"There is no beast more hypocritical than man, who justifies his violence through the fiction of morality."
Vincent stood hidden on the street outside Emily's apartment, patiently waiting for the police to arrive and find the body.
It was a busy night. The street was crowded with people—some enjoying the best days of their lives, others simply trying to survive another day.
"Which one must it be for Kyle?" Vincent thought to himself.
He believed Kyle Denvers, Emily's unfaithful husband, was the prime suspect in her murder. When Vincent arrived at the bank earlier, Kyle was absent, only showing up a few minutes later.
"Could he have killed his wife so quickly, in such a short window of time?" Vincent wondered. It must have taken Emily some time to reach her apartment. Could Kyle have been waiting for her there? There were no signs of a struggle—no evidence to suggest it was a random attack.
"This was no amateur's work."
"Who is Kyle Denvers, really? Is he just the rotten, cheating bastard his wife believed him to be?"
Vincent pondered the information Emily had shared, trying to connect the dots, but nothing seemed to fit.
Finally, the police arrived and established a perimeter to secure the scene.
Vincent remained hidden.
Sergeant Lee was on the scene. She despised Vincent. It was illegal for private investigators to work without a license in New York, and she knew Vincent didn't have one. If she even saw him near the crime scene, it would be enough to make his life miserable.
But Vincent had to stay.
He noticed Brian from Forensics was also there. Brian Chase was someone Vincent had known since childhood. They were once good friends—until tragedy struck Vincent's life. He ran away from his past, but through his investigations into the murder of his parents, he had managed to track down many of his childhood friends.
Since then, Brian had helped Vincent whenever he needed the expertise of a forensic specialist. Brian had never turned him down.
Along with the rest of the police, there were others—responding to the cold-blooded murder of a woman in her own apartment.
But there was only one reason Vincent had been waiting all this time.
After a while, a sleek black car came to a screeching halt in the middle of the street. A man frantically got out of the car, leaving the door wide open.
"What happened to my wife? Where is she? I DEMAND TO SEE HER!"
It was Kyle. He looked tearful, overwhelmed, angry, and sad, his emotions spilling over. He went inside and his screams could be heard even across the street.
He ran outside the apartment, shouting his wife's name towards the sky, "EMILY! WHO DID THIS TO YOU?" He cried, his face contorted with grief.
To everyone present on the street, he appeared to be in pain.
"Everyone, except me," Vincent muttered under his breath.
Vincent couldn't buy it. Something about his cries didn't seem real.
Vincent had witnessed the deaths of loved ones firsthand, and that wasn't how people reacted.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe that was just Kyle's way of coping with grief. Or maybe, just maybe, he was a really good actor. Vincent had seen Kyle flirting with a client not long ago, and Emily had suspected him of cheating.
"Did you actually love her? Or are you just that good at playing this role?"
"Well, not good enough," Vincent thought, "Your wife didn't trust you."
Kyle was taken back into the apartment for questioning. Vincent couldn't get any details about the interaction between the police and Kyle, but that wasn't his concern.
What Vincent was waiting for came soon enough.
After what seemed like an eternity, the police began to wrap up their work. From the looks of it, Kyle must have provided a strong alibi, as he was not taken into custody.
This was what Vincent had been waiting for.
After receiving emotional support from the police and neighbors, Kyle was left alone again.
Kyle got into his car and drove off. Vincent followed him, on his bicycle again but this time, he had already planted a tracking device on Kyle's unattended car, so he knew exactly where Kyle was going.
Vincent rode in pursuit and soon found himself at a villa nearby. He saw Kyle's car parked in the driveway.
Vincent approached the villa, searching for a way inside to confront Kyle.
He noticed the garage door was slightly open, worn from years of use.
He managed to sneak inside, grabbing a crowbar from the garage for protection. The entire house was dark, every room bathed in shadows.
Vincent checked upstairs, but found no one.
Suddenly, he heard a door downstairs open, followed by footsteps leading outside.
Vincent peered through the window upstairs. It was Kyle, getting back into his car and driving away.
"What was the point of coming all the way here?" Vincent thought, frustrated. How had he missed Kyle downstairs? Was it the darkness that obscured his view?
Vincent descended the stairs and found everything as he had left it.
But there was one place he hadn't checked: the basement.
He moved toward the basement door, hoping to find something that could shed light on Emily's murder.
When he opened the door, he was greeted by an unspeakable sight. The entire room was covered in plastic sheets, and a woman's headless body hung from a hook, swaying back and forth.
Vincent froze.
He wasn't ready for this.
The sight triggered the trauma he had buried for so long, second time this happened to him today. He dropped the crowbar and collapsed to his knees, consumed by despair.
"Am I losing my sanity?" he thought, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrific scene.
The body hung there, lifeless, its blood draining into a large container below. Vincent could barely process what he was seeing.
"Is God playing a joke on me?" he wondered. "Is this your judgment?"
His mind reeled. Was he losing his grip on reality?
Vincent's eyes fell on a pile of clothes discarded in the corner of the room.
He stood up, shakily moving toward the clothes.
As he inspected them, he realized they belonged to the woman Kyle had been talking to at the bank.
It hit him like a hammer. The headless body was the same woman Kyle had been with earlier. The pieces were starting to fall into place.
"What have I gotten myself into?" Vincent thought, his mind reeling.
Here he was, an unlicensed private investigator, an orphan, a man who had lost everything. He had finally started to see a glimmer of chance at his salvation by finding Emily's murderer.
"Am I even the right person to investigate a monster like this?"
"Who are you, Kyle Denvers?" Vincent screamed, the weight of everything pressing down on him.
"I just wanted some peace," came a voice from behind.
Vincent spun around in shock.
There, standing at the door, was Kyle, holding the crowbar Vincent had dropped in one hand and a GPS tracker in his other.
Kyle was smiling.
"Now," he said, his voice cold, "who the fuck are you?"