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

As we approach the tomb, the beam of my flashlight reveals more gruesome details. The girl's small body is laid out with an eerie precision on top of the stone structure. Around her, barely visible in the dim light, is some kind of sign or symbol, drawn crudely as if traced by a finger.

Seo inhales sharply, his face pale in the harsh light of the flashlight. Without a word, he pulls out his phone and steps away to call for backup, his voice low and urgent as he relays our location and the grim discovery.

I remain rooted to the spot, my eyes fixed on the innocent victim before me. Kim Yoon-jeong looks so small, so vulnerable. Her school uniform is dirty and torn, her face peaceful in death - a stark contrast to the violence that must have ended her young life.

As I stare at the scene, I feel a rage building inside me, starting as a slow burn in my gut and spreading outward. My fists clench involuntarily at my sides. What kind of monster could do this to a child? What twisted mind not only takes a young life but then displays the body like some sort of macabre artwork?

As the night wears on, the once-quiet mountainside becomes a hive of activity. Seo's team members arrive, followed closely by officers from the National Forensic Service. The area around the tomb is quickly cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, and powerful floodlights are set up, bathing the grim scene in harsh, unforgiving light.

An NFS officer approaches Seo and me, his face grim. "We've confirmed the identity. It's Kim Yoon-jeong," he says, his voice low and respectful.

I nod, the confirmation settling like a weight in my stomach. Nearby, another officer calls out, "We've found multiple types of footprints! At least three distinct patterns. We're collecting samples now."

As we process this new information, a commotion erupts from the direction of the mountain path. Anguished cries pierce the night air, growing louder as they approach. It's Kim Yoon-jeong's family. They must have learned the news and rushed here, desperate to see their daughter one last time.

Their voices are heart-wrenching - a mother's wail, a father's choked sobs, pleas to let them through. But protocol must be followed. The scene can't be contaminated, even by grieving parents.

I watch as Seo goes to meet them, his face a mask of sympathy and professionalism as he explains why they can't enter the crime scene. Their cries of despair continue, a brutal reminder of the human cost of this tragedy.

Forcing myself to focus, I turn back to the scene. The victims' family's cries echo in the background as I meticulously search for clues. Every stone, every blade of grass could hold vital information. The symbol around the body, now clearly visible in the floodlights, seems to taunt us with its cryptic message.

***

Back at the office, exhaustion hangs heavy in the air as we gather to hear the NFS officer's briefing. The room is silent, all eyes focused on the officer as he begins his report.

"Among the multiple footprints found at the scene, two are particularly distinctive," the officer states, pulling up images on the screen. "The first belongs to an individual with short, small feet. Based on the depth and pattern of the print, we estimate this person weighs around 52 kilograms."

He clicks to the next slide. "The second print is significantly larger, belonging to a man we estimate weighs approximately 100 kilograms. Importantly, the positioning and freshness of these prints suggest that this larger individual was the last to leave the scene."

The officer pauses, allowing this information to sink in. "We've also confirmed that the caretaker of the tomb is a short man with small feet, matching the profile of our first set of prints."

He brings up another image. "Finally, we've identified the brand and model of sneaker that left the larger prints. It's a limited edition running shoe, not widely available in this area."

The NFS officer clears his throat, drawing our attention back to him. His face is grim as he prepares to deliver more details about Kim Yoon-jeong's final moments.

"There's one more crucial piece of information from our preliminary examination," he says, his voice heavy. "The cause of death has been determined to be asphyxiation."

A collective intake of breath fills the room. The officer continues, "Based on the marks on her neck and the condition of her body, we believe the culprit suffocated her by applying pressure to her throat."

He pauses, allowing the horrific information to sink in before adding, "Given the state of rigor mortis and other factors, we estimate that this occurred at the site where she was found. It appears the man took her to the mountain alive and... and ended her life there, before displaying her body on the tomb."

The room falls silent, the weight of this revelation palpable. I feel my fists clench involuntarily, a surge of anger and revulsion rising within me. The image of that innocent child, struggling for breath in her final moments, is almost too much to bear.

As the NFS officer concludes his report, Seo stands up, his face set with determination. "Alright team, this gives us a clear direction. We need to focus on identifying a man matching this profile - approximately 100 kilograms, wearing this specific brand of sneaker."

He turns to the whiteboard, quickly jotting down the key points. "Check local sports shops, online purchase records, anything that might lead us to someone who bought these shoes. Also, start compiling a list of men in the area who match the weight profile."

I approach the NFS officer as the rest of the team disperses to their tasks. The question about the symbol has been nagging at me since we discovered the body.

"Excuse me," I say, catching the officer's attention. "What about the symbol we found next to Kim Yoon-jeong's body? Have you been able to identify it?"

The officer's brow furrows slightly. "Ah, yes, the symbol. We're still in the process of analyzing it," he replies, his tone cautious. "So far, we haven't been able to find an exact match to any known symbols or sigils."

He pulls out a tablet, showing me a high-resolution image of the crude marking. "It's possible that it might just be a random symbol, something the perpetrator created on the spot. We're cross-referencing it with various databases, but nothing concrete has come up yet."

I study the image closely, trying to commit every detail to memory. "So we don't know if it has any significance? Could it be related to some kind of ritual or cult activity?"

The officer shakes his head. "At this point, we can't say for certain. It could be meaningful, or it could be a red herring. We're exploring all possibilities, but we don't want to jump to conclusions without more evidence."

I nod, understanding the need for caution. "Thank you. Please let us know if you find anything more about it."

As I stare at the image of the symbol on my computer screen, my mind begins to wander. The crude lines and curves seem to taunt me with their ambiguity, and suddenly, a thought strikes me.

Manson. Charles Manson was a cult leader. He manipulated his followers into committing heinous acts, often using symbols and rituals to reinforce his twisted ideology. Could he possibly know something about this symbol?

And then, a chilling realization hits me. Is this why Aileen disappeared and Manson started to appear in my head? The serial killers who manifest in my mind seem to be relevant to the cases I'm working on. Does this mean that whoever or whatever is sending these spectral 'helpers' knows what will happen in the future?

The implications are staggering. If true, it would mean that some force out there not only knows about future crimes but is somehow preparing me to deal with them. It's a thought that's both terrifying and oddly comforting.

But as quickly as these ideas form, I shake my head vigorously, trying to dislodge them. This line of thinking is utterly unscientific, bordering on the supernatural. I'm a detective, not a psychic or a medium. I deal in facts, evidence, and logical deductions, not mystical premonitions.

Moreover, the thought of actively seeking help from Manson, even if he is just a voice in my head, makes my skin crawl. I've already compromised enough by tolerating his presence; I refuse to stoop to asking for his assistance.

"No," I mutter to myself, dismissing the entire train of thought. "Focus on the facts, the evidence. That's what will solve this case."

I turn back to my computer, determined to approach this investigation with the rationality and objectivity it deserves. Whatever the truth behind the symbol, whatever dark motivations drove the killer, I'll uncover them through diligent police work, not through reliance on the whispers of long-dead murderers in my head.

As I dive back into the case files, I push thoughts of Manson, symbols, and supernatural helpers to the back of my mind. There's a killer out there, all too real and all too dangerous. That's where my focus needs to be.