The mud from the soles of the man's raincoat-covered shoes was left behind on the floor.
Larry closed the security door and locked it.
The Raincoat Man's breathing grew heavier as his hands, hidden beneath the coat, nervously chewed at his fingernails. The media had dubbed him The Rainy Night Killer, and he was very pleased with that name—cruel, mad, and filled with terror.
"How can I ever thank you for welcoming me in?" The Raincoat Man's eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Larry's back.
He enjoyed hunting kind people. He loved to crush all that was beautiful and then stomp it into the ground.
To have such a gentle personality, this kid must come from a happy family. He must've been well protected by his parents. A flower raised in a greenhouse has no idea how evil people can be.
Still wearing his hood, the man's face twisted with cruel delight as he imagined how he would torture little Larry right before his eyes.
"You must be starving," Larry said, pulling out some food with added ingredients and serving a glass of water. "Today's my birthday. I cooked a bunch of delicious food. Want to try a piece of cake before you go?"
The cake on the table had been brought by Larry's parents. The Raincoat Man believed good things should be shared.
"No need," he said. He didn't touch anything on the table—probably afraid of leaving traces behind.
"Sounds like someone's calling you from the bedroom, or am I hearing things?"
"My parents are home too," Larry said with a bitter smile. "They're not in good health. They've been locked in the bedroom, unable to move."
"They were calling you. Don't you want to go check on them?" In the Raincoat Man's mind, Larry was already a dead man.
Larry, getting an idea, asked, "Why don't you go say hi to my parents?"
"I'm introverted... I don't really dare speak to them."
Larry sighed softly and limped toward the bedroom. "They're sick... and the symptoms are a bit strange. They need rest."
The Raincoat Killer heard the sound coming from the bedroom too. He followed Larry to the bedroom door. The light began to flicker, and the temperature dropped much lower than in the living room.
Larry placed his hand on the doorknob, opened the bedroom door, and stepped back.
Curious, the Raincoat Man peered inside.
The shadows in the bedroom were dissolving. Half of the room was bathed in vague light, the other half drowned in thick darkness.
In the place where light and dark intertwined—there were terrifying faces, twisted and tangled bodies!
The monsters, disguised as Larry's parents, turned innocent upon seeing the Raincoat Man. They crawled over one another, rushing toward the bedroom door!
The grotesque scene, beyond imagination, left the Raincoat Man breathless. He had expected two bedridden old folks in the house!
He instinctively dodged backward—but as he turned around, he saw Larry holding a knife.
Crack!
As the stab landed, Larry struck the Raincoat Man's head just as he dropped to his knees.
Shards of glass flew in all directions. Blood stained the Raincoat Man's cheeks, and he felt dizzy.
As he collapsed to the floor, the once "kind" child now "kindly" forced a glass of "water" into the Raincoat Man's mouth.
The entire sequence flowed smoothly, as if Larry had practiced it countless times.
"If you'd eaten some cake or drank some water earlier, your death would've been less painful. But no... you chose the hard way." Larry squatted beside the bleeding Raincoat Man and whispered, "Don't be scared. You'll lose consciousness soon and won't feel pain anymore."
Hearing Larry's words, the Raincoat Man's eyes widened in terror. He had no idea what Larry might do to him once he passed out.
As his breathing labored, his gaze scanned the room—filled with "parents" bound and silent—then back to the calm, unshaken Larry. At that moment, terror peaked.
What kind of lunatic was this?
Disguise, manipulation, domination, pleasure, revenge, greed—he had every twisted trait of a perverted killer. Cold, complex, cunning, dangerous—even his methods and execution were disturbingly meticulous.
"Why do I feel like you're insulting me with your eyes?" Larry picked up the knife from the ground, looked down at the Raincoat Man, and whispered, "Now I get it. This place... it's my playground for killing monsters like you."
Without waiting another second, Larry drove the knife into the killer's chest. As he felt the Raincoat Man's life slipping away, Larry lit a lighter and murmured, "It's time to wake up…"
Boom!
At that moment, the gas that had been leaking from the kitchen ignited with Larry's help—and everything went completely black.
...
"Argh…"
Larry woke up, drenched in cold sweat, his bare hands trembling. He could still feel the sensation of killing that murderer. The process had been brief, but he had enjoyed it.
"Damn it..." Larry had too much on his mind—so much that he needed to kill in his dreams just to release the pressure.
Without a doubt, he had to hide all those emotions. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to keep working as a criminal profiler in the police department.
"I'm the best bald guy in the department," muttered Masuka from a nearby armchair, where he'd been lying down.
Hearing that, Larry smirked slightly and whispered, "Yeah... I can't throw away my life for revenge. I'll find you first. And once I make you pay for everything you did to me… it'll all be over."