"Couldn't it be a group, not just one killer?" the young girl whispered as she got out of her seat, following Isabella, who was also getting out. Isabella locked the driver's side door behind her before pressing the button in her car key, triggering a faint alarm. The red light from the car reflected on her tired face as she placed her hand on her cousin's shoulder. "Maybe, but whoever did this to her body must have held a grudge against her. Can you believe there weren't even any signs of assault on her body?" she continued, walking towards her doorstep.
"So do you think my father had a hand in it?" Elizabeth followed her with a frozen expression, as if she already knew the answer. Her aunt turned to her with a faint smile. "Do you think your father is smart enough to take someone's spleen? I don't think so."
Meanwhile, not far away, Clara reached her destination. She placed her finger on a bell, and while waiting for a response, she studied a business card and Hector's name, re-examining the place around her with contemplative glances at the quiet, almost dark setting, until finally someone's voice came from inside, "Who's there?" It was Hector, who opened the door for her, his calm golden eyes penetrating her form.
"Are you Mr. Hector?" she asks him before pulling out her police ID, continuing as she gazes at his form, which almost completely overshadows her, "I just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that's alright, sir?"
The man watches her intently as he leans aside to let her pass, a calm smile playing on his lips. "I didn't know the police might need me at a time like this? Did I do something?" He gestures towards the sofa. "Of course, miss... what should I call you?" he asks, already watching her from head to toe in a very subtle way that cannot be noticed.
"Clara, sir!" In contrast, the policewoman replies as she steps inside with quiet steps and embarrassment is evident on her cheeks. "I'm sorry I came without an appointment, sir, but I couldn't help but come... Weren't you Mr. James's psychiatrist? You know? The man who committed suicide in prison?" she tells him as she slowly sits down to the side.
Hector listened intently before crossing his legs, his calm expression replaced by something akin to sadness. "Yes, he was one of my patients? If only I had known he would kill his wife in such a horrific way," he muttered, straightening up and covering half his face with his hand.
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to dredge up such memories." The youthful seriousness faded from Clara's face, replaced by quiet regret, as her hands clasped together awkwardly. She didn't notice his eyes watching this subtle shift with a smile before he broke the silence, saying, "It's alright. You must have come for something important. I'll make you some tea; I think you're thirsty." He rose quickly before she could utter a refusal, muttering, "No need, I'm fine!" But he had already disappeared into the kitchen, leaving behind a smile as he added, "There's no need to be nervous. Get some rest while I bring you your drink."
"I just wanted to get your opinion on someone ..his names ....'Henry.' I think he was tracking someone... I don't really think he's as stupid as everyone says," she whispers to herself, somewhat audibly, as she opens her phone to Mr. Henry's "Black File" forum and continues talking to herself while looking at pictures of different bodies. "I really feel like he was trying to connect these crimes and not just insult the police. Couldn't the killer have sensed him because of this?!"
While Her eyes scanned the paintings hanging on the wall before settling on one in particular: "Judith at the Gates of Bethulia." She didn't understand the reason for this attraction, but the painting's intricate details captivated her; especially the features of the woman skillfully clutching a severed head. For a moment, she imagined the woman in the painting looking directly at her, and a chill ran through her, freezing her blood. The fear was dispelled by Hector's voice, a warm smile on his face as he approached her, asking, "Henry?" A look of bewilderment crossed his features.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her small body was wrapped in a towel, her eyes telling a tale of endless nightmares. Blue bruises encircled her neck and chest, lines traced by the first nightmare and deepened with the last. She stood helpless, surrendering to the stinging pain that permeated every inch of her body as water trickled slowly from her hair onto her forehead.
"I already look like a lifeless corpse," she whispers to her reflection in the mirror, tilting her head to examine the deep bruises. She removes the bandage from her eye very quietly and stands contemplating her pallor for a few seconds of utter silence. Suddenly, the stillness is shattered by Isabella's voice pounding on the door from outside: "Liz! Are you all right in there? Let me help you change that bandage." The doorknob turns quickly before she can stop it. Isabella's gasp is loud and piercing as she stares at Elizabeth's body, covered in dark bruises. Her eyes widen in shock and disbelief, and the only sound in the space between them is the creaking of the open door...