Chapter 3:

Chapter 3 Evil, Evil Doctor

Liar!

(One week ago)

(Knock, knock!)
"Hello... I’m your new doctor. My name is Annabelle."
Ms. Sunday: "How nice... I’m Anna Sunday."
Annabelle: "Ooooh... we have the same first name... I guess we’re made for each other. Hehe."
Ms. Sunday: "Yes... perhaps."

Ms. Sunday (thinking):
(Those eyes... I can tell immediately... the eyes... of a liar! And a murderer... Hehehe...)

Annabelle (thinking):
(Hehehe... a girl... born with a weak, sick body... abused by her father... killing her would be easy. Besides, she still has a lot of money. Her father wasn’t rich... but her grandmother is... and she’s the one she takes care of... she’s rich... hehe.)

Ms. Sunday: "Hmm... Dr. Annabelle?"
Annabelle: "Oh yes?"
Ms. Sunday: "Could it be that you enjoy martial arts, like karate?"
Annabelle: "How... do you know that?"
Ms. Sunday: "Your hands seem trained."
Annabelle: "Oh... wow, you’re really smart. Yes, that’s true. Hehe." (Damn... she’s clever...)
Ms. Sunday: "Hehe... thank you."
Annabelle: "Hmm."

(A few days later)

Annabelle: "Something's not right... with this girl... she seems to be hiding something... First off, she’s good at reading people — that’s for sure... and somehow... behind her words, there's more than just those of a mentally ill person... she’s smarter than she pretends to be... she’s planning something... but what exactly?"

She searched for her file.

Annabelle: "I’m here... to see her past."

She found something.

Annabelle:
"There... Alice Ainsworth Sunday. Born with a weak, sickly body... At age 12... abused by her father. When she was brought into the ambulance... there were several convicts involved... her father... her older brother... and two others close to the family... Oh shit... four?! When she was found, her throat was nearly torn... which is why she speaks so quietly. She also had stab wounds... one in the stomach... one in the back. A miracle she’s still alive.

But then... the doctors noticed something... when she opened her eyes... she said only one thing:
‘Where is he?’
No one knows who she meant.
Doctors assumed it was her father... but something even stranger — the father didn’t resist arrest. He only said one thing:
she is not my daughter
Which didn’t make sense to the authorities. Why would he abuse her then?

Then it came out... she wasn’t even his daughter. Her mother had a close relationship... with someone named Stevens... his brother is a doctor... Strange. That name sounds familiar... isn’t that the one who took his own life?"

She took notes.

Annabelle: "She likes sweets... and she likes reading... strangely, mostly children's books or fairy tales. I’ll investigate further... something’s not right with that brat."

It was lunchtime. Annabelle wanted to use the time to see what Ms. Sunday was reading. So she went to her room and found the books.

Annabelle: "...These must be them..."

She opened the books. They seemed... normal... but then she noticed something.

Annabelle: "What’s this word... it doesn’t belong... All the stories have, on different pages, a word that doesn’t fit... Why did she cross it out? Latin? Is that Latin or Greek? Wait... why is she writing it in herself?"

Ms. Sunday: "Oh... may I ask what you’re doing here, Miss Annabelle?"
Annabelle: "Huh?!"

She turned around — Anna was there, smiling.

Ms. Sunday: "Can I help you?"
Annabelle: "...Oh... I uh..."
Ms. Sunday: "Hehe... you’re holding my books. Do you like them? Would you like to borrow them?"
Annabelle: "...Oh... um... I was just... tidying up..."
Ms. Sunday: "Oh, how sweet of you. Very sweet indeed, hehe... But that’s not necessary. Hehe..."
Annabelle: "If you say so... hehe... then I’ll return home now. My shift is over."
Ms. Sunday: "Okay... sleep well."

Annabelle slowly left the room. But before she stepped out, she looked back one last time — and Ms. Sunday smiled and waved at her.

Ms. Sunday: "We’ll see each other tomorrow."

She left.

Ms. Sunday (muttering):
"Hmm... hmm... yes, yes, I know... I saw it... No need to shout... I know she took notes... But that’s no problem."

She took the books.

Ms. Sunday:
"Still... I find it inappropriate to stick one's nose too deep... I may have to get rid of her soon..."

(Several hours later in Annabelle’s house)

Annabelle: "Hmm... hmm... damn... no... no... where... where was it... ah... there... Latin..."

She took the book and began analyzing it.

Annabelle: "I wrote down every word she crossed out... let’s see."

(Two hours later)

Annabelle: "The first letters..."

She noted them.

Annabelle: "O... d... i... o... m... i... n... i... a... hmm... now to find the words... Odi means I hate... and omnia means... hmm..."

(Flipping pages)

Annabelle: "Ugh... everything? I hate everything? What... what is that supposed to mean?"

She kept going... and going... and going... until it was fully decoded — after 8 hours!

Annabelle: "Ugh... ugh... aaaaaaaaaaarghhhh..."

She was shocked.

Annabelle: "What the hell does that mean? ...Is she a monster?"

(Grin!)

(Next morning)

Ms. Sunday: "Hello, Annabelle. Are you alright?"
Annabelle: "...Oh... yes. I’m fine."
Ms. Sunday: "You have quite the disturbed look... did you see something... or maybe... did you decode the letters I wrote?"

Annabelle: "Huh?!"

She turned away, brushing her hair.

Annabelle: "Ugh... what do you mean? Hehe... I just put the books back, nothing more."
She pointed toward a table.

Ms. Sunday: "My dear Annabelle..."

She placed her hands on Annabelle's cheeks.

Ms. Sunday:
"Your eyes... tell me that you know exactly what I mean. Eyes... reveal more than people think. The tone... the glance... the way someone talks — it all gives away who they really are. When someone lies, for example... they play dumb. And their eyes avoid contact.
Secondly — your hand gestures don’t match. You pointed to the table, not to where the books were.
Third — you’re sweating... and showing signs — scratching your nose, your ears... fixing your hair... anything to avoid eye contact. I know, Annabelle. Your eyes... they don’t look at me... because they’re afraid."

They looked each other straight in the eyes.

Ms. Sunday:
"You’re lying! Hehe... Before you say anything, I know all about you. You’re a liar... Your smile? Also fake. Not real. Without you knowing, I asked someone about you. And they told me... you’ve been in many places. Why, hmm? I have three theories."

She held up three fingers.

Ms. Sunday:
"One — you’re someone who just likes to change jobs. Which I doubt. First a nurse, then a caregiver in a retirement home... and now in a psychiatric clinic? No — you don’t love the job.
Theory two — you’ve stolen... from multiple people."

Annabelle: "Ugh... hahh..."

She trembled... it felt like a dark figure was wrapping its hands around her neck, heart, chest, and mind... squeezing tighter and tighter.

Ms. Sunday:
"Three — you’re involved in... death. Either alone... or with help."

Annabelle: "Ughhh... hahhh..."

She collapsed to the floor.

Ms. Sunday:
"Your hands... your eyes... they show it. You’ve taken a life before — whether on purpose or by accident."

Annabelle: "Haaahhhhhhh..."

Ms. Sunday:
"Your hand... has a wound. Probably from someone defending themselves. A woman maybe... she clawed your shoulder with her nails — so deep. Trying to fight back."

Annabelle: "Hahh... hahhh... hahh..."

Caught!
The hands of the shadow wrapped around her... she could feel it... as if her heart were pounding faster and faster...
Boom... boom... boom... boom... boom...
Her lungs breathed faster — huff... huff... huff...
Everything accelerated... until she vomited.

Annabelle: "Gaaagghhh... (Bleaarghh!)"

Ms. Sunday:
"Oh my... seems I hit a nerve..."

Annabelle: "How... how do you know this... What are you?"

Ms. Sunday:
"A human... that I am... A human... who hears the voices of ghosts."

Annabelle: "Ghhh..."

She looked at her.

Ms. Sunday:
"So it’s true."

Annabelle: "Yes... it is... but why do you care?!"

Ms. Sunday:
"Not me... but the police."

Annabelle: "What?"

Ms. Sunday:
"Oh, you see... I had a radio on... and oops... it recorded everything. Remember when I held it while you combed my hair?
And if that wasn’t enough, I also took your notebook. The one where you took notes about my appearance and weaknesses... with names. Some might be your victims."

Annabelle: "Huh?!"

Ms. Sunday:
"It’s not too late..."

She stepped toward her.

Annabelle: "Hahh..."

Ms. Sunday:
"But you are dangerous... So I have a request.
Run.
And never show yourself again.
Or you’ll regret it."

Annabelle: "Huh!!!"

A dark, heavy air filled the room, as if the darkness had merged with the oxygen — words that shook her to the core.

Ms. Sunday:
"I don’t know why you did all this... but what I wrote in those books means nothing... Your notebook and the recording? They say everything.
Oh, and at the end... you wrote: ‘I do it for her.’
That person must be important to you... your sister, probably. You called her ‘little sister’...
You can run. Or face the consequences."

(Hours later)
She returned home.

Annabelle: "Hahhh... hahhh... hahh..."

She opened the door. Her little sister was lying on the bed, hooked up to a heart monitor.

Annabelle: "Hahhh..."

She caressed her sister’s cheek.

Annabelle: "...I’m sorry..."

She wrote a note explaining everything — that she killed rich people for their money, and forged their wills to transfer 60% of their assets to her account. She left the letter by the table.

Annabelle:
"But that’s not all..."

Before carrying out her plan, she hid something behind the pillow.

Annabelle:
"(Sob!)"

She kissed her sister’s nose... it was nighttime. She left.
She was going to flee.

She headed toward the train tracks.

Annabelle: "Hmmm..."

(Patch!) (Patch!)

Annabelle: "Huh?"

(Meanwhile)
Ms. Sunday: "She’ll definitely run... but I made sure she won’t get far."

(Meanwhile)
Annabelle: "Hmmm... huh?"

Someone stood in front of her.

"It was you!"

Annabelle: "Huh?!"

A knife in his hand — he stabbed her in the stomach.

Annabelle: "U...rk!"

"You bitch... how could you... she was my beloved sister..."

He pulled the knife out. Annabelle clutched her stomach and ran — but he stabbed her again in the back. She fell to the ground.

"Hahh..."

He ran off. Annabelle lay bleeding on the ground.

"Hey... hang in there!"

It was Clementime. Annabelle held her stomach... her eyes grew lifeless... and she spoke:

Annabelle:
"...Liar..."

Frank: "Hmmm... where is it... hmm... that must be it..."

He took Annabelle’s notes, then found her sister’s room.

Frank: "Hmm?... Maybe something is hidden here..."

He saw her — a little girl.

Frank: "...Ugh... I... I did the same thing... I killed someone’s sister...
And she didn’t even tell me!
Who will take care of her now?"

He approached the girl.

Frank: "...Either way, I’m a murderer now. Escaped from the asylum... but I won’t kill an innocent girl. I’ll just take... what I came for. There’s nothing else here anyway."

He left.

(Hours later)

Frank: "Here."
Ms. Sunday: "Thank you..."
Frank: "...You didn’t tell me she had a little sister."
Ms. Sunday: "Are you blaming me for becoming a murderer and destroying lives?"
Frank: "...No. That was my decision... I feel guilty about the girl... but not for the murderer of my sister. Still... I’ve become a killer."
Ms. Sunday: "You remember what else you promised me, right?"
Frank: "Yes... don’t worry... I’ll do it."
Ms. Sunday: "Good boy."