Wine and Gun

In the middle of the pool of blood, there was something lying.

Olga and Bates walked over silently, and the police who searched for nothing came back, looking at the scene with frightened eyes. They had seen many bloodier crime scenes, but it was clear that the victimization of their colleagues made them even more frightened.

Olga stared at the round thing soaked in blood.

"An apple."

she says.

It was a long, silent second.

Tommy held his breath, shaking all over.

(In the future he will really understand, that is the Westland pianist, bringing ridicule and fear, blood and bào wind-like death)

He saw Albarino Bacchus, naked, in the middle of the morgue—a mobile autopsy cart was placed in the middle of the morgue, which they sometimes used when transporting bodies from here to the morgue. That, or sometimes the cops go straight to the morgue to examine the body.

But now, Albarino was "placed" (a word that made Tommy sick) on that mobile dissection cart, his torso and limbs bound by countless gleaming strings, and he was half-sitting and hanging In mid-air, the other ends of those piano strings were fixed somewhere on the ceiling, flickering like spider silk under the light.

Albarino's skin looked scarred, surrounded by countless red and swollen slender knife scars, like a scorching net covering his skin. His head was bowed, and his brown curls were scattered across his forehead, almost black with blood. He was apparently unconscious, completely bound by these strings, in the pose a perpetrator would wish:

He was lying on his side facing the door of the mortuary, his left leg, farther from the observers, was bent, his left hand was resting on the knee of his left leg, and the strings attached to his elbows and wrists forced his The arm is always pointing feebly to the side somewhere.

Then Tommy was horrified to see something else...thing. He saw a series of wounds between Albarino's waist and abdomen, they seemed to be deeper than the other cuts on his body, the flesh was rolled, and the bloody letters formed a series of bloody letters, which were smeared on his skin. In the blood, the elongated tails of several of the letters stretched long, metaphorically, along his merman line, toward his lower abdomen.

B-I-T-C-H.

"Oh my god." Tommy murmured, feeling the illusion of gān gān in his throat, he stumbled back a step, and accidentally bumped into a man.

It was a man with wheat-colored skin that he had never seen before, with a deep wrinkle between his brows. The man grabbed his shoulder and pushed him away gently. At the same time, Officer Hardy also turned his head to look at the man, and said in a hurried, rather disapproving tone, "Agent McCard—"

"Michelangelo." The man known as Agent McCard frowned and said coldly, staring at the scarred Albarino Bacchus in the distance.

"That's Michelangelo Buonarroti's Creation of Adam."

Note:

[1] "Creation of Adam" is one of the ceiling frescoes "Genesis" created by Michelangelo for the Vatican Sistine Chapel.

Chapter 33 Snake 01

Albarino blinked.

The smell of disinfectant mixed with bleach lingered on his nose. The morning light had entered the room from outside the curtains, and the weather had cleared up after the rain, and it looked warm and hazy. And the featureless ceiling in front of him is enough to tell Albarino that he is now lying in the hospital.

He tried to move his fingers—or rather, tried to pupate on the stark white ward sheet—and failed completely, hissing from the pain of the wound on his body.

"Really," then he heard Olga Molozze's voice ringing somewhere next to him, "I used to think that the only victim we had to deal with after this rain was Herstal."

Albarino struggled to look to the side and saw such a warm morning scene: an infusion stand was standing beside the room, and the needle of the infusion bottle was of course stuck on the back of his hand, which was probably filled with Something like normal saline that is used for fluids to regulate blood pressure after losing too much blood; Olga sitting in a chair under an IV pole with amazing dark circles under her eyes, holding one (at least three layers) ) Burger King Whopper earnestly nibbling on.

——Does anyone eat so greasy in the morning?

Albarino said creatively: "...Huh?"

"The simple explanation is: you were attacked last night, and then you were hung in the morgue of the Forensic Medicine Bureau in a very classical shape; now Bates are turning your house upside down, and Bart is eighty Asking all of your neighbors who may have witnessed what happened - although I guess no one knows what happened." Olga said, licking the sauce from her lips, "Who made your house come with a 3.7-acre piece of land? What? Your neighbor's house is almost a kilometer away from you."

Then she paused angrily and took another bite of the burger.

"I'm just a little curious," Albarino asked kindly, feeling his voice still hoarse. "Does the average person speak to victims like that?"

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