When the ring of the police finally yanks me out from my unconsciousness, I am on the center carpet of my kitchen, kneeling. Sophia is lying beside me, with a strange posture. I think I know the reason--there's a watermelon knife right in her heart. Blood like a rose blossoms everywhere.



When my logic as a detective comes back to me after a shower, I start organizing everything I know. First, Sophia died. Second, all the evidence is against me. Third, I didn't do it.
Charles, a policeman, comes sternly toward me.
"Your neighbor heard you two arguing last night."
He's right, we did argue. Sophia was an amateur shooter, so I bought her a golden ring with a silver bullet for her birthday. I really thought that's a great gift, because the bullet was the actual size and removable, which is so cool. But she tossed it in the trash can when she received it just like she was tossing spoiled cheese.
"I hate shooting!" she screamed,"I hate bullets! I hate death! I hate detectives! I hate you!"
That sounds possible for me to kill her this morning.
Then, Paul appears by the door. "Charles, what happened?" he asked, "I've heard Bill got involved in a murder."
"He did."said Charles. "Actually, he created it."
"I promise to you he didn't." Paul's face suddenly becomes anxious, or I should use the word nervous. That's a bit way too nervous than he should be as the worry to a friend. "As the name of Dr. Paul Black, I promise."
Charles hesitates, considering whether to trust the only doctor in a small town like Oakland. Finally, he starts reluctantly,"Three days."
I smile with a relief. I know it will be hard for me to find out in three days. But as a detective, I can't just give up without any effort.
Charles starts again,"I'll give you the files we collected. You go for it, Bill, I trust you as Paul's friend."


Paul is my best friend. I mean, the best, best friend. He likes shooting, like Sophia used to. Sometimes, they hang out together when I'm dealing with cases. He is a doctor, and he's doing something about mental decease now. I think that might be the reason why he's been strange these days. Maybe he's just tired of his patients.



Paul then drives me home. With no reason, I feel a strange atmosphere in the car.
"Thanks, Paul!"I break the silence.
"You're welcome." he seems like to say something more, but then swallows his words.
Silence again.
"Well," he finally decides to say something."I didn't know why I just saved you from the jail. I just want you to know that was a sudden reaction..."
"That's why I'm thankful." I interpose,"I didn't do it, and I'm thankful that you trust me. I'll find out at last, trust me!"
He seems stranger.
"I hope not..." he murmurs in the lowest voice, I'm not sure if I really heard he murmuring.
The rest trip is filled with silence.


By the time I get home, I start my survey. There's concealed cameras in our bedroom, but none in kitchen. I take out the files Charles gave me. There're some photos of the kitchen. Of course, it was messy: trashcan fell, and everything in it rolled out. It seems Sophia had a fight with the murderer. Surprisedly, I found she's pointing a corner of the counter instinctually. Thinking about police might neglect this detail, I get excited and run into the corner.
Then I find the ring she threw into trashcan the night before.
My brain almost stops. I don't know what that means. Only thing I'm sure--that's a massage for me. She wanted to tell me who killed her. I need to clear my mind.
But one name keeps popping in my name--Paul.
His same hobbit with Sophia, his unreadable expressions, the incongruous silence, the ogre voice"I hope not..."
I hate thinking about that, so I threw myself in the bed and fell asleep as it's been a long long day.



It's been months I couldn't get a good sleep. With dark and red, shades and blood, serpentine alleys and celadon bricks, dreams were excruciating. Even It's always hard for me to remember dreams, shreds of images were grisly. But this sleep was good, and relaxing.
I concentrate on finding more evidence instead of thinking about Paul any more. It tortures me when I think my best friend might killed my wife.The police already cleaned up the kitchen, but apparently they neglected the ring. I pick it up, rub it as carefully as I can, and put it in my pocket.
Then, I take it out again, remove the bullet, and put it in Sophia's favorite gun.
That's when I decide: I'll kill the murderer with this bullet, in this gun.



It seems police didn't search backyard, because it's messy as it was. I go out to search more, as the police almost erased all evidence inside. Then I see Sophia's little garden wes ruined, by a lot of footprints that can hardly be recognized in mud.
Somebody was there that morning. I muse.
My phone suddenly rings and interrupts my thinking. Paul.
"What's up, pal?"Myself can feel my voice a little shivering.
"Well, can you come over and drink a cup of coffee?"
I agree. I really need some conversation with him.



It's been a good conversation, like best friends. Until he asked.
"How was you investigation so far?"
"Well, pretty good." I examine his face.
His face suddenly turns stern. "Bill, I need to let you know something. First, it's not always good to know the truth. Second, sometimes you think you know the truth, but actually you don't. Third, truth hurts."
"I know..."
"No, you don't..."he finishes this conversation with a murmur and a sip of his coffee.



When I get home, it's early afternoon. I spend the rest of my day with a search for more evidence. Vanity. Because I can't concentrate at all, Paul's words keep spinning in my head, and I'm trying to know what he really means.
Finally, I can't stand wasting my time. I drive Paul's quietly and scrub a clump of mud on his shoes, which were placed outside the house as he always does. Then, I find myself too tired when I get home, too tired to work more today, or too tired to know the truth. I head straight to bed.


When I wake up again, I run to my lab in basement. Without reasons, I don't bear to see the solution. But it's there, truth. I need to know no matter what. After the experiment, I feel myself exhausted.
The mud on Paul's shoes is the same as that in my yard.
He was there, that morning.


It's afternoon again, I didn't notice time when I was in the lab, and I didn't even get to have breakfast. But I need to ask Paul. I need to. My intuition tells me he didn't kill, but he knows the truth.
I finish a granola bar in two bites, and swallow a big mouthful of milk without getting it out of the carton. Then, I rush to Paul's at almost twice limit speed.
He doesn't seem very surprised to see me frantic. I tell him all I know. Sophia's massage, the mud, strange expressions, everything. He just listens, looking tranquil.
He finally starts when I finish. "I want to be honest with you,Bill. I didn't kill your wife, and I know the truth. But it's crazy and painful enough to freak you out."
"Tell me"I demand.
"I can't."
"Yes, you can!"
He remains silent for a while.
"Sorry."He says, and closes the door between us.



I go to bed after arriving home even my ribs feel flaming.
A bloody dream unlike two nights before. With Paul. I notice something in my bedroom was changed. Some details, like a burglar came. I take out the concealed camera, that should show me what exactly happened last night.
The video is playing.
It's dark, and slowly, I see something moving. It moves faster, a man. I hold my breath.
He turned, whole face vaguely revealed in darkness. Almost screaming, I open my mouth without any possible sounds out. I think that's the truth.


I run to Paul's like a freak, but I know it's already too late.
Charles is there, telling me Paul is murdered.


I realize everything.
Sophia's bullet. Grotesque dream. Paul's mental disease project, presence that morning as an observer to his experiment and "I know the truth".
I'm the man, schizophrenic.
I killed both my wife and my best friend with evil subconsciousness.


A new twilight arrives. The third day, my last day. An end, also a start.
I take out Sophia's bullet, in her favorite gun, and point it to myself.
Bye.