I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

As I drive through the night, one name keeps surfacing, demanding my attention: Choi. The man I thought was my mentor, my ally in seeking justice for my parents, might be at the very center of this web of deceit.

I need to dig deeper into Choi's past, his connections, his actions during that time. But how? Where do I even start?

Choi isn't just any officer; he's a Senior Superintendent with power, influence, and a sterling reputation. He has the rank and title to shield himself from casual scrutiny. Any direct approach would likely be met with resistance, maybe even retaliation.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, frustration building. I don't even know exactly what I'm looking for. A paper trail? Witness accounts? Some hidden piece of evidence that ties Choi to my parents' case beyond his official involvement?

The challenge seems overwhelming. Choi's position gives him access to resources I can only dream of. He could easily cover his tracks, if there are any to cover. And if I start asking the wrong questions to the wrong people, I could tip him off before I find anything concrete.

But I can't shake the feeling that Choi is somehow closely related to my parents' death. It's more than just his involvement in the case; there's something else, something I'm missing.

I need to be smart about this. Careful.

I can't go through official channels – that would alert Choi immediately. I need to find another way in, someone who might have information but isn't directly under Choi's influence.

Maybe I could start with retired officers who worked with Choi during that time? Or look into other cases he was involved in, see if there's a pattern of suspicious closures or convictions?

I walk into the office, the buzz of activity washing over me. Everywhere I look, screens are displaying news about Lee Chunsik. His face, his confessions, the details of his alleged crimes - it's all anyone seems to be talking about.

I sit down at my desk, trying to ignore the chatter around me. My fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment before I type in Choi's name into the police database. Just checking his background shouldn't raise any red flags, I reassure myself.

As I scroll through Choi's profile, I can't help but be impressed. His record is indeed remarkable - a long list of solved cases, commendations, and promotions. He seems to have had the golden touch throughout his career, cracking cases that stumped everyone else.

Everyone else, that is, except for one particular period. My eyes narrow as I spot it - the time he was investigating the drug gang case, which included my parents' murder. It stands out like a blemish on his otherwise spotless record.

Heo's words echo in my mind. If he hadn't stopped Choi back then, would this have been just another success story in Choi's illustrious career?

Feeling the need for more information, I turn to the internet. News articles about Choi pop up one after another, all singing praises of his outstanding career and dedication to justice.

But then, buried among the accolades, I spot something that makes my heart skip a beat. An article mentioning Choi's background catches my eye. I lean in closer, reading intently.

Choi, it turns out, grew up as an orphan. He lost his parents when he was just 11 years old, killed by an unknown assailant. The parallels to my own story are striking. Since then, the article states, Choi was raised in a local church. Stay updated with m-v l|e'm,p y r

I lean back in my chair, my mind reeling. How did I not know this about Choi? We shared such a similar tragedy, yet he never mentioned it. Was this what drove him to become a police officer, just as it had driven me?

The church. Something about it nags at me. It feels like a lead, a thread I need to pull. Without really knowing why, I make a decision. I need to visit this church, to see where Choi grew up, to understand more about the man who might hold the key to my parents' case.

***

I pull up to the church, relief washing over me as I see it's still standing. It's an old stone building, weathered but well-maintained, with a small sign indicating it's also home to an orphanage.

As I step inside, the familiar scent of incense and old wood envelops me. The interior is quiet, with only a few people scattered about in silent prayer. Not knowing who to approach or what exactly I'm looking for, I decide to explore.

My wandering leads me to a side hallway where I discover a large wall covered in plaques and nameplates. As I get closer, I realize it's a list of contributors to the church-run orphanage's expansion, along with names of "graduates" who have gone on to successful careers.

My eyes scan the names eagerly, expecting to see Choi's among them. But as I reach the end of the list, I realize his name is conspicuously absent. Frowning, I step closer, examining the wall more carefully. Surely, Choi's name should be here. As a successful graduate and now a high-ranking police officer, wouldn't he be proudly displayed?

"Can I help you with something?"

The voice behind me makes me jump. I turn to find an elderly nun in a wheelchair, her face lined with age but her eyes sharp and alert. Behind her wheelchair stands a younger nun, watching me curiously.

"I... uh," I stammer, caught off guard. "I was just looking at the names. It's quite impressive."

The older nun nods slowly, her gaze never leaving my face. "Indeed it is. We're very proud of our children and those who have supported us. But you seem to be looking for something specific. Or perhaps... someone?"

Her perceptiveness catches me off guard. I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. But something in her kind yet knowing eyes makes me decide to take a chance.

"Actually, yes," I admit. "I was looking for the name of someone I believe grew up here. Senior Superintendent Choi from the police force. I was surprised not to see his name among the graduates."

At the mention of Choi's name, something flickers in the old nun's eyes - surprise? Recognition? Concern? It's gone so quickly I can't be sure.

"Ah, I see," she says, her voice carefully neutral. "And may I ask why you're interested in Superintendent Choi's connection to our church?"

I pull out my badge, deciding honesty might be the best approach. "I'm Detective Park Minjun. I'm... investigating a case that I believe may have a connection to Superintendent Choi's past. I was hoping to learn more about his time here."

The older nun exchanges a glance with her younger companion, a silent communication passing between them. When she turns back to me, her expression is guarded but not unfriendly.

"Perhaps we should continue this conversation somewhere more private," she suggests. "Sister Maria, would you please escort us to my office?"

As the younger nun begins to wheel her away, the older nun looks back at me. "Coming, Detective?"

I nod, following them down the hallway.

The young nun wheels the older one into a modest office, filled with books and the scent of old paper. Sunlight filters through a small stained glass window, casting colorful patterns on the worn wooden floor.

"Thank you, Sister Maria," the old nun says softly. "Please wait outside. I'd like to speak with the detective privately."

Once the door closes behind the young nun, the older woman turns her piercing gaze to me. "I knew you were looking for Choi the moment I saw you," she says, her voice calm but filled with an undercurrent of... something. Sadness? Regret?

I blink, taken aback. "How? How could you possibly know that?"

The old nun's eyes meet mine, a mixture of compassion and concern in her gaze. "There's something else you should know about Choi," she says, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.

I lean in, my heart racing. "What is it?"

She hesitates, as if weighing her words carefully. "Choi... he used to speak of voices. Voices in his head that would guide him, push him."

My blood runs cold. I struggle to keep my expression neutral, but I can feel my hands starting to tremble. "Voices?" I manage to ask, my own voice sounding distant to my ears.

The nun nods slowly. "Yes. He would often be lost in thought, muttering to himself. When we asked, he said there was someone... or something... in his mind.

Offering advice, urging him on in his quest for answers."

I swallow hard, my mind reeling. Could it be possible? Could Choi have experienced something similar to my interactions with Bundy?

"Did he... did he ever say what these voices told him?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

The nun's expression grows troubled. "He didn't share specifics, but we could see the effect. The voices seemed to fuel his obsession, his anger. They pushed him to extremes in his search for justice... or vengeance."

She leans forward in her wheelchair, her eyes locked on mine. "I'm telling you this because I see something familiar in you. A similar burden, a similar fire. And perhaps... a similar struggle?"

Her words hang in the air between us, heavy with implication. I feel exposed, as if she can see right through me to where Bundy resides in my mind.

"I... I don't know what to say," I stammer, suddenly feeling very young and very vulnerable.

The nun reaches out, patting my hand gently. "You don't have to say anything, my child. But heed this warning: the path Choi walked, guided by those voices, led him to dark places. Be careful that you don't follow the same road."

I sit back, my mind whirling with the implications of what she's saying. "Is that why his name isn't on the wall out there? Because of this... darkness?"

She shakes her head slowly. "No, Detective. Choi's name isn't on that wall because he chose not to be associated with us. When he left, he cut all ties. It was as if he wanted to erase that part of his past entirely."