Forensic scientists are often praised for their ability to "give a voice to the victims." If the victim could literally speak, it would be every killer’s worst nightmare.

But…

Karen glanced at his left hand, where a scar lay. He’d already lost count of how many times he had looked at it today.

Leaving aside whether he fully understood this "ability" yet, even if he had and could wield it, should he really be using it to help the police catch killers?

"Police, reports, accidents, non-demonic…" That would be sheer madness.

"Karen."

"Aunt?"

Aunt Mary came back from the basement, holding a box. She handed it to Karen, but her gaze was on the staircase.

"What’s this?"

Karen opened the box to find a wristwatch. The brand was "Monroe." It wasn’t a luxury brand, but it wasn’t cheap either, worth around two thousand rubles—a popular choice among office workers.

"Thank you, Aunt."

Karen thought his aunt had bought it for him, but she shook her head. "I didn’t give it to you. Mrs. Hughes had it sent over, especially for you."

"Mrs. Hughes?"

The boss of the crematorium.

Aunt Mary lowered her voice. "Though I have a good relationship with Mrs. Hughes…"

Karen had noticed that earlier, especially when Mrs. Hughes had teased Uncle Mason about injuring himself while climbing to see another woman. It was her way of warning her friend’s husband.

"But I still have to warn you, Mrs. Hughes can be… a bit too friendly. Don’t get too close to her, understand?"

Aunt Mary, like Uncle Mason, was worried that young Karen might be tempted by Mrs. Hughes if she beckoned him over. To her, it might be a way to pass the time, but for a young man, it could mean losing his innocence.

After all, Karen was fifteen now, at an age where he could be easily influenced.

There aren’t many teenage boys who could resist the temptation of a mature woman.

Aunt Mary cared enough to speak poorly of her own friend for her nephew's sake.

Since Karen had returned home with Deiss, Aunt Mary hadn’t dared bring out the watch in front of Deiss.

"I understand, Aunt."

That Mrs. Hughes must have mistaken him for an easy mark.

"Should I have you return the watch?"

"No need to return it; just keep it. I’ll handle any return gift—it’ll be between us friends. But you should at least give her a call to say thank you and be polite."

"Alright, Aunt."

"Her number is in the phone book."

"Got it."

Karen picked up the phone and flipped through the phone book beside it. The Hughes Crematorium was listed near the front because of their business dealings, so he quickly found the number.

He dialed.

After a while, there was no answer.

Maybe she was busy?

Karen hung up, then redialed.

*Click.*

This time, the call connected quickly.

"Hello, is this Hughes Crematorium?"

There was noise on the other end, but no one answered.

Karen tried again, "Hello?"

"You’re interrupting my art creation…"

Karen's heart suddenly skipped a beat.

Then, there was a brief silence.

Strangely, the other person didn’t hang up either.

“You’re disturbing my art creation…”

This sentence echoed in Karen’s mind, replaying over and over again, including the tone and pitch.

Karen didn’t believe he dialed the wrong number, nor did he think this was someone playing a prank. It was also out of the question that the other person was genuinely an artist doing some traditional form of art in a crematorium.

Sometimes intuition is truly important, as it can help you cut through a lot of irrelevant details and go straight to the heart of the matter.

Although reason told him this was absurd and indeed far-fetched, Karen, after a brief silence, placed his right hand on his throat, as if squeezing it, and spoke:

“Do you need some valuable artistic advice?”

"Huh?"

The other person made a sound of surprise, seemingly not expecting this kind of reply from the person on the other end of the line. Then, he laughed.

Karen heard the laughter on the phone — a male laugh, slightly eerie and sharp. Karen continued:

"Or perhaps you’re not really confident in your art."

“You’re amusing. It’s a pity that if you’d called a bit earlier, I’d have been willing to hear your advice. But, unfortunately, it’s too late this time.”

“Why?”

When asking this question, Karen closed his eyes, knowing he’d already deduced the answer without asking.

And on the other end of the line, the answer came exactly as he expected:

“Because I’ve already completed this piece; there are only a few finishing touches left, which troubles me a bit. Can you understand that feeling?”

Karen replied, “When I was young and learning to paint, my teacher would point out that certain corners of my picture were too empty and needed something added, even if the addition had no real relation to the whole. It was merely to fill the gap. Ironically, that was often the most troublesome part.”

“Yes, yes, exactly that feeling. I feel exactly the same now.”

“That’s actually a sign of inadequate skill,” Karen said. “That’s why I never became an artist when I grew up. Someone who can’t even get the composition right at the beginning and has to make up for it at the end — what kind of artist is that?”

After Karen finished these words, the breathing on the other end became rapid.

As a psychologist, Karen knew how to soothe people’s emotions and avoid provoking his patients. Conversely, he also knew how to find the sore spots.

He continued:

“You think you’re an artist? No, you’re not. You’re just an arrogant and narcissistic fool. Don’t disgrace the word ‘art.’”

The sound of teeth grinding came through the phone — evidently, Karen’s words had struck a nerve.

But holding the receiver, Karen also felt a bit helpless. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even call the police because, to do that, he’d have to hang up first and dial again. He couldn’t go down to the basement to find Aunt Mary, nor could he go upstairs to look for his grandfather, since the phone line wasn’t long enough.

If he shouted, the person on the other end would definitely hear it.

The voice on the other end spoke, “I’m disappointed in you. When we first started this call, I even thought, for a moment, that you might be a person of similar aesthetic tastes, perhaps even someone sent by God. Unfortunately, you’re not.”

"Maybe because you’re too young. Your understanding of art is too shallow, because art doesn’t have levels.”

Karen replied calmly:

“But art does have standards.”

“Bam!”

The other end slammed the phone down hard.

Karen also put down the receiver, frowning in confusion as he muttered:

“How did he…”

Karen released his fingers from his throat, as his neck was sore from squeezing it. He had to gently massage it, coughing lightly a few times, and muttered:

“How did he know I was young?”

The last sentence, uttered in a hoarse, low voice, returned to Karen’s usual tone.

…

“Knock… knock…”

“Come in.”

The study door opened, and Dees, seated behind his desk, looked up to see Karen standing in the doorway.

“Grandfather.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It seems something’s happened at the Hughes Crematorium.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I just called there, and the person who answered… seemed to be the killer, the one from the Crown Ballroom.”

Grandfather put down his pen and asked, “Did you call the police?”

Karen shook his head.

“Then call the police,” Grandfather suggested.

Karen hadn’t planned on calling the police because the person on the other end had already said his “work” was finished. In other words, if there was a victim, they were already dead. Calling the police just to collect a body didn’t feel very meaningful, unless the killer conveniently tripped and broke his leg on the way out, and a police car happened to drive by at that moment.

“Are you worried it might be a prank?” Grandfather asked. “Don’t worry. Even if it’s a false alarm, you’ll only get fined.”

Karen shook his head again.

“Then, what do you want to do?”

“I want to go to Hughes Crematorium now and take a look.”

To take a look… at his new “artwork.”

Dees picked up his teacup, took a sip, and nodded slightly:

“You may go. I permit it.”

Karen remained standing at the door, unmoving.

“Hm?” Dees put down his teacup. “What is it?”

Karen licked his lips and said bluntly:

“I’m afraid to go alone.”

Dees suddenly laughed. “When you were little and didn’t dare go to the washroom at night, you said the same thing to me.”

Suddenly,

Diss fell silent,

and a hint of frustration appeared on his face.

...

“What’s wrong, my little Karen?”

“Grandpa, it’s dark, the bathroom, I need to pee, and I’m scared to go alone.”

“Then I’ll wait for you here in the hallway. Can you go in by yourself?”

“Grandpa, go with me! Go with me!”

...

The taxi drove from Mink Street all the way to Shus Funeral Home located in the suburbs, which was quite far; the trip took more than twice as long as it did for Karen to take a taxi home from the Crown Dance Hall.

Upon arriving at the Shus Funeral Home,

the taxi driver turned around and smiled at Diss in the back seat:

“Hello, that’ll be 45 rubles.”

Diss handed over a 50-ruble note, and the driver gave him 5 rubles in change, which Diss accepted.

After that,

the grandfather and grandson got out of the car.

Watching the taxi leave, Karen silently cursed in his heart:

“D*mn.”

The funeral home’s door was tightly shut, and a rundown motorcycle was parked at the entrance. A bedroll was tied on the motorcycle seat, and a man and a woman stood beside it, looking quite anxious.

The bedroll likely contained the body to be cremated.

However, the sign on the funeral home’s door read “Closed for Business;”

“Excuse me, are you from the funeral home?” the woman asked, stepping forward.

Karen shook his head and replied, “No.”

Upon hearing this, the man angrily kicked a stone in front of him, shouting:

“We made an appointment yesterday! Why is it closed today? This is outrageous, absolutely outrageous!”

“Shall we try another place?” the woman suggested.

“There’s no time! It’s almost dark now, and if we rush to another funeral home, it will surely be closed as well.”

“Is the funeral home really not open today?” Karen asked.

“We’ve been waiting since one o’clock!” the man fumed.

Karen noticed the bedroll on the motorcycle, with a corner revealing some white hair, likely belonging to an elderly family member who had passed away.

Those who could arrange funerals at the Inmores Funeral Home were not ordinary people; they were mostly from the middle class. Even Mr. Mo Sang’s children, who had been criticized by Aunt Mary many times for their frugality, still spent thousands of rubles after cutting many services.

A few thousand rubles is not a small amount for families at the bottom of the social ladder.

Moreover, the beneficiaries of welfare cards are required to be without family or friends. Even if your family is too poor to afford funeral expenses, as long as you have relatives, you cannot enjoy the “welfare card” benefits like Jeff, because you are not pitiful enough.

Therefore, when truly destitute people in Luojia City pass away, their families would directly send them to the funeral home for cremation.

Uncle Mason had once said that clients deemed “poor” by the Inmores Funeral Home were already considered premium customers in the eyes of the funeral home.

At this moment, an old “Carmen” red sedan drove up and stopped at the door.

When the car door opened,

Karen was somewhat surprised to see that it was Mrs. Shus, dressed in a blue long dress with a brown down jacket over it.

The “living” Mrs. Shus smiled when she saw Karen, but her demeanor turned formal upon noticing Diss standing beside him.

“Oh, why is the door closed?”

Mrs. Shus stepped forward, puzzled, and took a spare key from her bag to unlock the door.

“Why are you just now arriving!” the man couldn’t help but confront her.

Mrs. Shus glanced at him, then at the motorcycle, and replied:

“I don’t know. Although I had only two appointments today, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, well, the afternoon one should be yours, so I gave myself and another employee the day off, leaving only an old employee to stand by.

If it weren’t for the boss of the cement factory driving by and seeing guests waiting outside to call me, I wouldn’t have come over.

Ah, it’s strange; did Old Darcy take the day off today?”

“I don’t know what your funeral home’s reasons are, but I’ve been here with my mother waiting for…”

“You can complain to the government or go to the police station. I’ve explained it to you once. The power to complain is yours, but please keep your distance. This is a place for cremating bodies. Do you believe I could toss you into the furnace and burn you too?”

Faced with Mrs. Shus’s sudden assertiveness, the man was startled into silence.

A woman running a funeral home alone for so many years must have a tough side; otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to keep it going all this time.

“By the way, Mr. Diss, you today…”

“My grandson wants to come see you,” Diss answered.

Mrs. Shus blinked; she wanted to make a suggestive remark to tease the handsome young man from the Inmores family but couldn’t. Diss’s aura was too strong, and it’s no wonder Mary always revealed her admiration for her father-in-law at her girlfriend gatherings.

As the door opened, Mrs. Shus walked inside, and the man picked up the wrapped body while his wife helped him adjust it as they followed Mrs. Shus inside.

“Do we need to go in?” Diss asked.

“Yes,” Karen replied. “If the art piece isn’t Mrs. Shus, then it should be someone else.”

Karen insisted on his judgment, and the previously locked funeral home door itself was an unusual testament.

The three parties moved forward,

with Mrs. Shus calling out for “Old Darcy” as she walked in,

the couple carrying the deceased following behind,

and finally, Karen and Diss bringing up the rear.

Eventually,

they all arrived in front of the glass wall of the cremation room.

The door to the cremation room was open, and it was empty inside.

“Please cremate my mother first,” the man said.

“I need to find my worker!” Mrs. Shus scolded. She was furious because she discovered the furnace was still hot, which meant a significant waste. “Old Darcy! Old Darcy!”

Karen noticed the countertop in front, specifically the urns on top of it.

The last time he had come, the urns had been neatly arranged with price tags displayed, but now, the urns were stacked together like building blocks. It was not a triangular arrangement but rather long rectangles standing upright.

Moreover, these urns were all placed sideways, with the lids facing out rather than up.

Karen stepped forward,

his gaze landing on the leftmost urn at the bottom edge, reaching out to grab the lid, and opened it.

“Ah ah ah!!!!”

The woman screamed.

“Ah!”

The man dropped the bedroll, and his mother rolled out from it.

“Oh my God!” Mrs. Shus covered her mouth.

Diss quietly moved a little closer.

Inside the urn that Karen had just opened lay... a foot, a bloody foot.

And between the toes was a price tag marked at 1500 rubles.

Karen opened the urn above it, and what was revealed was a knee.

It felt like opening a blind box,

but it was less mysterious than a blind box.