It was a difficult thought to process. He heard what Detective Lance said perfectly clearly, yet he couldn’t understand a word of it or the implications it held. Mioray tried to piece it all together.

  The Dismantler – a serial killer who took his life and dismembered him.

  Impact Corpse – a giant madman who attacked the university, killing plenty, including Mioray’s friends.

  They weren’t two separate people. They were the same person.

  “What?” Mioray still couldn’t wrap his head around the assumption. “But that would be completely out of the Dismantler’s character! Why would he suddenly start killing people in the open like that?”

  “That’s a good question.” Detective Haytham nodded to himself, as if pondering the same thing. “Serial killers don’t normally change their signature. But even that could change depending on circumstances beyond their control. For example,” he squinted, “finding out their last victim is still alive.”

  And by “last victim,” of course, he meant Mioray. There was no other hidden meaning behind it.

  Mioray fidgeted in his chair, unsure where to rest his one good arm. Were they seriously considering this possibility, that the Dismantler and Impact Corpse were the same person? No matter how many times he turned it over in his mind, it just didn’t seem possible.

  Okay. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Let’s try this again.

  It was almost certain that the Dismantler had killed him. But what if the killer later discovered his victim had survived, continuing to live his life as if nothing had happened? What would the killer do then? He couldn’t risk that his failed prey had seen his face or learned his identity. He would search for the one who got away. Unlike the police, who had other cases to investigate, it would consume his every waking thought. He would dedicate all his time to finishing the job.

  Mioray shivered as Impact Corpse’s words echoed in his mind, ecstatic and obsessive.

  “I found you! I found you, I found you, I found you!”

  Impact Corpse was the Dismantler. The Dismantler was Impact Corpse.

  Was the theory really that unthinkable?

  “Crazy idea, right?” Detective Haytham raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

  That was putting it lightly. In no reality would Mioray have imagined the two of them were the same person. And yet, if the detectives’ hunch was correct, the reason behind the university attack became clear, as did Impact Corpse’s motive.

  He wanted to finish what he started. He wanted Mioray dead.

  Which meant one thing.

  It was Mioray’s fault his friends died. Not just his friends, but others too, like the old woman he had tried to help before she was killed by a stray concrete slab blown away by Impact Corpse’s explosive jump.

  None of it would have happened if Mioray had just stayed dead when the Dismantler killed him. No one else would have had to die.

  Except new victims of the Dismantler, because he would have continued his murders, unchecked, until the police caught him.

  But would they?

  If he really was Impact Corpse, the police didn’t stand a chance. Many would die before they could apprehend him, if that was even possible. Impact Corpse couldn’t be killed. Once the police suffered enough losses, the military would step in. Maybe they could stop him.

  Temporarily.

  Nothing would stop Impact Corpse from coming back to life, ready to double down on his killing spree.

  “Mioray, the more you keep from us, the greater danger you’re in,” Detective Lance broke the silence, studying Mioray’s expression. “I’m sorry for the way we treated you at the hospital, but there was very little to work with compared to now. Let’s think this through. You were the Dismantler’s victim. Somehow, you outsmarted him – tricked him, and everyone else, into believing you were dead. Obviously, that wasn’t the case. It cost you your arm, which, in the broader picture, isn’t that bad. The other victims lost their lives. By definition, they lost everything.”

  She paused, waiting for Mioray to respond. He said nothing.

  Then she asked, “Can you explain to us how you pulled it off?”

  He died and was revived. Thanks to the serum. Or elixir. Or whatever.

  “I would if I could.” It was the closest thing to a truthful answer he could give. He couldn’t tell them what really happened, and lying would get him nowhere. Now wasn’t the time, not with the Dismantler breathing down his neck. He was a menace to both the living and the dead.

  Having the detectives as allies wouldn’t be the worst idea. They seemed capable. At least, Natalie Lance did. Chad Haytham… Well, his contributions were questionable. But if Natalie trusted him, maybe he was worth trusting.

  But Mioray wasn’t the one calling the shots. He couldn’t just compromise others who were in the same situation as him. Maybe he had only met them today, but some of them had already accepted him. Besides, what did he expect to happen if he told the detectives the truth? Nothing good. At best, they’d dismiss it as delusional. At worst, they’d suspect him even more. Either way, they’d never believe another word he said.

  “It’s not nothing. At least you’re not denying it.” Natalie rubbed her eyes. She looked tired, or maybe she was getting a migraine. “If we go with this theory, then at some point, the Dismantler figured out you tricked him. He wanted revenge. Two weeks later, he found you and tried to kill you again at the university, stopping at nothing and killing anyone who got in his way.”

  If Detective Lance was simply stating facts and forming a hypothesis, she wasn’t doing it very tactfully. She was only adding to the ever-growing guilt pressing against Mioray’s chest.

  “I’m not blaming you, Mioray. No one in their right mind would,” she added quickly, noticing his distress. “What I want you to understand is that he found you. He knew where to look. And he figured it out sooner than we did.

  “Well, now we know where you live. If he doesn’t yet, how long before he does? And more importantly, when he does, what do you think he’ll do?”

  That wasn’t something Mioray wanted to consider.

  It was a no-brainer. The Dismantler, or Impact Corpse, would do exactly what he did at the university.

  Hopefully, Impact Corpse had known beforehand that Mioray would be at the university. If so, the danger only followed Mioray, meaning his parents weren’t at risk, so long as he kept his distance.

  Of course, that also meant this house was dangerous right now.

  He needed to leave as soon as possible. That much was evident. But he couldn’t rush. Not with the detectives still here.

  “I’m sorry to intrude, but how much longer are you planning to talk?” Mioray’s mom peeked into the living room. “The tea is already getting cold.”

  “It’s alright, Mrs. Meindmy, we don’t want to keep you any longer,” Natalie said with a smile. “I understand that you want to spend more time with your son now that he’s finally back.” She turned to Mioray again. “We can visit another time to continue.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a white card, handing it to Mioray.

  “Here, take this. Detective Haytham’s and my phone numbers are written on it. If you remember any details or ever find yourself in trouble, don’t hesitate to call us. We’re here to help you, Mioray.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Mioray said, taking the card.

  “Try sticking to working hours,” Chad Haytham added. “I’ll be in an extremely bad mood if you wake me up. Sorry for keeping you waiting, Mrs. Meindmy. Can I have my tea now? Oh, I just hope it’s not completely cold! I hate cold tea.”

  “I can reheat it if you’d like, Detective Haytham,” Mioray’s mom offered.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  “No, it’s fine,” the detective waved dismissively. “We don’t want to cause you any more trouble, and we’re on a tight schedule anyway. I’ll drink it as it is. Thank you.”

  Mioray’s mom handed him a cup of tea before turning to chat with Detective Lance. His dad also returned to the living room, and Haytham, still holding his tea, took him aside to discuss the procedures for closing Mioray’s missing person report.

  His mom tried to include Mioray in the conversation with Natalie, but he wasn’t in the mood. He was impatiently waiting for the detectives to leave so he could tell his parents about his decision to stay away from home for some time. Sensing his unease, his mom held his hand the entire time, perhaps unconsciously believing it would keep him from slipping away, maybe even keeping safe the one arm he had left.

  They avoided mentioning the university attack, instead discussing trivial topics, like the continued efforts to transform Reques City into Sphere City. Mioray’s mom seemed down, and Mioray appreciated Natalie making an effort to engage her instead of pressuring her as she had pressured him earlier.

  The detectives finally left about thirty minutes later, just as Mioray started thinking they might stay the night. He ran his fingers along the edges of the card Detective Lance had given him. Did she really expect him to contact them? Under normal circumstances, he probably would have. If he were simply a lucky survivor of a murder attempt, twice at that, what kind of fool would he be to withhold information from the authorities? He should be seeking their protection.

  But these weren’t normal circumstances. There weren’t many people he could trust now. He glanced at his parents, who were clearing up after the guests and setting the table for dinner.

  It was a bit late, but with Mioray’s sudden return home and the detectives’ visit, there hadn’t been time for a proper meal. He sat at the table, watching as his parents prepared baked chicken breast with fries. He let them eat while he only poked at his food with his fork. He had no appetite, nor would he ever have it again. Food had lost all meaning. Even if he forced himself to eat, he would only throw it up moments later.

  Still, he wanted his parents to have a proper dinner. Who knew? Maybe it would be their last together.

  “Mom, Dad, I need to tell you something,” Mioray said once the meal was finished.

  “Mioray, is everything alright?” his mom asked, concerned. “You didn’t even take one bite.”

  “Well… it’s complicated.” He put his fork down. “I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

  No matter how much he had prepared for this moment, he found himself unable to go through with his plan. Maybe the dead should stay dead after all. He hadn’t, and now his "afterlife" was a lie. Every action he took, every word he spoke – it was all wrapped in deception. Would it always be this way?

  A frightening thought. He hoped not. He hoped this was only temporary, just until he got used to his new life, with all its quirks. But right now, another lie was inevitable. The question was: which one? He had a few ideas but couldn’t decide which was more believable.

  One version of his lie was that the hospital where he had been treated had offered him a place in a prosthetic limb program. He would need to go back and stay there until his prosthesis was ready and properly attached. Then, he would require rehabilitation. A simple explanation, but could he follow through with it? His parents would ask which hospital he was staying in, and sooner or later, they’d want to visit. Right now, they were still too overwhelmed to ask questions, but that wouldn’t last.

  Another option was to claim he had decided to live on his own, to find an apartment and a job. But that would only confuse them. They might think he was still in conflict with them – why the sudden decision to leave? And after everything he had been through, losing an arm and barely surviving, it wasn’t exactly the best time to move out. Adjusting to his new condition would be difficult, and they would insist he stay home where they could take care of him.

  They didn’t know he had already been living like this for a month. Well, technically, only two weeks. The other two, he had been unconscious, waiting for his body to regenerate.

  He had also considered telling them that the police had offered him witness protection in exchange for information about the attack on the university. But that excuse was already useless. If that were the case, the detectives would have mentioned it themselves.

  No matter which story he chose, there was a chance his parents wouldn’t let him leave at all. They had nearly lost him. Twice already. The first time, they didn’t have any reason to suspect he was dead. Children ran away from home sometimes, and while Mioray was no child, he had left in anger. That had worried them, but not to the point of fearing the worst.

  But two weeks ago? It was hard to believe he wasn’t dead. They said they believed he was still alive, but he was sure they had been fighting off the fear that he had been murdered in the attack

  Lying was harder than he thought. His parents were watching Mioray, waiting for him to speak. They were growing more confused by the second. Then the doorbell rang.

  This time, it had to be Terry. Definitely. Where had he been all this time? Mioray barely held back a smirk at the thought. The first time when he thought it was Terry, he had been annoyed, but then it turned out to be the detectives. Now, he was relieved. It was funny how quickly circumstances could change one’s expectations.

  “I’ll get it!” Mioray exclaimed, jumping from his seat. He ran to the door and opened it.

  He was right. Terry stood at the threshold, slightly annoyed, holding up his phone to show the time.

  “Hey, funny guy, how long do you plan to keep me waiting? I was starting to think you forgot about me.”

  “Come on in,” Mioray grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. “Follow my lead.”

  He brought Terry into the living room, where his parents exchanged puzzled looks, both unfamiliar with this new guest. Terry smiled awkwardly, just as unsure of Mioray’s plan as they were.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Agent Franz from the II,” Mioray announced. “He approached me earlier at the hospital.”

  “That’s my name, correct,” Terry said, throwing a glance at Mioray. He looked skeptical at first but quickly adapted to the role. Being a racer and always in the spotlight, he was used to acting and improvising. “From the II. International Investigations, that is. You have a lovely home, I must say.”

  “I think I’ve seen you somewhere before, Agent Franz,” Mioray’s dad said, trying to recall where.

  “Ah, I get that a lot,” Terry replied smoothly, holding up the bag with his face on it and flashing the same grin as in the portrait. “People often confuse me with Terry Strands because we look so much alike. Believe it or not, that’s what made me a fan of his. Shame he died so tragically.”

  Mioray held his breath, afraid Terry had just blown his cover. But somehow, his parents bought the story. Was Terry really that convincing, or did he just have a natural talent for persuasion?

  Terry continued to admire their home, stalling for time. To his credit, he spoke so eloquently that Mioray’s parents listened without interrupting, and even Mioray himself was curious to hear what he would say next. He went on about the floor lamp behind the sofa, describing how strategically placed it was, how it blended seamlessly with the curtains yet remained conveniently positioned for use.

  “Agent Franz asked me to give a statement regarding the attack on the university,” Mioray finally added, stepping in when Terry shot him a wide-eyed, panicked look. “But to do that, I’ll have to travel abroad with him, where the II headquarters are located. I’ll be away for a while. Is that alright?”

  It wasn’t.

  Mioray had expected them to bombard him with questions, and they did. Why did he have to travel abroad? Why was the II involved if the police were already investigating the attack on the university? Why did they need his statement specifically? How could they be sure this man was really from the II?

  His parents went on and on until Terry, clearly reaching his limit, finally cut in.

  “Look, Mioray’s parents,” he said, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone. “The truth is, this isn’t the first in a series of terrorist attacks following the same pattern. Naturally, we’re investigating. Let me show you my badge…” He patted his pockets, then checked his bag. “Ah, I must’ve left it downstairs in the car. Anyway, on my way up, I ran into two detectives who were looking for your son. One of them was Detective Natalie Lance, right? I informed them about everything as well.

  “You see, Mioray had direct contact with the criminal, so his testimony is valuable. Unfortunately, the terrorist likely remembers him too, which puts him in danger. That’s why I need to take him to HQ, both for protection and to get an official statement.”

  Silence followed.

  Mioray’s parents were processing everything. Mioray himself was stunned by how quickly Terry had caught on and woven together a convincing story. It had taken Mioray time to piece together his own fabricated explanations, but Terry had improvised one on the spot. It wasn’t flawless. There were loose ends, but in their current state, his parents were willing to overlook them.

  They were uncertain, suspicious even, but not enough to challenge the story outright. Perhaps it was because Mioray had introduced Terry himself. They trusted their son, believing he wouldn’t lie to them. Guilt weighed heavily on his heart.

  But what else could he have done? After some debate, mom and dad finally relented. It was settled: Mioray would leave that night on the condition that he call them every day to check in. It would mean more lies, but he understood why they needed the reassurance. They had already suffered enough.

  Mioray packed his things, ready to go, but when it came time to say goodbye, his mom started crying. He hugged her, and she clung to him tightly, unwilling to let go. He felt uncomfortable, knowing Terry was watching, but he couldn’t ask her to release him. And deep down, he didn’t want her to.

  Finally, his dad placed a gentle hand on her shoulders and pulled her back. He wished Mioray good luck, shook his hand, and reminded him to call every day and not to worry his mother. Mioray promised he wouldn’t disappoint them.

  After all, they were his only parents.

  “That went well,” Terry said as they stepped outside. He took a deep breath of the cool night air. “You really set me up there, funny guy. You owe me one.”

  “Thanks. You were a natural,” Mioray admitted.

  There was something else he wanted to ask. He glanced around, scanning for anything unusual, but the street was empty. No one was watching.

  “Those detectives… Did you really talk to them?”

  “Of course not! I hid when I saw them.”

  “Then how did you know they were detectives? And you mentioned Detective Lance by name. Do you know her?”

  “Something like that,” Terry brushed off the question, looking up at the dark blue sky. A half-moon shone brightly, dancing with the red planet of Mars.

  Mioray wanted to press further, but Terry quickly steered the conversation in another direction. With that, they made their way back to the storage facility, where the others were waiting.

  For the first time since his death, Mioray felt exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. Seeing his parents had been harder than he’d expected, especially with all the lies between them. How long would he have to stay away from them? He didn’t know, not while he had to assume that Impact Corpse was hunting him specifically.

  He still wasn’t sure if the Dismantler was Impact Corpse, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Impact Corpse was undead. Could he even be stopped? If killed, he would just come back, again and again.

  Well, Mioray would figure out a solution eventually. He had time. After all, Impact Corpse couldn’t hurt him.

  Mioray was undead too.

  https://buymeacoffee.com/spirittq and check out the website