Silgan locked the apartment behind him, anxiety high, as his thoughts raced for a solution. Where do I go now? The Governor and the Police are going to be on my trail once they find out about Harold. Silgan had quickly dragged Harold’s body into his cramped freezer after his momentary shock. He’d also grabbed Harold’s house key, which he now used to open Harold’s apartment. The room was huge, and disgusting. Old clothes, pizza boxes, soda cans, and ambiguously stained porno magazines littered the floor. I need to find the phone he was using to communicate with the Governor. If they used a text-based channel, I can throw Haskell off my trail. Silgan only had forty minutes to meet Alex, and an hour and twenty minutes until Nessa would, hopefully, awaken.
Silgan hurried forward, examining his surroundings, scanning for any electronics. Harold’s bed was a luxurious looking king-size, disheveled and blood-stained. I don’t want to know whose blood that is. There was a ladder in the back corner of the room, leading to a small loft. Silgan set his briefcase and duffle down before climbing the ladder. Reaching the top, Silgan saw a small desk with an intense looking desktop PC. Probably has crazy specs. Approaching, Silgan noticed that Harold was still logged in. Hurrying, he sat at the computer and looked for any open communications services. All that was open on the desktop was an amazon shopping cart, filled with differently colored knives and an unsavory looking pornographic film from the nineties, labeled “Rubber Ropes”. The fuck, Harold. Using the dark web to buy porn? Disgusted, Silgan closed the tor browser, navigating to the “advanced search bar” where he unchecked all of file types aside from the common note taking extensions. Then, he typed “Password”. The first result popped up as a notepad file labeled “Passwords and sht”. Harold, you always were a dumbass. Silgan clicked the file and reopened dot onion browser. Choosing the “maximum mirroring” option, Silgan opened his personal email server, before clicking back to the file. There were eight different passwords:
Amused, Silgan drafted an email to himself, and clicked browse for files. He searched “Passwords and sht” and clicked the file before pressing send. Closing the email server, he shut down the computer. Getting to his knees, Silgan crawled behind the desktop under the desk. Shame, it really is a nice computer. Silgan reached into the open system and unplugged the hard-drive before removing it entirely, storing it in his pants pocket for the time being.
Crawling back, Silgan stood, turning to the ladder. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the small, wooden ladder, before climbing down. Next, Silgan walked towards a small night-sill to the right of Harold’s ominously stained bed. A green Digitex alarm read 8:20 AM, but the rest of the sill was empty. Silgan reached down, opening the sill’s drawer. Oh, come on, man, fuck. The drawer was filled with various sex toys, male and female, two of which had dark blood stains. Silgan backed two steps away, kicking the drawer closed. Looking to the bathroom, Silgan thought of places where he’d hide an important phone. Do I really need to see what Harold has in his bathroom? Maybe later. Decidedly, Silgan moved around the foot of the bed, towards Harold’s three-drawer dresser. Opening the first drawer, Silgan moved the clothes around, searching for any solid objects. Nothing. Silgan closed the drawer as he opened the middle drawer. Rummaging, Silgan paused, suddenly grateful for his latex gloves.
There were sticky pictures of a young woman Silgan didn’t recognize. Could this be the girl he mentioned? Turning through the photos, Silgan started to feel sick. The photos, were clearly amateur, clearly taken without permission. The first was a shot of the small, brown haired woman through her kitchen window. The second, pictured the woman, smiling, surrounded by other people in an outdoor hot tub. The point of view of the photo was disconcerting, as there were trees creeping into the side of the frame. He was stalking her. The next three photos were like the first two. The sixth, however, showed the poor woman sedated, retrained in an upright cross-like position. The seventh, from the same scene, pictured her awake, clothes torn, tears streaming. Silgan had to put the pictures down after the eighth, in which the woman, still on the cross, was screaming as a small blow torch was being held to her breast.
Silgan tore the sick, darkroom style, photos to shreds, throwing them into the near full trash, where they belonged. You sick, perverted, bastard. You really did deserve to die. Moving back to the wardrobe, Silgan opened the final drawer. Silgan ruffled the clothes, finding nothing besides a few boxes of cigarettes. Turning, Silgan headed to the bathroom, directly across from the wardrobe. As Silgan approached, he noticed the lights were on. Interesting, all the other lights were off. Why leave the bathroom lights on? Apprehensive, Silgan pushed the door, letting it swing open. Christ. There were towels covering the entire bathroom floor. The showers curtain was drawn, a pale hand protruding from out behind it. Silgan noticed a phone on the bathrooms sink. Moving forward he grabbed it, stashing it in his left suit pocket. Do I even want to know what’s behind that curtain? Creeping forward, Silgan grasped the curtain and pulled it aside.
The blaze returned. How could he do this to a random woman? In the tub, lay what was left of the woman from the photos. Her midsection and legs had mostly dissolved into the corrosive super acid. Probably a mix of hydrofluoric and fluorosulfuric acid. The bubbling gives it away. Her face had a permanent expression of fear and disdain on it, as her upper body sank lower and lower, dissolving. The right-hand Silgan had seen, was detached from the body. The acid had eaten through the bone of her forearm before she had sunk low enough to pull the rest of the hand into the tub. A large, diamond, ring remained on her slight, young hand. Poor girl.
Silgan walked out of the bathroom, opening the burner-phone. It was locked. Quickly, remembering the password list, Silgan pulled out his smartphone and opened his email app. The smartphone quickly downloaded the notepad file. Glancing over the list, only one password could be entered, because the burners animated keyboard had no alphabetical input. Holding his breath, Silgan typed “569142”. Silgan smiled as the phone played a small unlock animation, leading to the home screen. Silgan navigated to the phones history, which contained texts to a lone number.
Interestingly, any reply from the number was either deleted, or nonexistent. Well, that makes things simple, doesn’t it? The most recent sent message read “He’s just left the room” dated today, and sent at four thirty AM. Silgan typed out a quick message, similar in style to the previous messages “It sounds like he’s gone to sleep.”
Next Chapter: https://bluebeard-art.com/chapter-nineteen/