Min Ho headed towards Min Hee’s crime place again. He wanted to see the barn, if he could crack any code he missed the first time. He got to the barn and approached the officer on duty beside a yellow-tape perimeter.

“Morning officer.” He flashed his identification, “Lee Min Ho, Special Agent Unit.”

 “Morning, sir.”

“All quiet?”

“Since I took over at six.”

“I want some time. No one comes in but Krystal, arrasso?”

“You got it.”

He stepped over the yellow tape and walked up to the shed, thinking the sound of his feet on the gravel would have been similar to the sound the killer had heard on his approach.

But he’d had Choi Min Hee with him that time. Had she walked willingly? Had he carried her? There were no fibers on her person to indicate she’d been wrapped. No bruises on her wrists to suggest she’d struggled against restraints. Drugged, but enough for such complete compliance?

What do you tell them? How do you win their submission?

The room was as he’d last seen it, minus the body, the rough shape of which was now outlined in chalk.

He scooted the single chair to the table, withdrew several books on mental illness, his laptop, a drill. On the wall next to the outline, he posted eight-by-ten photographs of each victim, placing the image of Min Hee where her body had been. Surrounding each photograph, he pinned a dozen more, detailing their angelic forms and drilled feet.

The drill went on the table.

He wrote the Bride Killer’s confession on the adjacent wall using a fresh piece of chalk.

The Beauty Eden is Lost

Where intelligence does centered

I came do her and she smashed the Serpent head

I searched and find the seventh and beautiful

She will rest in my Serpent’s hole

And I will live again

Min Ho set the chalk on the table, stepped back, gently pressed his palms together in front of his chin, and stared at his approximation of the Bride Killer’s work. The shed, the women, the drill. The confession.

What had crossed through his mind, taking the drill for the first time, pressing the bit against flesh, feeling it hit bone? Like a dentist drilling for his goal. In this case, blood. Min Ho took a deep breath and settled. The roof creaked as it expanded under the sun’s heat. He let himself sink into the scene, in no rush to coax truth from what could not yet be seen.

From his own mind.

For a few moments, Min Ho felt himself become, however faintly, the Bride Killer. Or at the very least, he felt himself stepping first one foot, then another foot into the Bride Killer’s shoes.

“I’m psychotic,” he whispered aloud. “No one knows I’m psychotic – why?”

“Because you appear normal,” Krystal’s voice said softly behind him.

She was early.

He spoke without turning. “Good morning, Krystal.”

“Morning. Sleep well?”

“Not really, no.”

“Me neither.”

He’d wanted to be alone, but he felt comforted by her response.

“I choose beautiful women,” Min Ho continued, staying in the killer’s role. “Go with the flow Krystal, tell me why without thinking too much.”

She stepped up beside him. “Because you’re jealous.”

“I kill out of jealousy, why?”

“Because you were made to feel ugly.”

“If killing beautiful women makes me feel better about myself, why don’t I abuse the bodies?”

Krystal hesitated. She had been the first to employ this form of rapid response, plumbing the mind for thoughts that sometimes only surfaced in a form of pressured speech.

“You let them have their beauty but take their soul.”

“Why do I take their soul?”

“You need it to make you beautiful on the inside.”

“Why do I drain their blood?”

“Because the blood is their life force. Their soul.”

“No, I take their blood to make them beautiful,” he said.

Another hesitation. Min Ho felt a trickle of sweat break from his hairline. It was all conjecture at this point. Krystal stepped into the role of interrogator.  “Why do you drill their heels?”

“Because it’s the lowest point in the body, largely unseen, so it doesn’t spoil their beauty.”

“Why do you need to kill seven beautiful women?”

“Because seven is the number of perfection. The number for God.”

“Do you fear God?”

“Yes.”

“Are you religious?”

“Deeply.”

“Are you a Christian?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you Catholic?”

“No.”

“Protestant?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They’re all liars. Unable to live the life they suggest others live.”

“But you, on the other hand, live the truth?”

“All of it. That’s what makes me special. That’s why I kill, to be true to myself.”

“Why seven women?”

“I told you, because seven is a perfect number.”

Cycling back provided a thread of intellectual honesty that mirrored normal interrogation techniques. A simple aid to both of them.

“Okay, let’s talk about how you choose your victims. Why – ”

“They’re not victims.”

“What are they?”

“I’m not hurting them.”

She paused, probably because he hadn’t answered her questions. “Why is Eden lost?” she asked.

“The beauty of Eden is lost. Innocence was corrupted.”

“Where is intelligence centered?”

“In the mind. Innocence was lost in the mind.”

“Are you the serpent?”

“No.”

“Who smashed the serpent’s head?”

“She did.” Min Ho nodded at the wall of crime scene photographs.

“She hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not the serpent. Are you the serpent?”

“No. Not always.”

“Why do you kill her?”

“So that I can kill again.”