Wine and Gun

"You seem a little too happy about it," Herstal points out, pushing the bacon into his mouth with a fork, proving his point once again: Albariño does cook just fine.

He knew he was looking at him without looking out of the corner of his eye, maybe a little surprised at why he accepted what the other offered so easily - but why, he knew that Sunday gardeners wouldn't use such There is no horizontal way to kill him. The other party may use a knife or both hands, but it can never be poison.

"Why not? I think it's funny," he heard Albarino say happily. "Besides, I thought you wouldn't eat food under the same roof as your enemy."

"What?" Herstal sneered. "Have we dramatized to the level of the Count of Monte Cristo?"

"I thought it was the pianist's job to dramatize, after all he likes to inject such a subtle... sarcasm into his crime scene," Albarino replied.

"Someone still floats bones in a wedding dress in a boat decorated with roses. Are we really going to argue about the drama now?" Herstal retorted.

Albarino did not respond to his sarcasm, but continued to look at him—as you can imagine, it was the look of an artist looking at an unfinished white marble, easily reminding Herstal about empty ribs and dàngdàng. Those conversations with delphinium.

After a while, Albarino said again: "I noticed that when you first got up in the morning, you spoke with a southern accent, and you couldn't hear it when you called that bounty hunter, but now..."

He shrugged his shoulders, never concealing the joking in his voice: "To be honest, it's pretty cute."

—Herstal reconsidered whether to actually stab him.

"Ordinary people don't think so," Herstal said coldly, not too fond of the way the topic was going.

"Virginia?" Albarino guessed.

"Kentucky," Herstal replied simply, looking sharply at the other, then pointing out: "This is not a courtesy, Dr. Bucks."

"What do you want to hear?" Albarino laughed and sat up a little straighter. "I grew up in Westland, and I never urinated, set fire, or killed animals when I was a child. My parents didn't get divorced when I was young, and no one in my family took care of the children."

"That sounds disturbing," Herstal sneered, not sounding disturbed at all.

"Because an ordinary person can also become a demon in the eyes of the public without warning?" Albarino asked, he slowly finished the last few eggs, his movements and voices were very calm, "Or Because of something else? I guess, because you're not the same as me in this, right?"

It's not a question worth asking at all, and Herstal knows it well - the fact that those scars on his hands reveal too much speculation about what his childhood might have been, in a sense he hates it .

Albarino, on the other hand, lacked the tragic early experiences that most serial killers often have, and in fact had a pretty normal childhood if he was telling the truth - and that's the point . There is a reason for Olga Molozer's assertion that the Sunday gardener is technically a psychopath rather than a sociopath. The symptoms of sociopaths are entirely caused by social stress and early life experiences, whereas psychopaths can only be attributed to psychological, biological, and genetic factors.

In simpler terms: no matter what family Albarino Bacchus was born into or what education he received, he was almost certain to be a murderous psychopath, while Herstal was not necessarily.

Hestal knew that he had to realize that he was facing a completely different kind of monster.

"I don't think we're deep enough to talk about this topic," Herstal said briefly, taking the subject off.

"You're right," Albariño didn't stalk him, to his surprise, "but you should also know that one day it will—if none of us succeed in killing in the end. Kill the other party."

Herstal stopped the fork in his hand and looked at each other sharply: "You really see this as a game, don't you?"

"So what? You must have heard a lot of professional opinions from criminal psychologists from Olga." Albarino smiled, and it was true: Olga was very interested in the Sunday gardener of Game Life. Gao, apparently she was sure that the gardener could come up with something more than any of them expected at any time.

Herstal slowly placed the fork on the plate, listening to the soft crunch of the collision. Then he whispered: "Then I can only think that you will indeed continue to try to kill me."

"I will," Albarino replied with a sweet smile. "I will want to murder you, dismember you, and devour you; in the same way, I want to know you and enjoy your body—"

He paused for a moment, his eyes terribly bright.

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