Chapter 2

When I opened my eyes again, I had become a ghost. To my shock, I found myself in a police station. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating my father in his uniform, his eyes filled with anguish. A few young forensic experts stood around him. On the table lay a bag filled with mutilated body parts—what remained of me. This was the result of a desperate search led by Police Captain Mark and his team, who had managed to recover the bag before it was washed away by the heavy rain.

I never expected my death to be discovered so quickly. Perhaps it was a final act of mercy from the god for my tragic life. A homeless man had been rummaging through a dumpster when he found a bag. Thinking he'd stumbled upon discarded meat, he opened it—only to discover human fingers inside.

A torrential downpour had set the stage for this gruesome discovery. Thunder cracked as rain lashed against the windows. Every available officer, accompanied by police dogs, had been mobilized for a city-wide search. Mark's face was etched with fury; he struggled to contain his emotions. The method of dismemberment was chillingly similar to a case from seven or eight years ago—the Rainy Night Butcher. He looked up at my father, David, and asked: "David, don't you think this resembles the work of the Rainy Night Butcher from eight years ago?"

My father's face paled. The Rainy Night Butcher was a killer who struck only during heavy rain. He took pleasure in torturing young women to death, shattering countless families. Years ago, my father had finally gathered enough evidence to arrest him, but the killer escaped. In retaliation, he sabotaged the plane my brother was on—the plane that crashed and killed Nathan. Neither the killer's nor my brother's remains had ever been found.

So when Mark brought it up, he immediately suspected the same madman. If he was still alive, he'd want revenge. Mark couldn't help but warn, "David, if it really is him... You have to make sure your wife and Wendy stay inside. Protect your daughter, Wendy, at all costs—she'd be the perfect target for a killer like that!"

But at the mention of my name, the urgency on my father's face vanished. His expression turned icy. "She deserved to die long ago."

The words pierced through me like a knife. He was right. I'd been living on borrowed time for eight years.

Mark knew what had happened all those years ago. He wanted to comfort my father but could only frown helplessly.

After learning of Nathan's death, my parents had searched the crash site for three days and three nights. They'd knelt on the roadside, eyes bloodshot, begging the god to return their son. The agony of losing a child in middle age was a wound my parents would never heal from.

Mark sighed. "David, let's focus. The higher-ups are breathing down our necks about this case. It's a priority!"

My father understood. He returned to work, carefully extracting the flesh from the bag. But the moment he saw it, a raw curse tore from his throat. "What kind of fucking scumbag would do this?"

One of the younger forensic techs, seeing such a scene for the first time, turned away, his eyes reddening.

The immediate task was identifying the victim. After collecting every trace of the body they could find, my father began reconstructing the remains. I hovered near him as he spent an entire day piecing together a skinless form. Strangely, I felt relieved. I knew my corpse was ugly—I'd worried my father would be horrified if he recognized me. At least now, my life of guilt and atonement was finally over.

Mark stared at the bloodied form on the table. Even for a seasoned cop like him, the sight was deeply disturbing. He asked my father if the killer's methods—the dismemberment—were meant to destroy evidence or simply the work of a sadistic mind.

My father's face darkened. After a long pause, he answered in a hoarse voice, "Not evidence. We've confirmed the victim was skinned alive."

He clenched his fist, struggling for control. "This was pure sadism!"

He pointed to my reconstructed body. "Look—there are even traces of salt corrosion on the flesh. The bastard tortured her, cutting her apart piece by piece while she was still breathing!"

His voice broke with grief and rage. "And she was just a girl... sixteen to twenty years old, at most. What kind of hatred could drive someone to this?"

Floating beside him, I silently applauded. He truly was the city's best forensic examiner, able to pinpoint the cause of death with such precision.

Mark's eyes turned colder than ice. "Fucking bastard. Soulless piece of shit!"

He took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. "We're cross-referencing missing persons reports for girls aged sixteen to twenty from the last couple of days. Hopefully, we'll identify her soon."