We proceeded along the long lane, winding through several alleys, and after five minutes I drove onto the southbound lane.
Lacey asked what I planned to do with Caitlin, and I told her I was not sure. In the next twenty minutes, we discussed my options, and we all decided that if I called her back and prepared dinner later that night, it would be in my best interest.
I jumped off the edge of Interstate 95 and walked about 5 miles to Portland. Portland, with a population of 84,000, is the most populous city in Maine. It would be an exaggeration to call it a metropolis. It is at best a city-state. For safety's sake, we call it Opris. Olis, this is an Olis. This is a yes.
There was a big market on the right. I walked in and scanned the storefront for a bookstore. I didn't see any bookstores, but I did see a kite shop, and I remembered in my heart that I would go there before Saturday. We drove about half a mile and then arrived at a supermarket.
There is another "Eight" in October, which stays at the third place in the bestseller list. Speaking of three, I can't believe I bought this book for the third time. I originally wanted a waterproof/fireproof copy, but they might have to order it specially.
I grabbed a case of beer and stole the old visa. Back in the car, I handed the bag to Lacey. She rummaged through her schoolbag, found the book, and asked, "What is this?"
"You know exactly what it is."
"I didn't expect you to watch it."
"I finally bought it yesterday. Actually, I bought it twice yesterday."
She shook her head, "Then why are you buying now?"
"My first two books will die untimely." I talked about the copyright issues of each book.
"How far have you walked?"
I knew what kind of fish she was fishing, so I said, "Connor told me."
She frowned. "You should see him. He read the book aloud to me, and when he realized his name would never appear, he lost it. He scared me Thomas. He started smashing things."
"Don't think too much, Ritz. That guy named Thomas really made him miserable. He will overcome it."
Lacey didn't know how to get to the lighthouse. This was the first time he used the Land Rover Range Rover navigation system as an excuse.
I pushed the screen under the CD player and it refreshed immediately. I selected the audio option and the system became voice activated. It asked in the voice of an ordinary woman: "Destination?"
I stammered, "Uh, lighthouse."
"There are 75 lighthouses in Maine, you idiot." Lacey made a lot of sense.
I added "Idiot Car Navigation System" to my book list in my mind, and then reset the system. The woman's voice rang again, "Destination?"
I poked Lacey with my arm and she said, "Portland Head Lighthouse."
For the next ten minutes, the voice of that ordinary woman called out an order every thirty seconds, and I finally understood what it was like to get married. Once safely in the parking lot of the Lighthouse Observatory, the woman shouted: "Park the car in the parking lot."
I parked the car in the parking space and she babbled, "Turn off the fire."
I exhausted all my self-control before smashing the screen with my fist. I secretly reminded them to call the company and ask them to change their voice to that of Bob Costas or Heidi Klum.
Lacey took two sandwiches from the refrigerator and handed me one. After a bite of the meal, I asked: "What is so special about this special lighthouse?"
She rolled her eyes. "I think this is the first lighthouse that still exists. It is very special to me because I have seen it in many paintings, and I have a picture in my head that I can draw."
"You can't do this in our front yard because... ?"
"Because I want to live a normal life. I refuse to paint a lighthouse landscape from our front yard. If I continue to paint these things, I will never forget them."
She patted her head lightly, "I want to keep them here forever."
"Liz, your eyesight will be restored. One morning when you wake up you will find that the light turns on again. You will understand." I laughed at my unintentional pun. "I mean, you will understand, you will understand."
She raised her beer and said, "Cheers."
The lighthouse at Portland Point is an all-white stucco frame that stands on a large bay of red-brown rocks. Lacey asked me two questions before drawing the first stroke: how far is it from the lighthouse and what is the diameter of the sun in inches
I answered about 00 yards and 1 inch and 1/4 inch respectively.
I put two bottles of beer next to Lacey and found the gravel path leading to the lighthouse. As I approached the lighthouse, the sound of waves crashing exponentially increased.
There was a big rock about thirty yards to the left of the lighthouse, and I walked towards it. When I finally reached the rock, I found that it was a bit bigger than I saw at first sight, so I chose his brother to stand on his left. I took a gulp of beer and looked down at my knees—strangely, Baxter was asleep. I guess when you move at the speed of sound and weigh less than a beautiful T-shaped bone, you can sleep wherever you want to sleep.
After more than a dozen horizon waves, I boarded the Eight ship in October and started to study the massacre again. Before my reading lamp was thrown into the Western Mountains, I read nearly eighty pages. In fact, the fourth murder was particularly bloody, and I stopped ahead of schedule without authorization. But I did seize a little opportunity to summon the courage to revisit that scene. I have started to have nightmares in the guest room. I don't need to freeze.
That girl was the fourth victim in two weeks. This call was made an hour ago. Our special team was the first to enter the 14th crime scene.
The rooms are small, about fifteen feet wide. Ginny's body was scattered roughly every ten square feet. The walls of the guest room were painted in robin egg blue. The carpet was painted with Ginny Fath's life fluid red.
Dr. Caitlin Doz, wearing a white Bangor forensic coat, hovered over Ginny's beheaded head. The doctor lazily leaned the black-haired frayed ball to one side. She looked up at Gregory, Gleason, and me, and said softly, "That bastard went out of my eyes again."
The three of us nodded solemnly. To be honest, if he hadn't dug out his eyes, I would be very upset. The eyes are the only constant among a lot of variables. There is no fixed pattern for these killings. Only eyes.
I have seen enough. I walked out of the room, down the stairs, passed a sliding glass door, and noticed a thin light passing through the darkness. I thought we were in the middle of the vast forest. Then why should I look at the lighthouse
I opened the glass door, walked to a long and narrow platform, and then slowly walked down six steps. I kicked off my shoes and sat on the icy sand with a plop. The waves rolled within twelve feet of my outstretched toes, and my shadow had to gargle frequently.
What exactly is going on? I don't understand this perversion, did he kill people out of xìngyù? The horrifying act of dismemberment inspired this yín** murderer. For them, the killing triggered a strange fantasy that had formed in the dark depths of their twisted thoughts. But I don’t know what Triston’s fantasy is. Is it rooted in the eyes? He did not leave us any clues. We don't even have a picture of the child crying loudly. The neighbor named Elby said that Tristen was severely burned in a fire a few years ago. Is this why he gouged his eyes? Because he is disfigured and don't want the victim to see him? Could it be the contemptuous look in childhood that caused the death of these women? And that younger sister. Everything started from her. Why did you kill her? Because she was pregnant with his son? Because she doesn't want to keep the baby? Did he force her from the beginning
I heard footsteps on the deck, and after a few seconds, Dr. Caitlin Doz sat next to me with a plop. I can't help but notice that her usual salient features have softened in the moonlight. In a few hours, Caitlin will try to piece Ginny Fass together, which is a chore that I don't envy. Caitlin grabbed a handful of sand and threw it on my bare feet.
I said, "Well, doctor, what shall we do next?"
She seemed to be miles away from me, and my voice hit her drum after four waves. She shook her head madly, "You are an expert. You tell me what the hell is going on."
I shook my head. "I'm very confused. I have never seen anything like this. Usually this kind of qualitative murder, the killer knows who the killer is. Tristen is a country farm boy from Potato Town. How did he meet him here? Miss Chiwood's, I don't know at all."
"So you don't know how he chose the victim in private?"
I tried to hide my smile. "Yes, I wrote it on a post-it note in a safe."
"Which bank?"
"Miss Manhattan Switzerland"
She smiled triumphantly. "Do you know that your bank also produces hot chocolate?"
"You caught me. Really, I don't know exactly what this bitch wants to do. When he wants us to catch him, we will. Until then, we can only sit and wait and count the number of people. "
She nodded to herself.
With noisy footsteps, Caitlin and I turned around at the same time and saw Gleason and Gregory hovering around us. I looked at the little shadow of Gregory and asked, "Where is the rest of him?"
He didn't say anything, I asked, "Don't tell me that's all?" I noticed his shadow lifted me off.
Caitlin and I stood up, joined two, our four shadows resembled a small mountain beach. Gleason asked: "What shall we do next?" (to be continued) (end of this chapter)