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

The man in the dark mask roughly grabs my arm, his gun never wavering from my back. "Move," he grunts, pushing me towards the pristine house I had been observing earlier. The moonlight casts long shadows across the manicured lawn as we approach.

As we reach the front door, I notice him hesitate. Instead of using the main doorbell, his hand moves lower, pressing the second, more discreet button I had noticed earlier. A soft, almost imperceptible chime sounds from within the house. My suspicions are confirmed - this is indeed a different communication channel, likely alerting others inside to our presence.

After a moment of tense silence, the door opens silently. The interior is as immaculate as the exterior, but eerily empty. The polished hardwood floors reflect the moonlight streaming through the windows, creating an otherworldly atmosphere. Expensive-looking artwork adorns the walls, a stark contrast to the apparent abandonment of the place.

My captor guides me through the house, his grip tight on my arm. The gun presses into my back, a constant reminder of the danger I'm in. We pass through a pristine kitchen, its stainless steel appliances gleaming in the dim light, untouched and unused.

In the living room, he suddenly stops. With a swift movement, he pushes aside a beautifully woven Persian rug, revealing a trapdoor beneath. My heart sinks as I realize the true nature of this place. The man opens the trapdoor, exposing a set of steep stairs descending into darkness.

"Down," he orders gruffly, gesturing with his gun.

As I descend, the air grows cooler and damper. The staircase seems to go on forever, spiraling down into the earth. Finally, we reach the bottom, and I'm stunned by what I see.

The basement is not what I expected. It's a massive underground complex, well-lit with fluorescent lights and surprisingly well-furnished. The contrast with the empty house above is jarring. Several modern computers line one wall. There's a common area with comfortable-looking sofas and a large TV mounted on the wall. It's like a war bunker, hidden beneath the façade of an abandoned house.

The man leads me past several closed doors to a room on the lower level. He roughly shoves me inside, the force causing me to stumble and fall to my knees.

With practiced efficiency, he pulls out a coil of rope and begins to tie my arms behind my back. The rope is rough, biting into my skin as he tightens it. He then binds my ankles together, the knots complex and secure. Finally, he produces a scarf, wadding it up and shoving it into my mouth before tying it tightly behind my head.

Without a word, he leaves, the heavy metal door closing with a final-sounding click. The sound of multiple locks engaging echoes in the small room.

I'm left in total darkness, my heart pounding in my chest. The silence is oppressive, broken only by my muffled breathing and the faint hum of what must be ventilation systems.

Then, voices. Angry voices. I strain to hear, catching snippets of a heated argument outside.

"What were you thinking?" A deep voice booms, its bass tones reverberating through the walls. "Bringing him here? Are you trying to bring the police down on us?"

The voice of the man who captured me responds defensively, a hint of fear in his tone, "What choice did I have? I couldn't just shoot him out there. The police are combing the forest!"

"You've put us all at risk!" Another voice chimes in, higher-pitched and agitated. "We were supposed to lay low, and now we have a hostage situation?"

"He was too close," my captor argues back. "He'd already seen the house. What was I supposed to do, let him go back and report?"

The argument continues, voices rising and falling like turbulent waves. I catch phrases like "compromise the operation" and "deal with him later." The tension in their voices is palpable, a mix of anger and fear that sends chills down my spine.

As I lie there in the darkness, my mind racing to make sense of my situation, a sudden realization hits me. The dynamite. The mysterious explosions Min-seo had heard. It all clicks into place.

This massive underground complex wasn't built overnight. They must have used dynamite to excavate these halls, to carve out this hidden world beneath the innocent-looking house above. The frequent explosions weren't from some distant construction site or quarry - they were happening right here, under our feet.

I think back to Dr. Park's observations about the injured man's wounds. The residue he noticed, the pattern of the injury - it all fits. These people weren't just using dynamite for their clandestine construction; they were handling it regularly, perhaps even manufacturing it.

The scale of this operation begins to dawn on me. This isn't just a simple hideout. It's an entire underground facility, likely with multiple purposes. The computers I glimpsed, the well-furnished living areas - this place was built for long-term occupation and sophisticated operations.

I recall the pristine state of the house above, the meticulously maintained yard. It was all a façade, a cover for the extensive excavation happening below. The swept forest floor that had initially caught my attention - it wasn't just about hiding footprints. They were likely disposing of the excavated earth, spreading it thin to avoid detection.

As I lie in the darkness, my thoughts racing, a faint whisper cuts through the silence.

"Hey... is someone there?"

My heart leaps. That voice... it sounds familiar. I try to respond, but the gag muffles my words. I manage a muffled grunt, hoping it's enough to signal my presence.

"If you can hear me, make that sound again," the whisper comes, barely audible.

I grunt again, louder this time.

I hear a shuffling sound, then feel a presence near me. "I'm going to remove your gag," the voice says. "Don't shout, okay?"

I nod, though I'm not sure if they can see it in the darkness. Gentle hands work at the knot behind my head, and soon the gag is removed. I work my jaw, relishing the ability to move it freely.

"Who are you?" I whisper back, my voice hoarse from the gag.

There's a pause. "Wait a minute... Detective Park? Is that you?"

My eyes widen behind the blindfold. I know that voice. "Officer Kim? Is that really you?"

"Oh my god, it is you!" Kim's voice is a mix of relief and disbelief. "How did you end up here?"

"We've been searching for you and your partner," I explain quickly. "I found this place and... well, got caught. Where's Officer Shin?"

I hear a heavy sigh from Kim. "They took him away. He... he tried to resist when they first brought us here. They beat him badly. Last I saw, he was unconscious."

The news hits me hard. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "We'll find him. Can you untie me?"

"Yes, hold on," Kim replies. I feel him working on the ropes binding my hands.

As he works, I give him a quick rundown of the events leading to my capture. The ropes finally come loose, and I bring my hands forward, rubbing my wrists.

"What do you know about this place? Have you seen much of it?" I ask.

There's a long pause, then Kim's voice comes back, barely audible and trembling.

"I... I think Shin might be dead already."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "What? Why do you think that?"

Kim's voice is thick with emotion when he responds. "Yesterday, or what I think was yesterday - it's hard to keep track of time down here - I smelled something. Something horrible."

A chill runs down my spine. "What kind of smell, Kim?"

He takes a shaky breath before answering. "It was... it was the smell of burning flesh. Human flesh."

My blood runs cold. The implications of what Kim is saying are almost too horrific to contemplate. "Are you sure?" I ask, hoping desperately that he's mistaken.

"I wish I wasn't," Kim replies, his voice breaking. "But I've smelled it before, at a warehouse fire where... where we couldn't get everyone out in time. It's not a smell you forget."

I feel sick to my stomach. The thought of Officer Shin meeting such a gruesome end is almost too much to bear. But I force myself to focus, to think like a detective despite the horror of the situation.

"Did you hear anything? Any sounds that might confirm what happened?"

Kim is quiet for a moment, thinking. "I heard some commotion earlier that day. Shouting, sounds of a struggle. Then, hours later, that smell..."

I nod grimly, though Kim can't see it in the darkness. "Okay. We don't know for certain what happened to Shin. We can't give up hope yet. But we need to get out of here, fast. Not just for our sake, but to report what's happening here."

"How?" Kim asks, desperation evident in his voice. "This place is like a fortress."

Before I can respond, we hear footsteps approaching again.

"Quick," Kim whisper urgently, "pretend you're still tied up."

As Kim scrambles to conceal himself, I resume my position, pretending to still be bound. My mind is racing, grappling with the potential loss of Officer Shin and the urgent need to escape. As the sound of locks disengaging reaches my ears, I steel myself for whatever comes next, knowing that our situation has just become even more desperate.

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