White City Murder Expo

I saw a note tucked under the rug by the door.I picked it up and saw that it was a half-torn blank ticket, with "To Mr. Sides" written on the back, hoping that I would take time to go to the police station and make a record.

fair enough.I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash.I'm afraid they will come into the house and see something that shouldn't appear in some corner.Better go now.

We live in a small town on the edge of Chicago. The town is not very big. Although the police station is not very close to my home, it seems a bit luxurious to take a horse-drawn carriage, so I walked there, walking slowly but steadily, like a normal person. lame.Sadly, I'm fine with this unnatural behavior.Or say... no, no or say.As much as I hated Butcher for treating me like that, I would never agree to admit that Hunter was better than Butcher, even in terms of sex.Regardless, Butcher must have been the best as my son.

The police officer on duty received me, and then another officer took me into the room to take notes, and I was startled by the creaking of the wooden chair.I looked at the man in police uniform opposite, and my palms were inevitably sweaty. Fortunately, I don't blush easily, and it seems to be normal on the surface.He asked me questions as usual, and I paid extra attention when he asked me about Petra, and I refrained from raising my eyes or showing any signs of hearing the word when he mentioned the name; he said she It's a black girl—fool, she's mulatto.I showed a little disgusted expression, but he didn't care, the policeman had a southern accent.Finally, he told me: "That's all right." He took off his hat, shook my hand, and sent me out.

When I was going out, a person rushed in, and the police officer next to me called out respectfully: "Inspector." I was not interested, so I walked out silently, and heard the footsteps behind me, and a gaze pierced from behind .

I subconsciously turned my head and saw the man called the inspector staring at me with a frown.I do not know him.I asked, "What's the matter?"

"You," he said, "you're the guy who won't sell me the medicine."

When I heard this, I felt even more strange.Although Chicago is down and out, there are many people.When I used to go to the drugstore frequently, the number of people I would meet in a day was countless, and the difficult guys each had their own characteristics, so that each other was submerged in my memory.I didn't know what he was referring to, so I had to guess roughly: "I can't sell arsenic whose destination is unknown. It can poison rats, but it can also kill people."

The inspector let out a snort—said secretly, I hate negotiating with this kind of stubborn old man the most.Then he looked away and waved his hand impatiently. I didn't intend to stay for a long time. As soon as I turned around, I heard him muttering behind his back: "It's not arsenic."

Yeah?It took me a second to recall and still nothing came to mind.The matter was quickly forgotten by me.

After I got home, I took a shower, and I didn't feel anything at first, but after I finished the hot water, it seemed that I had been soaked softly, and I couldn't get up anymore.I need to get some drinks.

Now that the weather is getting hotter, I put on a nightgown loosely and wandered around the house with a wine bottle, just like when I came to see the house for the first time, walking inch by inch, in a daze, not noticing anything .The bottom of the bottle is thick.It is as wide as a palm, I wonder if it can be stuffed into the mouth?I thought of those unlucky people who ate light bulbs and couldn't spit them out. I laughed to myself for a while, and suddenly I was very lonely.Butcher didn't come home from school so early, and I started thinking about him.If there is a dog in the house, will this loneliness be alleviated a little?I think of the golden retriever lamb.Its tail sweeps my calf, Hunter...

oh stop.

Still, I can't help but draw comparisons between Butcher and Hunter.The pain had faded and I was starting to feel more and more tired and restless.I thought about it for a long time and was convinced that I wanted someone to love me, or not to love, just to be interested, even if it was my body.Tell me I'm not just a drunken good-for-nothing old thing.Tell me my life hasn't been paused yet.I don't remember who said it, aging is no one is curious about you anymore... I was so scared I didn't know what to be afraid of.

I'm in bed—not my bed, Butcher's.I smell Butcher in the comforter, there is a hair on his pillow and I put it in my mouth.I buried my whole body deep in the quilt, which was lighter and softer for Butcher than my own, and it was so comfortable that I fell asleep quickly.

I don't know how long it took, someone helped me up and shook me slightly.I squinted my eyes and saw a figure in front of me, with a very familiar smell on him, I went up to smell it, and he hugged me, his arms were steady and strong.I got into his arms, took a deep breath, and there was a sigh above my head: "Are you sick, Sue?"

I froze for a moment.Butcher.

He probably sensed my stiff resistance, so he hugged me even tighter, and even pressed half of his body on top of me until I screamed.

"You have one last chance," he said.

"what?"

He kisses me.I wasn't quick to react, and now I was frozen like an animal under the light. I didn't push him away until he stuck his tongue in, warning him not to do it again.

"It has to be said," Butcher said, "that no one would allow their own son to hold him like a lover. You know I'm coming of age, Dad? If you have nothing to spare for me Meaning, you shouldn’t invite me to take a bath together. You shouldn’t sleep in the same bed with me at night and wrap your legs around my waist.”

"What...!" I blushed and wanted to defend myself, but he cut me off before I could speak.

"If you want me to be 'normal,'" he said, "at least take care of your own dick. Why fuck my girlfriend, Sue?"

When Petra is mentioned, I am like a balloon that has been punctured and completely deflated.I was silent for a long time, muttering sorry.Although this word is so weak, and can never be used accordingly when necessary.Butcher stopped talking, and I felt like a scolded dog, curling myself up as best I could, wanting to whimper but not daring to make too much noise.

"Forget about Petra, okay?" I asked.He still had a stubborn expression on his face.

Just when I thought I was going to fight him again, suddenly, I burped, and Butcher's stern face loosened into a smile, and I stared at him annoyed.Suddenly, he frowned, reached into the quilt, and took out an empty wine bottle.When I saw this thing, I was stunned for a moment, and I was a little puzzled as to why I brought it to bed, and it was warmed by me.

"Suey, a clear mind won't kill you."

Butcher got under the covers and sat on my straddle and held my stomach as he had done when he was a child; A place a child would never think of.I quickly grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

"I still... hurt." God, just saying that makes me want to die with shame.Fortunately, Butcher felt wronged and accepted this statement.After getting tired of it for a while, he went to the kitchen to cook, and it took me a long time to let go of my tightly clenched fist, and my nails carved four arc-shaped indentations in the palm of my hand.

Butcher, the boy who doesn't know what's wrong, I'm afraid he'll kill Hunter if he finds out.As much as I disliked my neighbors, I was convinced that, no matter what unbearable accidents, a normal life could never be achieved by murder.

If it's still possible to get back to normal.