Secret Behind the Murder

1

I woke up to find the knife in my hand dripping blood, and a person lying in front of me.

The wounds on his body were ghastly and horrifying.

I was frightened.

Clutching the knife, I frantically searched for my phone, finally finding it underneath the corpse.

I dialed 110 to turn myself in.

I had killed someone.

At least, that's what it seemed at the moment.

2

I lost my parents early and came to the big city alone for school, succumbing to temptation and becoming a man's mistress.

But I never expected him to be such a demon!

Every time he came home, he would cut open my arms, madly sucking the blood that spurted out.

He would burn my body with a torch, and I wanted to escape.

But he broke my legs and tied a rope around my neck, not allowing me to take a single step.

"So, you killed him?" Officer Schuman sat under the light, looking at my crazed self.

My eyes were red, the blood vessels looking like they might burst.

"He was a demon! I had to kill him! Only by killing him could I survive!"

"How did you kill him? Tell me the whole process of your murder," he insisted. Officer Schuman stared at me like a hawk, intent on grasping my heart, forcing me to spill all my thoughts.

I hated his gaze.

I really wanted to gouge them out.

"He was pulling my hair, trying to slit my throat, and I struggled madly and accidentally strangled him. I hated him, so I picked up the knife in his hand and chopped him up."

Sobbing, I said, "It really wasn't intentional; I just wanted to survive!"

"So how did you manage to free yourself and strangle him while he had you by the throat?" Officer Schuman scrutinized me, "Are you sure that, covered in wounds, you had the strength to overpower a physically strong man?"

My crying paused.

Somewhat panicky, "I don't know, anything is possible when you're desperate..."

Before I could finish, Officer Schuman interrupted me, "You said you were an only child, an orphan, right?"

"Yes... I had a brother once, but he died accidentally."

"Then... who is this?" Officer Schuman pulled out his phone and showed me a photo.

The person in the photo looked just like me.

Except for a mole at the corner of her eye.

2

I fell silent.

"This is your sister, right?" Officer Schuman said slowly, as if to break my psychological defenses, " All the neighbors from your childhood remember. Your sister couldn't go to school and came to the big city alone, making it much more likely for her to meet the deceased than you, a student still in university."

Officer Schuman carefully watched my face, not wanting to miss any flicker of emotion.

He continued, "We found out that on the day you killed him, your sister took a flight abroad and has since disappeared. Can you explain that? Why is it such a coincidence that you killed someone, and your sister fled?"

"What are you implying? That I'm taking the blame for her? Stop joking! I wish she were dead! She pushed our pregnant mother and stole all the money, leaving her without treatment in the hospital where she died! My father died because of this too, and I became an orphan! Why shouldn't such a woman die! She's just a vile person!"

Watching my agitated face, Officer Schuman paused, not continuing the previous topic, "How did you know the deceased?"

After a moment of silence, I said, "Through my sister. My sister came here before me, but she never cared about me."

I looked into Officer Schuman's eyes, finally revealing my deepest disdain.

As children, my sister and I were born at the same time, but I was stuck inside our mother's womb and was born a few minutes later.

I became the younger sister.

As the younger one, I did have some privileges.

After growing up and understanding everything, my sister felt it was unfair.

She was mean to me and to our mother.

She even pushed our mother while our mother was pregnant, causing a miscarriage.

Afterward, she took all our money and left.

After coming to university, I tried to find her. She lived in a dark, damp house and was very unwelcoming to me.

Even cursing me.

I left in anger.

On the way, I encountered the deceased, who was looking for intercourse with my sister.

He mistook me for her and took me away.

He made me stay in the room my sister had always dreamed of.

My sister had visited the deceased, but as an educated woman, I was apparently more able to fulfill his desires.

But his desires became more and more perverted, and I accidentally... killed him.

3

"Does that mean you hate your sister, and she hates you too?" Officer Schuman asked, seeming to seek a definite answer.

"Isn't that obvious?" I avoided his gaze, looking down.

"This is a conversation between your sister and the deceased that we found on the deceased's spare phone," Officer Schuman turned on the player, "Worth listening to."

The player was a bit chaotic at first, the dialogue unclear.

"What do you want?"

It was my sister's voice.

"What do I want? I want the most beautiful work of art in the world!"

"I'll come."

"You? You're not good enough! Only she is the most beautiful work of art!"

"Don't you dare touch her!"

The recording abruptly stopped.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

"From what I've investigated, your sister seems to love you," Officer Schuman said with a smile, "She even saved you from a fire, right?"

I couldn't hold back any longer, tears streaming down my face.

"So you're taking the blame, right? Your sister's departure was her fleeing from her crimes."

Officer Schuman stared intently at me.

I paused for a while but then shook my head.

"No, I am the murderer. I killed him, and it had nothing to do with my sister. I sent my sister away just so she wouldn't have to worry about me."

Disappointment flashed in Officer Schuman's eyes, but he didn't speak further, instead waving his hand and taking me back to my room.

It was night.

The night was dark and cold.

I suddenly felt a burning sensation on my skin, devouring my healthy cells, slowly tearing apart my intact skin.

Someone was pouring acid over my body.

I vaguely saw a face that looked somewhat like my own.

I suddenly awoke.

I touched my arm, still feeling a bit of the burn.

Why would I have such a dream?

I was soaked in sweat, the intense stinging pain still tearing at my nerves.

I turned around. It was just starting to get light outside.

The door opened.

Officer Schuman had a new discovery.

4

"Officer, disturbing someone's sweet dream is not nice," I said with a smile, my hair sticking to my cheeks from the sweat.

"Sweet dream? Doesn't seem like it," Officer Schuman seemed in a good mood, curiously asking, "Having a nightmare?"

I nodded without speaking.

"Where is your sister?" Officer Schuman asked bluntly.

"She left, went abroad, I don't know exactly where." I swung my leg, unconcerned.

Officer Schuman was displeased with my attitude.

I didn't want to pretend anymore. Schuman is not someone you can fool easily; it's better to be comfortable.

"Really?" Officer Schuman turned his computer screen toward me, showing a person tied to a chair.

Not a single part of her body was unmarred.

Blood was oozing everywhere, her scars hideously trying to escape her body.

Her wounds were covered in peculiar paintings, the colors vivid, complementing the woman's fear-twisted face.

Quite artistic.

The person opposite her was grinning, capturing her appearance on camera.

He was shouting, "This is art!"

The woman in the video looked just like me.

Just with a teardrop mole.

"What do you say?" Officer Schuman asked gravely as he turned the computer back.

I couldn't hide the anger and sadness on my face quickly enough, and he caught me.

"What do you mean, I don't know." I replied.

"The one being tortured is your sister, not you. Your sister went abroad, why? Because she killed someone."

"Just like you said, only by killing him could she survive. And you, you're a scapegoat, a willing scapegoat."

Listening to Officer Schuman, I became unintentionally excited.

I remembered my sister's face, the one that looked just like mine.

Seeing her tortured like that, I couldn't help but want to kill him.

"You're wrong," I said, unable to hide my excitement.

"I killed him. I found my sister, but she was tortured beyond recognition, I hated him! How could he treat my sister like that? She had given up the chance to have education from a young age and worked on her own. Such a good person, yet she was tormented like that! I had to kill him! Only by killing him could my sister escape! So I killed him from behind while he was abusing her! Do you know how joyful I was when I killed him? Hahahaha!"

I laughed until tears came out.

It was a relief, a release.

"Why don't you acknowledge your sister's existence?"

My laughter stopped abruptly, tinged with irony, "Are you suggesting she should stay, so you can question her over and over, making her relive the worst times she can't bear to remember?"

Officer Schuman was unusually silent.

I looked at his drooping eyes, a flash of scorn passing through mine.

"So, is your sister still alive?"

I paused for a while, "I don't know."

6

"My sister has long suffered from depression; I don't know if she could continue to live strong after leaving my sight.

Maybe she has died somewhere unknown."

Officer Schuman seemed to believe my story and didn't question me further.

But the way he looked at me as he left made me feel like I was being targeted.

Like a cold snake spotted by an eagle soaring in the sky.

It made me break out in a cold sweat.

Just as I was calmly accepting the reality that I had killed someone, Schuman summoned me again.

I was somewhat impatient, "What is it this time?"

"Did you know your sister bought a substandard necklace?"

"How would I know if she bought it or not..."

As I spoke, I suddenly realized what Officer Schuman was implying.