A few days later.
I was lying on the bed in a daze, staring at the ceiling of the small rental house with my eyes open and unblinking. Everything that happened that day was like a dream in retrospect.
At the last moment, the fbi finally arrived. I was treated like a victim by them, the same as Jessica and the others. A thick blanket was draped over my shoulders. A female police officer helped me out of the scene and put me in the back of the ambulance.
Until I was in the ambulance, after a long twenty minutes. I just found out that the one who helped me out and sat next to me for 20 minutes comforted me was not a female police officer, but Al Greenover. In the bau that I did research and chat in advance because of precaution, a well-known sex crime expert.
So, bau found me.
I don't know what kind of mood I used to think of this.
Under their questioning, I calmly and without pause described the process of being kidnapped by David. I even remember the mention at the end, Jessica's abuse of Tommy.
In fact, they didn't question me right away, and they even persuaded me that if I didn't want to recall it now, I could go home and rest for a day.
But I refused, and I stubbornly explained the ins and outs of the matter overnight. I feel like only when I say it completely can I completely let go and get a good night's sleep.
The drowsy feeling, the feeling of being so nervous and dark in front of my eyes, was finally expressed by me. After so many years, finally someone can let me speak well.
Since the rebirth five years ago, the shadow of being killed, Brian's memory, everything has suffocated me. I've only now found out that I've been mentally suffocating for so long.
Then, I drove smoothly through the downtown area at night in a police car. Derek Morgan sent me home.
Thinking about it now, how embarrassed it was to be seen by a group of people at the crime scene. Dressed in a nondescript OL outfit, covered in gray, he stood up from the ground. He even cried with snot and tears.
I rolled over and sank my face into the pillow, my head in a mess. The neatly folded clothes on the bedside table were lent to me by Ba Spencer Red, the elementary school in the bau group, his own clothes. Because the clothes I took off at the crime scene and the OL clothes on my body were to be kept at the police station as evidence.
I never saw David again. Although I know a few words from a passing policeman, he asked to see me more than once. But the police are obliged to isolate the victim from the prisoner, which is to prevent the victim from being harmed a second time.
It was already certain that he would stay in prison until his death.
Because in addition to the case three years ago, the location where he dumped his body in Miami was also found. A total of 86 women were killed. There are females, female college students, and even underage girls.
Finally, after David's matter came to an end. The day has come for Stanford's opening report.
I went out early in the morning. I had already experienced a university start, but for the first time I set foot on one of the most outstanding universities in the world, and I was stunned.
This was the first time that Brian's mind didn't come out to make trouble, maybe that's what he wanted, too? Standing out from more than 30,000 admissions applications may also just satisfy Brian's unwilling arrogance.
Walking through the Qianmen Avenue of Stanford University, the palm trees are like soldiers standing guard, watching the new and old students come and go every year. Standing in front of the iconic red-tiled adobe-style arch, I clenched the hand tugging at one of the backpack straps.
I was wearing the same outfit I was wearing when I first walked out of the mental hospital two years ago, and my two-year-old martin boots were old but durable, and I walked back to Stanford in them.
Although Stanford waived my tuition based on my financial problems and also received a Pell Grant, apartment rent and living expenses were still an issue. Because I didn't plan on doing extra odd jobs during college.
In order to save the wages and accumulate these expenses, in the past two years, I have never bought anything other than the necessary clothes for each season. All the clothes on the whole body can be packed with only a small travel backpack, and there are only two or three pairs of shoes.
But I don't care, because as long as you have enough self-confidence and ability, no one here will look down on you because you are poor.
On the first day of school, there is an activity where old students bring new students to familiarize themselves with the campus. There are also various clubs setting up stalls to recruit people. If you are lucky at the stalls, you can get free small things, such as mugs, t-shirts, notebooks and other objects.
I casually followed a team led by a senior to visit the campus, and was stopped by several girls several times to take photos. They followed me all the way, playfully pointing at me from behind, which made the boys around me always look at me with strange eyes, thinking about what I was doing.
In fact, the feeling of being watched is not bad, at least it shows the influence of America's Next Top Model, even if it has not yet aired, it can bring a certain popularity to the contestants. These girls recognized me just from the hard photos on the official website.
After I told them about my Twitter and YouTube accounts, and didn't hesitate to follow them on Twitter, I left with satisfaction. The ability to attract fans has never been my weakness, but in the early stage of development, there were a few diehard fans who helped you Amway, and forwarded them on their Facebook Twitter and Tangbure accounts, which was a very favorable situation for newcomers.
There were no classes on the first day of school. I received my student ID card and school internet account, and left the school with a bag full of free things.
But my destination was not that small apartment, I transferred to downtown San Francisco.
After the David incident, although my mind was full of confused thoughts, I still clearly realized the importance of a fake ID.
Whether it's because bau can find my unease in such a short time. Or the stimulus of David's easily invisible pseudonym. Through my previous landlord, I contacted an expert who used to be well-known in the industry within a week, an expert in making false certificates. The now-retired specialist runs a watch shop in San Francisco.
Although I don't know why the original landlord has such connections. But on the day of David's arrest, the landlord called to comfort Shi Lu, which made me decide to seize this opportunity without hesitation.
I always thought that the old lady who could be called Mrs. Nan by the little gangsters on the street might have a complicated background. But being able to get in touch with such strange people still surprised me.
The landlady, who I have been with for two years, knows me very well and understands that I can easily find out my unease towards the police and the fbi. I felt guilty before I became a thief, worried that I would be kicked out by Sheriff Harry if I approached Dexter with my real identity.
When I was helpless for various reasons, Mrs. Nan watched. She didn't ask anything, just like the kind of caring she deliberately didn't mention two years ago when I didn't have the money to pay the rent because of my living embarrassment. She always silently gave me what I wanted when I needed something.
This is a vintage watch shop on a quiet side street in San Francisco.
Pushing open the wooden door inlaid with glass, the wind chimes beside the door tinkled, and there was a faint smell of blood in the classical watch shop that should have been filled with the smell of wood and sandalwood.
I frowned and walked in, walking lightly without making a sound. If it is normal at this time, the owner of the watch shop should have heard the wind bell and came out to entertain the guests.
I continued to walk inside, opened the small door beside the counter and walked into the counter, where I saw the corpse of the owner of the watch shop. And it appears to have been shot, with a hole in the head, and the blood has dried up, but it can still be seen as a close-range shot.
I don't know what dangerous mission this boss took on, but he capsized in the gutter after he was old. I looked around the cramped workshop, took out a pack of tissues from my backpack, and folded two in my hand, and started rummaging through the fake ID I asked him to make.
It seems that the owner had already prepared things in advance because he had agreed to pick up the goods today. In a small stack of envelopes on the workbench, I found a fake certificate with my photo on it.
The name on the fake passport was Carl Black. Apart from the photo, even the date of birth was different from Brian's, but there was no difference at all with the real passport, and the identification machine when passing through customs could not detect the difference. The fake IDs produced by this store even have backups in the police database, and only need to be changed to the photo of the user of the fake ID.
I put away my documents and prepared to leave. It's better to leave this kind of thing to the next well-meaning person. I don't want to have troublesome contact with the police.
However, things didn't go as expected. I just got out of the small door behind the counter and was about to leave the store when the door of the watch shop was pushed open again. I turned my face to one side and glanced at it without taking a closer look. It seemed to be a man with a gentleman's hat and a haute couture suit, and a short, chubby, mechanic-looking man with eyes.
I hurried past them, and just as I pushed open the wooden door of the watch shop and was about to leave, the man in the gentleman's hat suddenly shouted, "Grab him, Peter!"
Before I could react, I heard a faint sound of safety on the pistol, and then a deep man's voice came from behind me, "Don't move! fbi, put your hands up!"
fxckmylife.