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Chapter 2: Who Am I to Judge?
The interrogation room was cold.
Not because of the air conditioning, no. It was cold in that sterile, suffocating way hospitals and morgues always felt—like a place that waited for people to give up.
The officer standing across from me looked ready to explode.
> "Are you joking?! We can run your entire background. If you don't start answering seriously, you'll be charged with obstruction."
I looked him in the eyes and smiled. Not out of confidence. But because I didn't care.
I relaxed my shoulders and leaned back. I could feel something shift inside me.
> "Thanks for giving me control," I whispered.
He narrowed his eyes. "What did you just say?"
But I was already gone. Or rather, someone else was already here.
> "Haha… I can find the killer."
Silence. The words lingered like smoke in the air.
> "What? You think this is some game?"
"How do we even know you're not the one who did it?"
> "That's the thing," I said softly. "The killer... is someone I know. A friend."
The room fell dead silent.
Then a voice crackled over the radio. Another officer opened the door and entered, holding a file.
He leaned over to whisper something.
The angry cop straightened, frowned, then reluctantly unlocked the cuffs.
> "Fine. You're free to go. For now. But don't even think about leaving the country."
> "Got it."
I walked out. My wrists still ached from the cuffs, but the pain grounded me.
The moment sunlight hit my skin outside the station, something shifted again.
> "Is it... over?"
No. Not even close.
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She was my ex.
We broke up over a year ago—amicably, even. Or maybe I just kept telling myself that. Truth is, we kept in touch. Sometimes I'd walk past her place and she'd wave. Sometimes she'd invite me in, offer fruit, talk about work.
She was sweet. Still had that soft laugh that made my chest ache.
But now she's dead.
And the knife that took her life... wasn't mine.
Still... I remembered holding it.
The memories were blurred. Half-familiar. Half-fabricated. Like someone had been editing them while I slept.
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That night, I didn't go "home." I didn't even know where home was.
My body moved on its own, like a puppet with strings I couldn't see.
I got on a bus. Paid the fare. Got off at a place I'd never seen before.
A small apartment. Clean. Sterile. Empty.
I walked in. Headed straight to the bathroom. Undressed.
My body was lean. Muscles defined. Not like I remembered. But familiar somehow.
I stepped under the water. Cold. Cleansing. Like trying to wash off sins I hadn't committed.
---
I didn't eat. Just dried off, got dressed, and lay in bed.
> "Wait—what? No food?" I asked aloud.
No answer.
I tried to move, but my body was paralyzed. My mind screamed, but nothing responded.
> "Just sleep," a voice whispered.
"Hunger passes if you stop thinking."
Then darkness.
---
But I didn't wake up in bed.
My body did.
I—whatever 'I' meant—was watching from inside.
He stood up.
Opened the door.
Walked out.
No hesitation.
---
Convenience store. Bright lights. Security cameras.
He picked up a pair of gloves. Paid in cash.
Then walked out again. Quiet. Mechanical.
The target was already in sight.
A man. Normal. Harmless.
> "He didn't do anything…" I whispered.
But it didn't matter.
Hands wrapped around the man's throat. Tight. Ruthless.
He gasped. Clawed. Eyes bulging.
Struggling. Sputtering.
No one came to help.
The gloves left no fingerprints. But strangling someone... it's not as easy as it sounds. People fight. Scratch. Flail. It's messy. It's dangerous.
But he did it clean. Clinical.
The man collapsed.
Dead.
---
The body was still warm when he crouched beside it.
He smiled.
> "The first one," he whispered.
A shadowy wisp rose from the corpse, like smoke.
He inhaled it.
I don't know how. Or why. But I felt it too.
It was euphoric.
Terrifying.
He took the victim's wallet, then tossed it into a trash can a few blocks away.
> "Looks like a robbery," he murmured.
Then he went home.
Washed up.
And lay down again, in my bed. In my body.
---
Who am I?
I don't know.
Maybe I'm the cop.
Maybe I'm the killer.
Maybe… I'm just the witness.
But one thing's for sure.
> There are three of us. And only one body.
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