing my coat and heading for the door. Oh Sang-chul's address is burned into my memory, a taunting invitation that I can't resist.

I arrive at the address listed for Oh Sang-chul, a shabby apartment building in a run-down part of the city. The sun is high in the sky, casting harsh shadows across the cracked concrete and peeling paint.

I make my way up the narrow, dimly lit stairwell, my footsteps echoing in the silence. When I reach Oh's door, I take a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that flutter in my stomach.

I ring the doorbell, and after a moment, I hear the sound of footsteps approaching. The door swings open, revealing a woman in her late thirties, her face etched with lines of worry and fatigue.

"Can I help you?" she asks, her voice guarded.

I flash my police badge, offering her a reassuring smile. "I'm Detective Park, from the Seoul Metropolitan Police Department. I'm working on a case, and I was hoping to speak with Oh Sang-chul. Is he home?"

The woman's expression softens slightly, and she nods. "He just stepped out to buy some groceries, but he should be back soon."

She pauses for a moment, seeming to consider something. "If it's urgent, I could give him a call and let him know you're here," she offers.

I shake my head, not wanting to raise any suspicions. "No, that's alright. I don't mind waiting. If you don't mind me asking, how long have you and Sang-chul been together?"

The woman smiles, a fondness creeping into her voice. "We've been married for five years now. Sang-chul is a good man, a kind husband. I know he's had some trouble in the past, but he's worked hard to turn his life around."

I nod, trying to keep my expression neutral. "I'm sure he has. And I apologize for the intrusion, but I do need to speak with him regarding an ongoing investigation. You understand, don't you?"

The woman's brow furrows slightly, a flicker of concern crossing her face. "An investigation? What kind of investigation?"

I hesitate, not wanting to reveal too much. "I'm afraid I can't go into details, but I assure you, it's just a routine inquiry. We're speaking with a number of individuals, trying to gather information."

The woman nods slowly, seeming to accept my explanation. "I see. Well, if it's important, then of course you should wait for him. Please, come inside."

She steps aside, gesturing for me to enter the apartment. As I cross the threshold, I'm struck by the contrast between the building's exterior and the interior of Oh's home.

The apartment is small but well-decorated, with tasteful furniture and warm, inviting colors. The walls are adorned with photos of Oh and the woman, their faces beaming with happiness and love.

"Can I get you something to drink?" the woman asks, her voice friendly. "Water, tea, coffee?"

"Water would be great, thank you," I reply, my eyes still scanning the room for any clues that might help me understand the man I'm here to see.

As the woman busies herself in the kitchen, I take a closer look at the photographs on the walls. In each one, Oh and the woman are smiling, their arms wrapped around each other in a loving embrace. They seem like any other happy couple, enjoying life's simple pleasures together.

I continue my search of the apartment, looking for anything that might provide insight into Oh's true nature. But apart from the photographs, there's nothing that stands out. No expensive artwork, no fancy electronics, no signs of wealth or extravagance.

Just a simple, modest home, belonging to a man with a violent past and a voice that haunts me.

As I sit down on the couch, the woman returns with a glass of water, placing it on the table in front of me. She takes a seat across from me, her hands clasped nervously in her lap.

"Is everything okay?" she asks, her voice tinged with worry. "Is Sang-chul in some kind of trouble?"

I shake my head, trying to reassure her. "No, no trouble. I just have a few questions I need to ask him, that's all."

As I sit on the couch, sipping the glass of water the woman provided, I decide to probe a bit deeper into Oh Sang-chul's life. "So, what does Sang-chul do for a living?" I ask, keeping my tone casual.

The woman's face lights up with pride. "He runs his own delivery business," she says. "He's always been a hard worker, ever since I met him. He's up before dawn most days, making sure all the packages are loaded and ready to go."

I nod, making a mental note of this information. "And what about family? Does he have any siblings, parents in the area?"

She shakes her head. "No, it's just us. Sang-chul's parents passed away when he was young, and he doesn't have any brothers or sisters. But he always says that I'm all the family he needs." She smiles, a deep love and affection shining in her eyes.

"He sounds like a devoted husband," I comment, watching her reaction carefully.

"Oh, he is," she gushes. "Sang-chul is the kindest, most generous man I've ever met. He's always putting others before himself, always looking for ways to help people. Just last week, he spent his day off volunteering at the local shelter, serving meals to the homeless."

As she continues to extol Oh's virtues, her excitement growing with each passing moment, I can't help but feel a growing sense of unease. The man she's describing sounds too good to be true, a saint among men.

But before I can probe further, a deep, low voice cuts through the air, coming from somewhere below us.

"I'm home."

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