My Healing Game

After the middle-aged woman hung up the phone, she walked towards the ground, as if there was an emergency.

After the middle-aged woman left, Han Fei looked into the depths of the ground floor with his bag on his back.

Several rooms on the basement floor seem to have been bought by someone. The owner should be a lunatic. He wrote all kinds of words that are incomprehensible to ordinary people on the walls, full of destruction and despair. . .

Han Fei groped deeper while reading those words.

The smell of formalin in the air gradually thickened, and there were more and more bloodstains on the ground. This basement, like the scene of a murder, gave Han Fei an indescribable sense of familiarity.

"As an actor or screenwriter, why do I know the taste of formalin? Why am I familiar with the murder scene?"

Thinking of the stories he wrote in the script, Han Fei was even more confused: "What kind of person am I?"

Carefully avoiding the blood on the ground, normal people will definitely feel scared and panic when they encounter such a scene.

But Han Fei, as a mental patient suffering from persecution paranoia, after entering such a **** scene, not only did he not fall ill, but his breathing gradually became smoother.

He felt like a twisted paradox, and the more he investigated, the more confused he became.

"I have no impression of my parents handling the bodies underground and then transporting them out... The doctor Fu said that there have been many unnamed bodies in the city recently, and the person who claimed to be my father happened to be a Excellent forensics."

"Could it be that my father and mother are perverted murderers? I lost my memory because I accidentally saw the scene of their murder?"

"Or maybe they've been feeding me medicine, causing me to forget about the past? Becoming a confused patient?"

No matter how you look at it, this home is incomparably terrifying.

"I actually lived with a murderous couple, and they weren't necessarily my parents!"

For the concept of parents, Han Fei has no idea at all, he can't even find the starting point of memory.

With all kinds of thoughts floating in his mind, Han Fei walked through the blood and came to the last room on the basement floor.

The door was locked, and if you look closely, you will find that there is blood seeping under the crack of the door.

"The blood has coagulated. The blood was left by the mother who cleaned the blood stains in the gap. It seems that the first crime scene should be in this room." Staring at the blood on the ground, Han Fei muttered to himself: "The gap The blood stains in the inside cannot be washed with water, this will wash away the blood stains containing the victim's information, it should be collected little by little, and then use chemicals..."

Han Fei was startled by the thought in his mind: "Why do I know how to deal with corpses?"

He lost all his memories, but his body's instinct is still there, but it's weird sometimes.

"Because I'm a screenwriter, I'll look up stuff like that?"

Han Fei put on his clothes and gently pulled the iron door. Finally, the door of this room was locked and could not be opened.

"This time I leave, I shouldn't go back to this terrifying home. Before leaving, I must figure out these things."

Looking around, Han Fei found a very thin wire. After he bent it to a suitable shape, he put it in the keyhole.

Originally, Han Fei just wanted to try it, but when he leaned against the lock cylinder and listened to the sound inside, his hands and brain cooperated extremely well, as if unlocking was originally a skill of his.

As the circlip bounced, the dilapidated iron door on the ground floor was directly opened by him.

Looking at the iron door that was opened, Han Fei himself felt incredible, he had mastered an ability that most screenwriters did not know.

Looking into the house, the scene in front of him had a great impact on Han Fei.

There was a wooden table in the dark and depressing room. A lot of manuscript paper and various pens were scattered on the wooden table, and the bottom of the wooden table was soaked with blood.

Behind the wooden table there are three shelves, one shelf is full of books, the other shelf is full of various specimen jars, and the last shelf is filled with various murder tools, including hand axes and daggers. , there are ropes, and various medicines.

The wall directly in front of the wooden table was not painted, but the surface of the wall was splashed with huge blood flowers, as if someone was killed there.

"Is this the devil's room? The desk is facing the blood-splattered wall. The owner of the house is writing while watching the victim's body?"

The murder scene had been badly damaged, and the air was lingering with the pungent smell of formalin and an inexplicable stench.

Han Fei moved forward slowly, he realized something terrifying, his body had become accustomed to the pungent odor.

When a normal person smells these things for the first time, they will instinctively feel uncomfortable and even vomit, but he just frowned, which means that he probably smelled these often before he lost his memory!

"Why do I get used to it?"

Walking to the desk, Han Fei padded his sleeves and picked up the unfinished script on the table.

"The sixth story - the tenant, the woman moved in in July, her belly is getting bigger and her mood is getting more unstable, she is irritable and arguing with people every night. I also sometimes I will be curious, why does she always quarrel with people at night when she lives on the sixth floor by herself?"

"The second time I saw her was a month later. She was in a very bad state of mind and was unwilling to take the elevator. She walked up and down the stairs with a big belly every day, and she kept scolding something in her mouth."

"She refuses to interact with anyone, and everyone in the community thinks she's ill, and gradually ignores her."

"Women are arguing louder at night, but no one knows who she is arguing with. Many people speculate that she is arguing with the man who abandoned her on the phone, but I feel that it is not that simple."

"The third time I met her was the day before she died."

"I wanted to go downstairs to buy a pack of cigarettes that night. When I passed the sixth floor, I heard movement in her house."

"I stayed at the entrance of the corridor for a while. The woman who hadn't gone out for a long time slowly climbed out of the room. Her face was thin and skinny, she kept scolding something, and her neck was shriveled as if there were only two skins left."

"As she slowly crawled out, I couldn't believe my eyes, I saw the woman's belly bulging high."

"This woman is not pregnant, there is no human being hidden in her belly."

The complete version of the script is on the desk, but Han Fei feels that there is a follow-up to the script, he glanced at the blood on the floor: "How does he know that what is hidden in her stomach is not a human?"

Gently putting down the script, Han Fei's heart was wrapped in chills. He saw the first half of the script in his room, and now it appears on the desk in the second half. Does that mean that the original owner of this room is him?

Thinking carefully, Han Fei's heart was about to jump out of his chest, and the blood vessels in his forehead bulged.

"Is there such a possibility?"

Being familiar with the smell of formalin and corpses, knowing how to pick locks and handle corpses, and seeing those knives on the shelf, even the urge to grab it and wave it, all seemed to indicate one thing.

"The murderer is actually me? Are the couple helping me with the corpse?"

Han Fei has no memory of his past, and he can't recall his past identity, but his keen insight and amazing physical instincts are still there.

Destroying a corpse and destroying traces is a very difficult task. It takes an ordinary person a long time to understand the steps just by thinking, but when he sees the blood stain, he automatically simulates various methods to clear the evidence in his mind. .

"Skilled doesn't seem like the first time to do it, me, the murderer of a serial death case?"

With a bag full of scripts on his back, Han Fei stood on the spot, nothing could hit him more than this incident.

"But if I'm a serial killer, why is that couple disposing of the body?"

"Did they find out what I was doing long ago, taking medicine to make me lose my memory step by step, and want to change me?"

"My parents helped me dispose of the corpse, so that I can have another chance to start over from scratch? From this point of view, they are really the best people in the world, but..."

Han Fei clenched his hand: "If I really kill someone and I'm really guilty, I'd rather be punished by myself than let them do such a thing, this is what I really think at this moment. ."

"Why would I do such a thing when I have such an idea?"

Contradictions, Han Fei is in the midst of incomparable contradictions. He forgot that there were many souls in his mind, and everyone wanted to draw their own appearance on a blank canvas.

With his sleeves padded, Han Fei pushed open the door leading to the back room. He was really professional. He didn't leave fingerprints or shoe prints, and he didn't make any sound when he walked.

A stronger stench wafted from the back room, which contained some costumes.

The first costume was the uniform of the orphanage. It was very worn and had many cuts with knives.

Looking carefully, a shredded paper ball fell out of the shallow pocket of the clothes.

The ball of paper seemed to be torn from the script, and the handwriting on it was distorted and blurred. It was completely different from the text on the ordinary script. It was like another person.

"At 0:01 on Monday, a child who escaped from an orphanage died. The cause of death was suffocation. I remember his face when he was dying, it was black and purple, and he was still struggling until the end. Like a bird with its wings caught. I know he can never fly away from this world again because someone ripped off his wings."

The words on the paper ball were still stained with blood, as if the murderer had written it at the scene of the murder.

"Every time you kill a person, do you want to record it?"

Han Fei looked at the second piece of clothing again. It was a tattered puppet coat. It was not the same as what he was wearing before, and it was slimmer. There was also a note hidden in this piece of clothing.

"One night on Tuesday, a young man got off the night shift and ended the ghost hunting carnival in the park. He wanted to take a good rest from work, but he couldn't take off his skin. The cause of death was suffocation. I guess he It must have been very frightening when I was enveloped in darkness, but I am no longer frightened."

Putting away the note, Han Fei looked at the third piece of clothing. It was a clown coat, painted with various colors, and matched with a hat and mask.

The size of this suit is exactly the same as Han Fei's, as if it was made for him.

Raising his hand to find the note, before Han Fei got close, the clown's mask suddenly fell to the ground.

It was a somewhat scary smiling face mask, and the clown laughed too happily, even a little hysterical.

Finding the note behind the mask, Han Fei looked at the blood-red words on it.

"Sunday nights are going to be lively, I like to walk down the street alone and let everyone see my smile, and then I go to collect their smiles. I've always wanted to do something that heals all pain and despair. People, but it’s a pity that I haven’t even cured my own disease. Shh, don’t look back, just guess, is the face under my mask crying or laughing now?”

The last dress seems to be Han Fei's own. He always feels as if he has worn this dress and has done many things in this dress.

"People who claim to be my parents, their height and body shape don't match this dress, so it seems that they are even more unlikely to be the masters of this room." Han Fei covered his forehead: "Am I really one? A perverted murderer?"

When his mind was extremely confused ~www.wuxiaspot.com~ Han Fei's mind flashed what Fu Tian's mother said, and he remembered the scene when the woman saw him.

"wrong!"

Han Fei's eyes changed again: "At least in that woman's mind, I am a brave and kind person who pursues fairness and justice, and is not afraid of fate. She thinks that I am the best husband and father in the world. The highest compliment I can think of.”

These things in the room were in stark contrast to what the woman had said. Han Fei, who had amnesia, seemed to be torn apart, half sunny and gentle, half perverted and crazy.

"Which one is the real me?"

Unable to remember the past, Han Fei, who had amnesia, needed to define himself anew, whether he was a perverted murderer, the real murderer of a serial murder case, or a good person who was innocently implicated.

"What should I be like as a human being?" (To be continued)