Chapter 14

“Can I open it now?”

Jei untied the ribbon and carefully lifted the lid of the box. Inside were several Polaroid photographs, tossed in haphazardly.

“Photos?”

There was also a small recorder the size of two overlapping fingers.

Jei first gathered the scattered photos and took them out. There were about twenty in all.

As she examined them quietly to see what on earth had been photographed, her expression twisted like that of someone who had witnessed something revolting.

“What’s wrong?”

Jei handed the photos to Iheon. His expression, as he checked them, twisted exactly as hers had.

The first photo showed a woman’s hand dangling limply beneath a sofa.

Her face was outside the frame, but the thin bracelet on her wrist and the single shoe dropped on the floor were clear.

The second photo captured the same woman in a slightly wider composition.

Several buttons on her crumpled blouse were undone, and her skirt, pulled down to below her knees, had ridden up to the middle of her thighs.

It was not the appearance of someone sleeping. It was like someone with no strength left to control her body and no awareness left to straighten her clothes.

The following photos included a man’s lower body. A man in suit trousers and glossy dress shoes sat beside her on the sofa.

At the edge of the photo, another man’s shoes and trouser cuffs were caught.

The woman in the next photo was someone else. Her clothes, shoes, and the accessories on her wrist were different. But the posture sprawled on the sofa and the disheveled state of her clothing were no different from the woman before.

On the table were a glass with lip marks and a half-empty bottle of liquor.

With each photo, the angle and distance changed.

Scenes taken from across the sofa, scenes taken from close beside her looking down, even scenes where a phone was held close to her face as if checking her reaction.

They were photos taken without hesitation of a woman who had lost consciousness.

But the focus in every photo was blurry. It felt slightly different from camera shake or light flare.

Iheon held one photo up under the interior light. In the part that at first looked like light flare, a shimmering pattern had been captured along with it.

“This was taken of a monitor screen, wasn’t it?”

Jei, checking the photos with him, said.

“It’s not the original.”

The two quickly checked the remaining photos. The brightness of the screen and the reflected light differed each time, but the same grid pattern was found in every photo.

Then Jei began laying the Polaroids out on the dashboard.

Some photos showed deep red sofas and marble tables; others showed white sheets and a nightstand that looked like a hotel bed.

There was a small room with tacky floral wallpaper, and a high-rise room overlooking the city’s nightscape through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Scenes taken in similar places stretched long beneath the windshield.

“Why would someone take pictures like this?”

Jei asked, showing her disgust without filtering it. Iheon examined the photos spread on the dashboard with care.

Judging by the limp state of the women, it looked less like simple intoxication and more like drugs such as GHB.

The reason for using drugs would be to prevent pointless resistance.

Hotel rooms or club rooms would also have been optimal places to avoid other people’s eyes.

But the photography was different.

It was not an action necessary for the crime. Rather, it was a risk that left evidence behind.

Then why take such photos?

There was only one answer.

“Trophies.”

“Trophies?”

The women in the photos were all unconscious. Naturally, they would not even have been aware of what was happening to them.

“What the bastard wanted to keep was the moment he had complete control over a woman who could offer no resistance at all.”

Iheon’s voice sank rough and low.

“He’ll take them out whenever he wants to look, chewing over the time he could do whatever he wanted with those women. Or boast about it to someone.”

“It’s too horrible. If I thought a video of me I didn’t even know was taken was floating around somewhere, I’d want to die.”

Her breath trembled, unable to swallow her anger.

The photos Muerte had given them showed only parts of bodies, but the videos would be far more explicit. As a woman herself, it was a crime she could not help but be furious about.

“Who on earth could it be? The bastard who did this?”

“We’ll have to find out from now on what kind of bastard he is.”

Iheon picked up the recorder from the box. Now the only thing left to check was the recorder.

“At least one thing is clear now. Why Muerte chose the demons.”

A demon who built a house on someone’s misfortune, drank someone’s tears as wine, and fattened himself by selling someone’s shame.

The content written in the email belatedly found its full meaning.

Iheon pressed the play button on the recorder.

—……

At first, no sound could be heard. But soon a faint static came, and then rough breathing gradually grew clearer.

—Hngh—, huff—.

The breathing, presumed to be a man’s, was rough and irregular. Perhaps his mouth was gagged, because only crushed sobs intermittently leaked from his throat. There was also the sound of something fixed in place creaking.

After a moment, a mechanical voice that was difficult to identify by gender came through.

First demon.

The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are clear, your whole body will be full of light, but if your eyes are evil, your whole body will be full of darkness.

As the mechanical voice appeared, the man struggled even more violently. The legs of the chair struck the floor in succession, and a beast-like wail leaked from deep in his throat.

Your eyes did not hold the light.

The urgent moans grew higher and higher. The scream trapped in his mouth, unable to become words, mixed with his ragged breathing.

You coveted what should not be seen, recorded shame that should not be left behind, and displayed it before countless eyes.

Click. The sound of metal locking together was heard.

If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out.

After a short silence, the man’s scream burst out. It was a shriek that could not fully escape because his mouth was gagged.

The scream, crushed in his throat, made the recorder ring muffled. The chair shook as if it would topple, and the sound of feet kicking wildly at the floor continued.

At the grotesque and terrible screaming, Jei clenched the hands resting on her lap and bowed her head deeply.

Even without seeing it, it was enough to guess what was happening.

The screaming that had continued for a long while stopped briefly, leaving only ragged breathing. The mechanical voice came again.

Demon.

You still have one more darkness.

Along with the sound of something thrashing as if struggling, the recording cut off there.

* * *

Back home, the two decided to wash off the dust and sweat first. The musty stench of the underground establishment still seemed to cling to their noses.

While Jei washed in the master bathroom, Iheon decided to wash in the bathroom by the study.

As he unbuttoned his black shirt and pulled it off over his shoulders, dust he had not realized was clinging rose in a pale cloud.

He took off his trousers and underwear in turn and placed them on the sink, and finally took off his glasses and stepped into the shower booth.

When he turned on the faucet, a stream of cold water poured down over the top of his head. Then it ran down his neck and spine and pattered onto the floor.

As the chill washed away the stickiness, the tightly knotted muscles loosened little by little.

Once his body was roughly wet, Iheon brought his face under the stream. Closing his eyes and pushing his hair back, he recalled the day’s events.

The metallic sound scraping the floor. The breath crushed inside a throat.

The scream that burst out, unable to endure.

And the modulated mechanical voice that had continued as if waiting for all those sounds to subside.

The dust had washed away, but the sounds lodged in his ears did not.

Especially the mechanical voice. The intonation, devoid of a single drop of emotion, was chilling.

Standing under water cold enough to clear his head, Iheon slowly opened his eyes.

From the ragged breathing, the chair scraping the floor, and the scream bursting through a blocked throat alone, he could well imagine the torture inflicted on the man.

「The wage of death is death.」

If the email was to be believed, the man had probably died.

When the torrent of water stopped, the bathroom fell silent in an instant.

Iheon wiped himself with a towel and changed clothes. He left the bathroom with his wet hair roughly pushed back.

His steps slowed as he passed through the corridor and entered the living room.

Jei, who had washed first, was sitting before the island table. Her damp long hair hung down over her summer pajamas.