[Abandoned Greenhouse, 4:37 AM]
The body had been turned into a canvas.
I didn't expect them to find this one so soon.
But I suppose I should be flattered.
They're finally paying attention.
The corpse was hanging by the spine, peeled open like a blooming flower. The lungs were stretched and pinned like wings. The intestines coiled into the shape of a heart. A scalpel still stuck into one eye socket, twisted halfway — not because I needed to, but because it felt poetic.
I stood behind the tape, white coat clean, gloved hands crossed.
"Jesus Christ…"
Detective Murray gagged. "This isn't just murder. This is… fucking art."
He's not wrong.
Every muscle had its place. Every cut sang a story.
"Where's forensics?" he barked.
A rookie pointed. "Dr. Daniel just arrived, sir."
Ah. Time to play the professional.
I walked forward. Calm. Unbothered. The others stepped aside.
"Morning, Detective."
I glanced at the body, tilting my head like I was examining a patient.
"Whoever did this…" I said softly, "knew anatomy. Knew exactly how far to cut without immediate bleeding. How to preserve the muscle lines."
How to make it beautiful.
They won't see the pattern yet. Not until I let them.
Murray looked at me with a mix of horror and admiration.
"You're saying this is deliberate?"
"Yes," I replied. "And if I may… this isn't their first."
But it was mine. My first public piece.
My invitation.
I turned to the others, pointing at the heart-shaped bowels.
"Note the curve. That's not rage. That's affection. This killer wants to be seen."
And I am.
Finally.