My magician boyfriend is dead. During his human dissection performance, he was dismembered into countless pieces before everyone's eyes. While preparing his body for burial, I found a note in his stomach. It read: "Darling, the greatest magic trick of the 21st century has begun. Stay tuned." "The day the gods fall will be the day of my rebirth."
I am a mortician. Tonight, I have to stitch together the body of my boyfriend, Marcus Kane. He died during his first public magic show - during the human dissection act, he was sawn into countless pieces. When his assistant opened the box, dismembered limbs mixed with blood came pouring out. The theater audience, the global audience, all witnessed this scene. I rushed to the scene and collapsed to my knees, crying. I've handled numerous tragic cases, but none compare to the shocking scene before me.
What puzzles me most is that while the body parts in the magic box were numerous and mangled, with internal organs completely distorted, Marcus's handsome face remained intact. His lips were curved upward in an eerie smile. Having been together for years, I know his habits - he only shows that expression when he's thoroughly enjoying the stage. But who would smile, who could smile, while being murdered?
Marcus's murder shocked the world. The unknown magician suddenly became a household name. People saw his brilliant street magic and were captivated by his witty performance style. They called him a magic prodigy and mourned his tragic end.
"Could someone have sabotaged his equipment out of jealousy?" I couldn't understand. My boyfriend was immersed in magic but wasn't social by nature - who could he have offended? Detective Foster in charge of the case told me the killer remained a mystery.
"There was a problem with the magic box mechanism." "But the backstage surveillance shows that only Marcus approached the box, and only his fingerprints were found inside." "He... might have dismembered himself."
I felt offended and slammed the table as I stood up. "Too absurd," I said seriously. "I know Marcus. He was an ambitious man, definitely not suicidal. Impossible!"
To solve the case, I threw myself into work without hesitation, beginning to stitch with superhuman determination. When I reached the stomach, a note fell out. It was an invitation sprinkled with gold dust, neatly addressed with my name at the top.
"Dear Sarah." That was unmistakably Marcus's handwriting! I opened my eyes wide in shock. Inside was just one sentence: "The greatest magic trick of the 21st century has begun, darling. Let's witness the miracle together."
My hands trembled uncontrollably. The note fell to the ground, and I instinctively went to pick it up. The moment I touched it, the note burst into flames without any fire source, burning into the shape of a rose.
Roses were my favorite flowers. Whenever Marcus upset me, he would snap his fingers and produce roses to cheer me up. I once joked, "If this continues, the meaning of roses will change to 'sorry.'"
Still shaken, I suddenly looked at the work table. Under the stark fluorescent light, his head was facing me, that smile frozen on his lips.
Human dismemberment was an overplayed trick in the magic circle, and most audience members knew the mechanics behind it - there was no challenge to it. For Marcus, it would have been child's play. Could it be as Detective Foster said, that he committed suicide to gain fame? Was fame really that important, more important than his own life?
Suddenly, I remembered arguing with Marcus before he disappeared. His career wasn't going well, his performance opportunities were being stolen. He was in a terrible mood, easily irritable, and with me being busy at work, not spending enough time with him, we had an intense fight.
He angrily said: "Sarah Wilson, will I only get your attention and companionship if I become a corpse?"
At the time, I was angry too and shot back: "Fine, go ahead! You're a magician, aren't you? Let's see you do it!"
Marcus seemed struck by those words, muttering to himself alone on the sofa. After a while, he looked up, his eyes gleaming strangely.
"I will, Sarah. I will make the whole world witness my talent."
"Your attention will stay on me forever."
Now, he really had become pieces of flesh. Became my most challenging task in my career.
I immediately informed Detective Foster. But the note had burned itself, leaving no evidence, and the police didn't believe me. They suspected I was overwhelmed with grief and experiencing hallucinations. I was forced to go home and rest. Once inside, I collapsed onto the floor. Two pairs of slippers sat on the carpet - everything in this house came in pairs, except for people. I felt an incomparable loneliness.
My parents died in a car accident years ago, and Marcus had helped with everything, presiding over the funeral as my future son-in-law. "Sarah, I'm here. I'll always take care of you," he had promised me.
I hugged my knees and cried. Suddenly, there was light. The house lights turned on one by one. My heart nearly jumped out of my throat. As I slowly stood up, I noticed a bowl of noodles on the dining table. Steaming hot noodles, couldn't have been out more than five minutes. My heart raced wildly. Next to it was a note that read: "Sarah, you must be tired from working overtime. I must have been difficult to handle, right?" "But you spent the whole day with me, I'm so happy."
A strange meat aroma permeated the air, seemingly mixed with the distinct smell of formaldehyde and flesh from the autopsy room. Cold sweat broke out on my back. My heart was beating so fast I could barely breathe. I slowly turned around, but behind me was empty. I opened door after door, softly asking: "Marcus, is that you? Are you alive?"
No one answered. But after that, every night when I returned home, a bowl of noodles would appear on the table. Marcus wasn't good at cooking, he only knew how to make noodles. Half-cooked, barely edible noodles.
I secretly installed surveillance cameras in the bookshelf, but the next day, the equipment appeared on the dining table. The note read: "Sarah, I hate having a third eye in our home."
I kept feeling that Marcus was still alive. Women are generally sensitive to men's gazes, and I was no exception. I didn't know how he did it, but he must have been somewhere, watching me. After all, magicians need to observe their audience. They hide their secrets in blind spots, manipulate hearts, and deceive the world. Every top magician is often also a top deceiver.
During the day, I put on protective gear and continued reconstructing Marcus using surgical sutures to close the cut wounds. I used tweezers to carefully examine his scattered index finger. I held my breath. There was a mole between the fingers - it was definitely Marcus's body. His skin had long lost its elasticity, but from what remained, you could tell he once had long, elegant fingers.
"I used to say his hands were more suited to being a surgeon than a magician," other colleagues stood by, unable to bear watching and offered to help, but I refused. "I know him best, what if I can find other clues?"
Yes, this body had been intimate with me, who could know it better than me? What if, what if this really was a magic trick? What if I really found his flaw?
At night, exhausted, I fell asleep. In my drowsy state, I heard the rustling sound of someone getting into bed, then the feather pillow on the other side moved slightly. It must be Marcus - performances were usually at night, he often came home late. I unconsciously turned over, resting my head on an arm. I contentedly nuzzled against it. The arm was warm and muscular - Marcus liked to hold me like this while sleeping, refusing to let go even when his arm went numb.
But something wasn't right. Where was it wrong?
Goosebumps rose one by one in the silence, fear crept up like cold seawater, inch by inch covering my breath. The person beside me sat up, but there was no sound of clothes rustling, proving they were completely naked. The faint smell of formaldehyde enveloped me. Yes, I just realized. Marcus was already dead, his body was on my work table. His arms had been reduced to fragments. So whose arm was I resting on now?
"He" stroked my neck, the rough thread ends on his palm scraping against my delicate skin. I used continuous lock-edge suturing technique for the stitching. Crossing his palm was the trace of needle and thread sutures.
I lay frozen in bed, unable to move, but I could feel "him" staring at me. His cold lips pressed against my ear, saying: "Sarah, be my audience forever." "Just like I'm being your audience."
I struggled helplessly in the darkness, and when I opened my eyes again, it was daylight. Someone was ringing the doorbell. I put on a coat and opened the door, feeling a bit dazed.
"Director, Detective Foster, what brings you here?" It was only eight o'clock, but they had already arrived at my door with several police officers. The arrival of seven or eight people made the usually spacious living room feel cramped. Compared to the Director's unease, Detective Foster seemed much more composed.
He opened each door, scanning around before looking at me. "Ms. Wilson, regarding Marcus's preparation, you've completed it, right?" Their vigilance made me increasingly uneasy. I said yes: "It's been archived, hasn't the Director confirmed this?"
Detective Foster asked in a deep voice: "Marcus Kane's file lists his height as 5'11", correct?" I said that was right. "But looking at the final body, he wasn't that tall."
He was the head detective, didn't he know even the most basic principles? Though puzzled, I explained in layman's terms: "In dismemberment cases, it's like putting together a puzzle. Many muscle tissues are missing, so of course there will be differences from the living height. Just like how our height varies between morning and night, there are subtle differences. Hasn't the Director told you this?"
The Director's expression was complex, showing both sympathy and fear. "Sarah, the height difference is because someone stole Marcus's remains from the morgue."
My heart pounded wildly, a dry sensation rising in my throat. "Who?"
The room fell eerily silent, Detective Foster's sharp gaze fixed on me. "The surveillance footage shows it was you."
Me? He said I had stolen the body I was supposed to guard? Was the arm I was resting on last night actually brought home in my bag?
"You took apart the body parts and reassembled them at home, creating the illusion that your boyfriend was still around."
Everyone's attention focused on the refrigerator. After the incident, I had been eating at the cafeteria, hadn't cooked, naturally hadn't bought anything for the fridge. But the smell of rotting meat kept seeping out from inside.
I suddenly stood up, but Detective Foster had already stepped forward and opened the refrigerator door. The nauseating smell of decay rushed into everyone's nostrils.
A left arm, covered in lividity marks, pale and shrunken. Just fell to the ground.
I let out a piercing scream. At that moment, the phone by my pillow rang. I clutched the blanket, breathing heavily, realizing it had all been a dream. The call was from Detective Foster.
"Ms. Wilson, please come to the police station. We have a new suspect." The voice from the dream overlapped with reality. Still shaken, I trembled at the sound of Detective Foster's voice.
"Yes... alright, I'll come right away." Detective Foster asked with concern: "Ms. Wilson, are you feeling okay? Do you need me to pick you up?"
"No, no, absolutely not." The nightmare made me dizzy, but just as I was about to get up, I froze slightly. I had straight black hair, but there were several strands of hair on the pillow - dark brown, coarse. Just like Marcus's.
There really had been another person in this room.
I practically fled to the police station. Detective Foster's suspect turned out to be Marcus's former mentor, Charles Chen. He was the country's top magician, famous internationally for recreating ancient magic tricks. His touring show tickets cost thousands, and I once got one thanks to Marcus.
Chen's performance that time recreated the ancient magician Septimus Duke's "Head Severing and Body Switching" trick, where he randomly selected audience members, "cut off" their heads, and then "magically" reattached them in front of everyone.
"Do you know the secret behind it?" The process was bloody and brutal, I kept gasping in shock and asked my boyfriend. But Marcus just lowered his head with a forced smile and said he didn't know.
"He never lets me watch his rehearsals. In this industry, secrets themselves are the biggest secrets."
No matter how hard Marcus tried, Chen never intended to pass on his signature tricks to him, and even forced him to sign an unfair twenty-year contract. They fell out after that.
I encouraged him: "My job is stable, you can pursue your dreams without worry."
After they parted ways, Chen blacklisted him, forbidding anyone in the industry from giving Marcus performance opportunities. Marcus's career hit rock bottom.
The day before the incident, someone witnessed them having a fierce argument. Chen had his bodyguards throw Marcus out of the theater, even brazenly threatening: "Who do you think you are? As long as I'm alive, you'll never perform on stage. I'll destroy you in front of everyone!"
Initially, Chen was arrogant, telling the police he had nothing to say. Until Detective Foster showed him a video. That's when I learned that the one who recreated the "Head Severing and Body Switching" trick was Marcus, not Chen.
Detective Foster: "We found this magic clip in Marcus's phone. The original version of your famous head-severing trick was created by Marcus, wasn't it? You stole your apprentice's creation and claimed it as your own. You were afraid Marcus would expose everything, and when a theater finally agreed to sponsor his performance, you decided to kill him."
"I've said worse things than that. What, are you going to convict me based on words?" Chen had regained his usual composure.
"Where were you at 3 PM on the day of the incident?" Detective Foster's gaze was sharp as a hawk's.
"I was in my studio. Every day from 2 to 6 PM, I'm working."
"No witnesses, no video footage?"
Chen shrugged: "In the magic circle, secrets are paramount. Even my closest confidants aren't allowed in. If you have evidence, charge me. My time is valuable, unlike that worthless Marcus."
His arrogant attitude made my blood boil. When Marcus was his apprentice, he only earned a measly two thousand dollars a month, did all the hard work at every performance, and even had his original magic tricks stolen by his mentor! And he was so worried about me that he never mentioned any of this.
Although Chen was suspicious, the police still lacked evidence. However, this didn't prevent Chen's reputation from being destroyed. The phone video was leaked online, and Chen went from being a master magician to a despicable thief who stole his apprentice's work. Magic enthusiasts worldwide severely criticized and insulted him.
Despite his firm statement that the magic trick was his original creation, no one believed him. Major theaters retaliated, jointly declaring they would refuse to let him perform.
A few days later, Chen voluntarily came to the police station to file a report. Detective Foster said helplessly: "He claims someone is following him, watching him. He suspects it's Marcus. He even received threatening letters at his doorstep, again suspecting it's from him. Tell me, aren't these magicians all paranoid?"
"Haha, I think he's just mentally broken down from all the public criticism."
"When you've done too many bad things, you start fearing ghosts knocking at your door."
Compared to his composure last time, Chen now looked haggard and dazed. As we passed each other in the hallway, he suddenly whispered in my ear: "That kid must still be alive."
The unexpected words startled me. Magicians are the most perceptive people, and Chen was especially so. He caught the panic in my eyes, and his wrinkled face finally smiled.
"He's watching me. I can feel it."
Magicians are creatures that exist half in light and half in shadow. Only their own kind can truly smell their scent.
"Stop him quickly, or if I die, you'll be an accomplice!"
Everyone thought Chen was just trying to scare people. But I remained silent, because I had a strange suspicion. What if Marcus really was seeking revenge?
After all, killing people while "dead" isn't against the law. The living Marcus couldn't fight against Chen, but the dead Marcus stood on the moral high ground - Chen's most valued reputation was destroyed overnight.
The revenge was just beginning.
That day after my shower, the steamy bathroom mirror revealed a message:
"Sarah, thank you for your cooperation."
The words appeared one by one, then disappeared the same way.
"April 28th, 8 PM, the gods are about to fall."
Chen's performance this month was called "Battle of the Gods". Marcus was implying that I could either report this or choose to be an accomplice. I just needed to pretend I knew nothing if Chen were to die during his performance - it would just be another accident.
I was caught in a complete dilemma. If I told Detective Foster what I knew, it might ruin Marcus's subsequent plans. A magic show needs a magician, an audience, an assistant. And props. As his girlfriend, was I supposed to become a conspirator too? Did I have... the right to judge others?
Fine rain shrouded the world, blurring the boundaries between sky and earth, between white and black. The mist made my face appear even paler.
That evening after work, Detective Foster politely offered to drive me home. I was about to refuse, but he had already tilted his umbrella toward me.
"Let's go, I'm heading that way anyway."
At my doorstep, Detective Foster showed no intention of leaving: "Ms. Wilson, may I use your bathroom?"
I felt a jolt of panic and instinctively wanted to refuse. What if that bowl of noodles appeared on the table again? How would I explain that? But I could feel him quietly observing me. The streetlight through the half-closed car window fell on his eyes, overlapping with the eyes from my dream. Was he suspicious of me? Had I done something to arouse suspicion?
My heart skipped a beat, but I said okay. While searching for my keys in my bag, I deliberately dropped my things on the ground, creating some noise. Detective Foster bent down to pick up the keys and handed them to me.
As I turned the lock, click, the door opened. Just then, the man behind me suddenly spoke:
"Ms. Wilson, you submitted DNA samples to the testing center, right?"
"..."
"Marcus is already dead, so why did you need to do the test?"
I stiffly turned around. The door light shone directly on the man, casting half his stern face in light and shadow. He held up a document folder.
"I was at the testing center today for another case, and happened to see your requested report."
Yes, I had sent the hair strands found on the pillow for DNA testing.
Detective Foster didn't tell me the results. Instead, he walked straight into the house. He turned on the lights, and warm light instantly flooded the entire hall. I barely dared to breathe, immediately looking at the table. Fortunately, there was nothing there. I let out a slight sigh of relief.
"Having a detached house with a garden in the city center is really nice. This house was left to you by your parents, right?" Detective Foster casually observed, "Your living room is quite spacious."
I forced myself to appear natural: "Marcus loved magic and often practiced at home, so we converted the side bedroom..." Detective Foster suddenly looked at the red refrigerator in the corner of the living room. A flash of fear crossed my brow.
It was a large refrigerator, bigger than standard household ones. Everything matched my dream exactly. Those few steps Detective Foster took toward the refrigerator made me break out in cold sweat. Had he discovered Marcus wasn't dead, or had he noticed I was hiding something?
I explained: "Chen came to see me several times, insisting Marcus wasn't dead. Neighbors also reported suspicious people lurking around recently. I was worried someone had broken in, so I sent the hair found on the floor for testing."
That excuse barely passed. Detective Foster didn't pursue it, instead telling me the DNA results: "Some of the hair indeed belonged to Marcus."
My mind was in chaos. He really had come back, but if he was alive, then who was the dead person? However, what did he mean by "some of"?
Detective Foster's next words made me feel like I'd fallen into an ice pit: "The DNA shows there was also hair from another woman."
Another... woman? I hadn't hired a housekeeper or cleaning service, where did another woman's hair come from?
Detective Foster: "Aren't you curious why Marcus could perform at the Lido Theater when Chen had blacklisted him?"
The Lido was the city's premier theater. I hesitated before saying, "He said the theater owner appreciated his talent and was willing to give him a chance."
Detective Foster subtly shook his head.
"Marcus got the chance to perform because Pearl Foster, the Lido's heiress, was attracted to him. They were having a secret affair. Marcus even mocked you backstage for being rigid and boring, saying you always smelled of corpses."
"After becoming famous, he was planning to break up with you. Did you know this?"
"Some of the hair here belongs to Pearl Foster."
"He brought another woman to sleep in your bed."
"Ms. Wilson, was your love really as unbreakable as you claimed?"
Pearl Foster - I had heard this name before. Her beauty matched her name, and Marcus had mentioned her to me, but in his words, she was arrogant and detestable. Yet in the secretly taken photos, he intimately held her waist and kissed her, passionate like a young man experiencing first love.
Looking at the evidence Detective Foster provided, my tone immediately became harsh: "What are you implying, that I killed Marcus out of jealousy?"
Detective Foster shook his head: "On the day of the incident, you attended a symposium an hour's drive away. You have an alibi."
I laughed bitterly, feeling a void emptiness like my soul had been drained. If he had found new love, why did he keep haunting me? Was it because my position as a mortician made me more suitable for covering up his secrets?
The rain outside grew heavier, wailing like a mourner, each drop louder than the last, as if ready to destroy everything in its path.
Marcus never truly understood women. Jealousy is the most corrosive acid, capable of destroying everything. Before the rain stopped, I made a decision.
I asked Detective Foster to search the house. "I suspect Chen really did send someone here. Can you detect footprints in the room?"
The police eventually found three secret rooms in my house. I had entrusted the entire renovation to Marcus, and he had used this opportunity to modify the house. The three secret rooms were cleverly connected, and one of the exits was actually under the carpet in my bedroom.
In the secret rooms, the police not only discovered signs of someone living there but also found numerous magic props and mechanism designs.
I reminded Detective Foster: "Today is the 28th, the day of Chen's new magic performance. He'll definitely be at the venue."
After being banned by the theaters, Chen chose to perform outdoors. Free admission, even with gifts. This attracted a massive crowd.
The crowd was packed beneath the stage. Compared to the well-equipped, orderly high-end theaters, the outdoor stage made police work much more difficult.
I moved through the crowd with plainclothes officers, searching for any suspicious individuals. Where was he? Where could he be?
Chen had already appeared on stage in his performance costume. He warmed up the crowd with simple dove tricks, the flying white doves igniting the atmosphere.
"Next, I will perform, for the first time, the ancient magic trick 'Three Immortals Return to the Cave.'"
Chen had received police warnings before going on stage. But he wouldn't listen, insisting on performing. "You want me to fall? Fine, come at me. Even if I die, I'll die on stage."
The audience kept pushing forward eagerly. Just as I stumbled and was about to be trampled, someone steadied me. Before I could thank them, they disappeared into the crowd.
From their silhouette, it seemed to be an elderly person with an unsteady gait. But having handled so many corpses, I knew the muscle composition of every age group. That grip just now... was definitely not the strength of an elderly person.
I pushed forward desperately, using the loudest voice I'd ever mustered in my life—
"He's there! Catch him!"
That was how I caught Marcus - or more accurately, Michael Kane, Marcus's twin brother.
"Yes, I was Marcus's shadow," Michael confessed during interrogation. "For the magic effects, we shared one identity for years."
They shared a name, a profession, even a girlfriend.
"But Chen stole our magic, leaving us with no way out. Even if it cost our lives, we had to have our revenge. We wanted the world's attention focused on us - what could be more sensational than a magician coming back from the dead?"
Detective Foster's expression remained unmoved, clearly unconvinced. "Then why did Marcus die that day, not you?"
Michael: "He said dying for magic would be the highest honor."
Detective Foster mercilessly exposed the truth: "The day before the incident, Marcus made a reservation at an expensive candlelit restaurant. If he was willing to die, why make that reservation?"
Detective Foster found a clue in the backstage surveillance footage.
"When Marcus was checking the equipment, there was a paint stain on his clothes, but the person who came out five minutes later didn't have it. You tampered with the props."
Michael remained silent for a long time before giving his second statement.
"That night's human dissection trick was planned - Marcus would fake his death in front of everyone, then resurrect before the world's eyes."
"I used to be willingly his shadow."
This was a story of brotherly betrayal.
"We both loved magic since childhood. Marcus was outgoing, had more stage presence, while I preferred researching techniques. Being twins gave us unique advantages. We quickly gained fame in our hometown, and after moving to the city, we became apprentices under the great master Chen. But he didn't value us and had no intention of teaching us his signature tricks. At the time, I was focused on recreating ancient magic tricks, and I was close to success—"
Hatred flashed in his eyes.
"But Marcus turned around and sold my research to Chen."
He tried to get his research back from Chen, which led to their fallout. This became the catalyst for the brothers' rift.
"He always looked down on me, said I wasn't suited for the stage. But after I performed a few times, I discovered I could do it too. I suggested going independent, and Marcus agreed on the surface, but he created accidents."
He removed his gloves, revealing two broken fingers out of ten.
"I fell in love with Sarah, didn't want to share a girlfriend anymore, but Marcus started flirting with Pearl Foster to get a chance to perform at the Lido Theater."
This meant that, as the shadow, he would have to leave too.
"The shadow has no choice." Michael slowly raised his head. "So I decided to kill him."
I became a key figure in this murder case. I vehemently denied everything: "I never knew he had a brother. Marcus only said his parents divorced when he was young. So, they were identical twins from a single fertilized egg? No wonder their genetic makeup was exactly the same."
The female officer observed me suspiciously: "You lived with them for so long and never noticed anything strange?"
I shook my head weakly but firmly: "Couldn't tell. And it wasn't just me - his mentor, his colleagues, none of them could tell either, right?"
They even had identical moles, the same scars. The female officer recorded my testimony faithfully.
"You lived in the same space and never suspected anything?"
"Marcus was embalmed by my own hands. What could I suspect?" I muttered, "The clues Michael left me? I told Detective Foster immediately, but he thought I was overwhelmed with grief and having hallucinations. I even followed his advice and saw a psychiatrist, look, here's the proof."
The medical record showed the psychiatrist's diagnosis: Post-traumatic stress disorder, mild delusional disorder.
I sincerely regretted: "I never imagined someone was actually watching me all this time. If only I had noticed earlier, I wouldn't have been played like a puppet."
Michael was sentenced to thirty years. Until the end, I never met him face to face. He sent me a paper rose through a female officer - I knew it was meant as an apology.
In the past, it was always Michael who would apologize after arguments.
Holding the paper rose, remembering everything that had happened, tears fell onto it. All of this would become memories now.
After resigning, I sold the house and immigrated abroad. I applied to a good university, planning to continue my studies. Everything went smoothly.
Before leaving the country, I went to see a play at the Lido Theater. Shakespeare's "The Tempest." On stage, the actor delivered the most passionate lines: "Hell and night must bring this monstrous birth to the world's light."
During the thunderous applause, a woman sat down beside me. She had long hair and almond eyes, with a delicate demeanor - it was Pearl Foster, the Lido heiress.
"Thank you for your hard work, Ms. Wilson."
I stared at the stage without looking at her, but our hands, hidden in the shadows, gripped tightly together. She went from trembling to gradually becoming calm.
She left before the play ended, with one last deep look at me. I stayed until the very end, just like every time we had met before.
The secret of magic lies in protecting the secret outside the structure. Every movement, every word, every expression a magician makes on stage is designed to protect the secret.
I was the same.
Michael thought he had killed Marcus. Of course, he did make the attempt. But Marcus wasn't a fool either - he had always kept a backup plan. After he stopped trusting Michael, he secretly had surgery to create a small pouch inside his gum. He was clever enough to hide a spare key to the mechanism there, which he could spit out at a crucial moment.
But this key had been stored together with my anesthetic for a long time. It had absorbed some of the drug. The amount was tiny, only enough to cause temporary paralysis.
I understood the forensic testing procedures and knew how to control the dosage. I didn't need him to lose his ability to move - I just needed him to be unable to retrieve the key at that critical moment of escape.
Every spectacular magic trick needs one or two brilliant moments that remain hidden from the audience, doesn't it?
These brothers were both demons. They used their handsome faces and charming smiles to approach girls. Their playing cards were laced with hallucinogens, easily drugging unsuspecting victims.
I had been a victim. Pearl Foster had been a victim. Many other girls had been victims too.
The thing I regret most in my life was accidentally walking into that bar. Marcus was performing there at the time. He was witty and handsome, holding up playing cards for me to guess. Afterward, he drugged me and took many photos to blackmail me.
The first time I lay on the storage room floor, my whole body in too much pain to get up. That demon put his clothes back on, still smiling shamelessly.
"You work with dead people every day, no wonder your reactions are as boring as a corpse."
When I saw those photos, I let out a cold laugh inside. Looking at my own naked body was no different from looking at others' - I deal with death every day, after all.
But many girls would. Even the wealthy Pearl Foster developed depression and almost committed suicide.
Our meeting places were always very discrete. Either in crowded streets or by deserted riversides. I brought her hot cocoa and comforted her: "It's not our fault. Don't punish yourself with pain."
She smiled bitterly, her wrists covered in scars.
"I can't forget. Every time I close my eyes, those scenes appear. But I can't go to the police. Marcus was very careful - I have no evidence. And with my family's complicated situation, if this gets out, I'll be the one blamed."
"Ms. Wilson, what should we do?" she asked helplessly.
Later, I helped prepare the body of a girl who had committed suicide and discovered she also had connections to Marcus.
My profession is to help the deceased leave this world with dignity. What is dignity? Sending demons back to hell - that's the greatest dignity I could give them.
A plan began to take shape.
I approached Marcus again. Soon, I discovered his secret - he had a twin brother, Michael. I sensed this could be an opportunity. Their relationship seemed rock-solid, but when one is in the light and one in shadow, they can never achieve true stability.
It didn't take much effort to make Michael fall in love with me. The method wasn't difficult - the more I showed my undying love for Marcus, the more jealous and resentful Michael became. But was this love? I didn't think so. It was like the suspension bridge effect - things that seem attainable yet just out of reach make men mistake their feelings for love.
This way, I subtly guided them to turn against each other. Meanwhile, Pearl Foster kept pressuring Marcus to make their relationship public. Once public, Michael would have to leave me too.
We continuously refined the plan, countless times demolishing and rebuilding it until everything was perfect.
This was our first magic performance. The first and only magic show of our lives.
That night at the Lido Theater, Pearl Foster sat in the audience. In the best seat, where she could see everything clearly. Marcus confidently took the stage, raising his hands to thousands of spectators.
"Ladies and gentlemen, you've waited long enough. Let's witness the miracle together!"
She held up her phone, streaming everything live. I sat in an academic hall a hundred miles away, clicking on the streaming link.
She asked: The magic is about to begin, are you ready?
I said: Of course.
The greatest trick isn't making someone disappear - it's making them never want to appear again.
And the best part of revenge? Having them destroy each other, while we remain clean and pure, like we never existed in their story at all.
[The End]