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Chapter Twelve: Justin
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2025-01-09 00:36:41"You know, Justin, you always make assumptions. And I don’t like your assumptions."
"What are you doing at my house?" Justin’s blue eyes stared at Mark with confusion and growing unease. "Listen, it’s past one in the morning, and I don’t want to deal with your nonsense, Mark."
Mark glanced inside the house. "Aren’t you going to invite me in?" He raised an eyebrow, as he always did. Justin could only nod and step back, allowing Mark to enter.
"I’m really not in the mood to deal with a case that brought you here, so make it quick."
Mark walked into the dimly lit house, scanning his surroundings. He smirked. "I’ve always wondered why your wife keeps leaving you in the middle of the night, Justin."
"My wife is none of your business."
Justin’s hand slid under the table between them, feeling for something—his firearm, kept there just in case.
"Alright, I get it. You don’t want me meddling in your personal affairs. Let’s get straight to the point, then. Do you remember the case of the missing drug lord?"
Justin’s eyes widened. "Oh, that case? What about it? It was closed ages ago."
"I brought some files for you." Mark placed a brown envelope on the table. Its contents, without a doubt, were explosive for anyone who read them. Justin’s hand moved away from the gun under the table and instead reached for the papers, his curiosity piqued.
"My God, this… Where did you get all this?"
"I just wanted you to know that the drug lord is still alive. This is our chance to work together to catch him. Forget about Elizah’s case." Mark smiled, his face seemingly glowing with confidence.
"No, no. We can’t just forget Elizah’s case, especially not Ryan Mike. I’m still trying to figure out—"
Before Justin could finish, Mark pulled out a silenced pistol and shot him in the chest. Justin gasped and writhed in pain, but Mark quickly covered his mouth, muffling his screams.
"Stop pretending you’re a hero, blondie." Mark laid Justin’s body on the sofa and slipped the file he brought under a couch cushion. "I’m here to tell you that you’re a bastard who deserves to rot in prison even more than a killer like me."
Justin’s eyes widened in shock and pain as Mark continued. "Your wife once reported you to me for beating her and forcing yourself on her without consent. I hated that. And now, you have the nerve to dig into a case as rotten as you are." Mark chuckled darkly, while Justin could only produce faint, garbled sounds, trying to scream but failing.
Mark sighed, standing up and deciding to end Justin’s suffering. But not before ensuring that Justin endured unimaginable pain.
One final shot to the head, and Justin was no more. Mark exhaled in relief, leaving the house behind. He drove to the police station, sat at his desk, and waited.
"Mark?" A voice called out, just as Mark had anticipated. "Oh my God, Mark. I thought you went home. There’s been a murder—Justin’s house was attacked. I need your help."
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Mark could only chuckle softly at Julie's words, while Julie, seated beside him, squinted her eyes."You're laughing?""Of course, he'd recognize my scent. Don’t you realize the perfume I use is not something other men wear?" Mark chuckled again, his logic making sense to Julie."Ah, you're right. Anyway, I’m too tired to argue over nonsense."Julie rubbed her temples, and Mark offered a faint smile before refocusing on driving. The smile faded shortly after.It didn’t take long—just a few minutes—before they arrived at Mark’s apartment."Get some rest. I’ve got work to finish," Mark said with a smile, leaning in to kiss Julie, who was already drifting into sleep.Something was troubling him—a strange, unsettling thought playing in his mind. While Julie slept, Mark methodically removed all traces of his previous cologne and replaced it with a completely new scent. Once he was done, he left the apartment and headed to the police station to attend to his duties.As soon as Mark arrived,
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MOMENTS AFTER THE TRAGIC INCIDENT THAT BEFELL ELIZAH HARTMAN"I heard there's a young and beautiful girl working at your place," said a man with a mustache and a repulsive gaze. "There are plenty of young and beautiful girls working at my factory. So what if there is? What's your point, huh?" The stout man retorted with a sneer, clearly displeased."No, I didn't mean anything by it. I was just asking. Besides, why doesn't she work here instead? You know, in a place like this, they'd make much more money than working—""Ah, you're such a scoundrel! From now on, don't ever meet me again. The girls working at my factory are good girls; that's why they chose to work there! Now, leave me alone." The stout man stood up and walked away, exiting the bar with its well-preserved classic ambiance."I was just complimenting his workers," the mustached man muttered before moving to sit with a group of middle-aged men. Even after being rebuked by the factory owner, they continued their discussion
